‘I hoped you would.’ Poll grinned delightedly, taking Billy’s hands in a sort of confused squeeze-cum-shake, then belatedly remembering the rag-bag housework clothes and the grime. Too late. Way, way too late. Damn it. ‘Oh, please ignore the dogs.’
‘I love dogs.’ Billy continued to smile, releasing Poll’s hands as he patted and stroked. ‘All animals are better than most people in my opinion.’
‘And mine,’ Poll said with feeling. ‘Anyway, we’ve got the place to ourselves at the moment, so you’ll be able to get settled in without having to face a million other people.’
‘A million?’ Billy’s pale-blue eyes twinkled. ‘I knew you were a generous lass, but even so…’
They laughed together, and then in a slightly less chaotic rerun of Ella and Ash’s arrivals, Poll helped Billy with his luggage – a hotchpotch collection of elderly suitcases, zip-up shopping bags, and black bin liners this time – through Hideaway Farm and into his room next door to Ash’s.
‘Blimey…’ Billy looked around him in wonderment. ‘This is like the Ritz. You have no idea how grateful I am, Poll, love.’
Poll blinked quickly. She always cried when people were nice to her. It hadn’t happened very often.
‘You’re very, very welcome. Now, I’ll leave you to get settled in and then I’ll be downstairs. Would you like something to eat? A drink?’
‘A nice cuppa would go down a treat,’ Billy said. ‘Although I can see you’ve given me all the stuff up here to make my own. I honestly don’t know what to say – I didn’t expect anything like this.’
Poll blinked quickly again. ‘I’ll go and make a pot of tea. We can have it in the garden. Come down when you’re ready. Shall I put out some cake? Biscuits?’
‘Not for me, thank you.’ Billy was still staring round his room with something close to awe. ‘I stopped off at the Little Chef on the way here and had one of them Olympic Breakfasts – filled me up a treat that did.’
Poll smiled. ‘George loves going to Little Chef. He likes the pancakes.’
‘Ah, me too. Specially the cherry ones with ice cream.’
‘We’ll have to get Ella to make us some. She’s living here too, and you’ll meet her later, because she loves making puds. And Ash and, er…’ Poll hesitated for a minute, then decided the identity of Roy could wait until another time. ‘Er, yes, Ash, he’s next door to you just along the corridor, his speciality is soups – and yours is bread of course. Oh, there’s an ancient bread oven in the kitchen; I’m sure it’d love to be put to good use again.’
Billy beamed. ‘Sounds perfect to me. I’ve missed kneading the old dough. And what about you? Do you cook as well?’
‘Every chance I get. Robust main courses are my thing – nothing fancy. I couldn’t do nouvelle cuisine if you paid me – not that anyone would of course. I love dishing up big dinners. Hearty stuff.’ Poll nodded eagerly. ‘Pies are probably my best things, really. Dennis – my ex – rarely complimented me but he did say that my pastry was the lightest he’d ever tasted.’ She stopped. Did that sound like bragging? She hoped not. And could mentioning Dennis-the-ex sound like she was advertising herself as single? Oh, Lord… Blushing madly, she swallowed. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to settle in and you come down when you’re ready.’
‘I’ll do that, thanks.’
Still blushing, Poll turned away and caught sight of herself in the triptych mirror on the dressing table.
Aaargh – noooo!
She was still wearing George’s pants on her head.
‘Bugger!’ Rushing towards the staircase, Poll wrenched the underwear from her hair and shoved it up her sleeve. ‘Oh, God, what must he think of me?’
Still smarting with embarrassment, Poll quickly showered and changed, scooped up George’s discarded toys from their potential death-trap positions on the twisting stairs, made tea in her mother’s fat china teapot – the one with the scattered roses and forget-me-nots – and set out the matching tea set on the wooden table in the garden.
And in what seemed next to no time, looking outwardly calm at least, Poll sat beside Billy on the canopied garden swing.
‘This,’ Billy said, looking around the sun-drenched garden, happily sipping milky tea with three sugars, ‘is heaven on earth.’
‘I want you to be happy. I know you’ve had a rough time.’
Billy nodded. ‘Ah, it’s been pretty hard lately.’
‘Oh, yes. Losing your business must have been an awful blow.’
Billy nodded. ‘But then, with all them superstores doing their own bread, and the high streets being like ghost towns, you can’t really blame people for abandoning the little independent shops, can you?’
‘I suppose not. Mind you, we’re lucky round here. Hazy Hassocks still has a bustling high street, and all the smaller shops survive happily even though they’ve got Big Sava in their midst. It’s a lovely village.’
Billy sipped the tea appreciatively. ‘Everything around here seems lovely, Poll. I know I’m going to be very happy. And after what I’ve been through I could do with some happiness. After Mary died –’
‘Yes, of course. You poor thing. You’ve been through so much. Losing your business and your wife.’
Billy set down his cup and saucer. ‘Oh, me and Mary were never Romeo and Juliet. I missed having her around, course I did, because you get used to things being as they are, but truth be told she was a mean-spirited woman.’
‘Really?’ Poll pulled a face. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ Billy crinkled his gentle dark eyes. ‘I was just glad we never had any kids. She’d have given them a hell of a life like she gave me. To be honest, the last two years without her have been a bit of a relief. She never stopped nagging and complaining. Not that she deserved to go before her time, poor lass, but there you are.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Poll hoped she wasn’t going to cry.
‘That’s why the neighbours in the flats wanted me out, you see. That’s why they planted stuff on me and then complained to the housing people that I was a thief – damn nonsense of course! – and started the rumours and that. See, everyone said I’d murdered her.’
‘No!’ Poll’s teacup rattled in its saucer. Oh, God, Ella was going to love this! ‘But, I mean, you didn’t, did you? I mean, when I offered you a home here, and the solicitor did all the CRB checks, there was never any mention of a murder or an arrest or a court case or anything like that.’
Billy chuckled. ‘Lordy, it never got that far. There wasn’t nothing like that. There was no police involved. It was just malicious rumours. Mary didn’t have many friends, she wasn’t a friendly sort, but she had a couple of cousins living in them flats and they’d never liked me. It was just small town tittle-tattle. But it was enough to make my life hell.’
‘But you didn’t, did you?’ Poll insisted. ‘Murder her?’
‘No – course not! Not that I hadn’t thought about it on more than one occasion when her carping morning, noon and night drove me mad – the way you do. But I’d never have laid a finger on her. I never even raised my voice, let alone my hand. Bless you, I can’t even kill a fly, love. I’ve not got a violent streak in my body.’
‘So, how did she die? Oh, no, you don’t have to tell me – but obviously she wasn’t ill or anything.’
‘Choked on a bloomer.’
Poll blinked.
‘Fresh from the oven. Still warm. Still moist. Swelled right up. Mary was a bit of a pig for me fresh bread, not to mince words. Always gorged down her food. She’d never listen when I told her to let the loaves cool down a bit first, just snatched at them and shoved them in her mouth. Well, she’d been doing it all our married life and gave me hell when I tried to stop her and there’d never been any problems before, so I just let her get on with it.’ Billy sighed. ‘I did everything I could. Heimlich manoeuvres and artificial respiration and kiss of life and all that. But it was no good. Even the paramedics said I did all I could – they were there really quic
k, but they said they couldn’t have done any different.’
‘Oh God.’ Poll was truly shocked by the horrific picture. ‘Oh, how really awful for you – and for poor Mary.’
‘Ah, it was. Terrible. One minute she was there large as life, mouth full of warm bloomer – the next minute, puffed up all puce, then, gone.’
They sat in silence. The birds sang happily in the sweet-scented lilac branches and the bees buzzed lazily in and out of the honeysuckle. It was a world away from sudden death and sadness.
‘The biggest mistake I ever made,’ Billy said softly, ‘was marrying her in the first place. I thought I could make her happy and I couldn’t. No one could.’
Without thinking, Poll reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘But you tried and that’s the main thing. You can’t blame yourself if she wasn’t happy. And I do know how you feel – I made the same sort of mistake. In fact I’ve spent my life making mistakes.’ She quickly snatched her hand away again.
‘I can’t believe that. Not from what I know about you.’
‘But we don’t know each other at all, do we?’ Poll put her cup and saucer down. ‘We’ve obviously got lots to find out about each other, haven’t we?’
‘Loads,’ Billy said happily. ‘But one thing you can tell me right now – do you have a handyman on tap?’
Poll shook her head. ‘No, why? Is there something wrong with your room?’
‘No!’ Billy laughed. ‘Of course not. The room’s perfect. No, it’s just that I used to do a bit of DIY, building work, that sort of thing in my spare time. I’d like to keep my hand in while I’m here. So, if you’ve got anything that needs a bit of renovating… ?’
‘Practically the whole farm,’ Poll said with feeling. ‘I could keep you busy until the next millennium. But seriously, a couple of the barns have been half-repaired because I’d sort of planned to turn them into something and didn’t, and they’re desperately in need of some TLC.’
‘Sounds right up my street,’ Billy’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve got all my tools with me and I’d certainly like to earn my keep or pay my way – and if I can take on the repair work, then that sounds like a bit of a plan, doesn’t it?’
‘A lot of a plan.’ Poll beamed. ‘Look, why don’t I show you round the farm before the others get back and Trixie arrives? I know it’s hot but we can keep in the shade, then we can chat at the same time?’
‘I’d like that.’ Billy smiled gently at her. ‘Lead on, Macduff.’
So, with the dogs snuffling round their feet, Poll and Billy wandered slowly along Hideaway’s shingle pathways and across the flower-spangled fields and surveyed the half-repaired barns. And after Billy had practically capered on the spot with delight at so much pending DIY, haltingly Poll told him about her childhood and about marrying Dennis, the world-travelling businessman, about Hideaway Farm and her dreams.
Billy sighed sympathetically when she’d finished. ‘Right pair, aren’t we? Doing all the wrong things for all the right reasons.’
Poll laughed. ‘It’s lovely to have someone who understands. I just seem to have made such silly mistakes.’
‘But not now,’ Billy insisted. ‘Now you’re doing something amazing to help others – no one can say this is silly.’
‘Dennis probably would.’ Poll laughed. ‘Mind you, I have done some really stupid things, just because I was trying too hard to please him. Do you know, when we first moved in here I painted the farmhouse’s interior walls – and ceilings – deep purple.’
‘Nice. I like purple.’
‘Me too. I was sure that once I’d hung up some watercolour landscapes and added velvet curtains and dozens of softly glowing lamps, it would make the jumble of rooms and all those passages homely and far more cosy.’
‘And?’
Poll giggled. ‘It didn’t. The all over purpleness made everything dingy, bleak and slightly menacing. And I tripped over things in the gloomy corners. And it took weeks – and cost a fortune – to have the rooms returned to their natural rustic cream. By professionals. And Dennis – when he came home from Belgium – was furious. Again.’
‘Lord,’ Billy chuckled. ‘I can see his face now. Bet it was a picture.’
‘Hmm.’ Poll nodded. ‘But not quite as bad as when he was in the States for some time, and I wanted to prove that I was independent and self-sufficient and as business-savvy as he was.’
‘What happened?’
Poll grinned. ‘Oh, I rented out the farm’s unused greenhouses to some really nice young men from Winterbrook who said they wanted to grow organic veg for their market stall. Dennis arrived back from Washington just in time to discover the drug squad confiscating all the flourishing plants and the cleverly intricate watering, lighting and heating systems, and sealing off the greenhouses with flutters of blue and white scene-of-crime tape.’
‘No way!’ Billy laughed. ‘A cannabis factory? He must have gone barmy.’
‘Oh, he did. He was incandescent. And even more so when the whole thing went to court. Luckily, I was cleared of any involvement in the wrongdoing, but it was the talk of Hazy Hassocks and all points north, south, east and west for weeks. Dennis never really got over it.’
‘And he didn’t support you? Try to understand?’
Poll shook her head. ‘Dennis never understood me. It was my fault, I suppose. I’d lived alone for so long I wasn’t much good at sharing my dreams. Mind you, after the drugs thing, I still wanted to show him that I wasn’t as useless as he thought I was, so I opened up one of the smaller barns as a farm shop.’
‘Sounds like a good idea.’ Billy nodded. ‘The townies love that sort of thing.’
‘That’s what I thought, but I soon discovered that Hideaway didn’t actually produce enough of anything quickly enough to sustain a business, so I bought eggs and potatoes and pies from Big Sava in Hazy Hassocks, and sold them as farm fresh at a loss. Just until the stuff I’d planted started growing and the chickens started laying. Just to gain a regular customer base.’
‘Right,’ Billy said slowly, ‘and –?’
Poll chuckled happily. ‘And this resulted in a visit from an officious man from Trading Standards who said some very harsh things about fraud and closed me down overnight.’
Billy laughed. ‘I’m beginning to see a pattern emerging, here. But having young George – that must have pleased your Dennis, surely?’
‘Not really. Not at all, actually. Oh, I embraced motherhood wholeheartedly, and was, surprisingly, pretty good at it. I’d never expected to have children, and George was a total delight, and even if being a first-time older mum was pretty tiring, I absolutely loved every minute of it.’
‘But not Dennis?’
‘No. Poor Dennis simply wasn’t cut out for fatherhood. He was disgusted by the mess and disruption a baby creates. He just accepted more and more far-flung posts and left me to it. And when he did come home he was horrified to find that my conversations ricocheted between plotlines from In the Night Garden and the Piplings of Nara, and if we went out and anyone asked me for my favourite piece of music, I always said it was “The Wheels on the Bus”.’
Billy roared with laughter. ‘Miserable bugger, your Dennis. Clearly couldn’t appreciate a gel with a sense of fun. You’re well shot of him, if you ask me. So, where is he now?’
‘Somewhere beginning with B with a pert, polished, degree-laden EU solicitor called Melissa.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all,’ Poll said with feeling. ‘I’m just glad he’s happy.’
‘So it’s just been you and young George and the animals for a while?’
‘Until now, yes. And before long George will be starting playgroup in Hazy Hassocks – I’m determined he won’t have my problems, and will learn the social skills so often lacking in only children – then it’ll be on to full-time schooling, so I knew I’d need something to fill my empty nest, so who better than people who needed a home?’
‘You’re
a remarkable woman,’ Billy said. ‘Truly a one-off.’
Poll knew she was blushing so she looked away. ‘Not really. Just a silly dreamer. And goodness, I hope I haven’t bored you with all this. I never meant to say so much about myself. You’re a good listener.’
‘Bored? Never on your life. I’ve spent years listening to our Mary and never saying nothing back. This has been a rare treat for me. Having a proper give-and-take conversation. You’ve got no idea how happy I am now. With a new home, and new friends and a new start in life – all thanks to you. There aren’t many who’d give people like me a second bite of the cherry so to speak.’
‘But it’s for my benefit too. I’ve always wanted a huge family – and now I’ve got one. George and Ella and Ash and, er, um, Ash and you – and Trixie will be here this afternoon.’
‘Can’t wait to meet the rest of them. Ella and Ash are already here, you say? And what’s this Trixie like? Another youngster?’
‘No, more our age I think. I’m sure you’ll get on really well. She was a cook/housekeeper – so we’ve all got something in common.’
‘Apart from being lost souls adrift on life’s lonely ocean?’ Billy chuckled as they completed the Hideaway circuit and fetched up in the garden again. ‘And all of us keen on cookery. That’s going to be fun – although you know what they says about too many cooks spoiling the broth, don’t you?’
Poll nodded. ‘If we all want to cook at the same time it could be pretty chaotic. Still, with different areas of expertise – although I’m not exactly sure what Trixie’s speciality is yet – hopefully, we shouldn’t step on one another’s toes too much.’
‘Ah.’ Billy grinned at her. ‘It’d be like being on an episode of Dewberrys’ Dinners, won’t it? All shouting and bickering and having creative tantrums like them Dreadful Dewberrys. Blimey Poll, love, I honestly can’t wait to get stuck in.’
Chapter Twelve
‘Right,’ Ella said above the whirring of the electric fan as she leaned across Poll’s massive kitchen table later that scorching afternoon, ‘now what do we need next?’
The Way to a Woman's Heart Page 9
