The Little Cottage in the Country

by Lottie Phillips

  Once Anna had had a quiet cry in the loo, she grabbed the twins’ hands and they danced and danced around their poky kitchen until Anna thought maybe she would jinx her luck by showing no remorse for her aunt’s passing. And so she solemnly toasted Aunt Flo with a Thomas the Tank Engine beaker. She knew neither Freddie nor Antonia really understood, but they affably joined in.

  Anna could see the cottage so clearly in her mind’s eye; although, she realised guiltily, she had been so caught up in her own downward spiral of barely scraping by, that she had only exchanged letters with Aunt Flo in the last two years and had last visited the cottage ten years ago, Aunt Flo preferring to come up to London to visit.

  She brought her mind back to the here and now as she scanned the small row of houses on the main high street, her heart lifting in anticipation at each house plaque she read. Anna thought she remembered the house standing gleaming and proud at the head of Trumpsey Blazey. Half an hour later, and with no one around to ask, she tried to bring up Google Maps on her phone. It was pointless as she couldn’t read maps, but she hoped for some sort of epiphany moment where all those years of orienteering the Bristol Downs at school would come into their own. Public-school education was character-building, her father had claimed when she phoned home asking – no, begging – to go to the local state comprehensive.

  ‘Dad, I hate it.’

  ‘You can’t hate it. You’ve only been there a week.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she had moaned, ‘but they sent us out into the countryside with nothing but the clothes on our backs and a map and compass.’

  ‘Weren’t you just on the Downs? I remember doing the same exercise when I was at the school.’

  ‘Yeah, but we had no food for hours. It’s clearly illegal and some form of child abuse.’

  ‘How long were you out there for?’

  ‘Two hours,’ she had wailed, thinking she might have broken him this time. ‘Then we were allowed back for tea.’

  She had been greeted by the sound of a long, dead dialling tone.

  Not dissimilar to the one she was hearing now. Not dead – but no signal, to her mind, was as good as dead. ‘Bloody hell. What is the bloody point of a mobile if you can’t be bloody mobile with it?’

  ‘Mummy, bad word,’ Antonia said.

  ‘What word?’

  ‘Buggy.’ She meant ‘bloody’.

  Anna looked back at her daughter, who always achieved an enviable look of disgust that Anna one day hoped to mimic when she was telling them off.

  ‘Sorry,’ Anna said, exhaling deeply. ‘Only I can’t find it.’

  A tap on the window made her jump and she looked outside. That Horatio person stood holding his horse’s reins and peering in at them. She rolled the window down.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Are you lost?’

  ‘Aren’t you meant to be with the hunt?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m taking Taittinger home.’

  ‘Pardon?’ she said, trying to hide her smile.

  He looked at her disbelievingly. ‘Am I speaking a foreign language?’

  She inclined her head. ‘Not far off.’

  ‘Tatty,’ he indicated the horse, ‘needs to go home.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It looks like you’re lost. Maybe I can help?’

  ‘We’ve just moved here.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I haven’t been here in over ten years and can’t remember where the house is. I inherited it from my aunt.’

  ‘What’s the name of the house?’

  ‘Primrose Cottage.’

  His look changed to what she could only read as: pity? ‘Oh.’ He tried to recover and smiled. ‘Yes, everyone’s been wondering who was moving in there.’

  ‘Well, where is it?’ She fought off the rising irritation at this man’s ability to make her feel so ridiculous. He seemed so supercilious considering she had only just met him; but, she knew, it was also because she hated to ask for help.

  He pointed towards a narrow lane leading up towards a small cottage on the hilltop. ‘There.’

  ‘Brilliant, thank you.’ As she put the car in gear, he leant in.

  ‘Look, I wonder if we might have a chat sometime soon.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps a coffee tomorrow? I…’ He stopped, as if grasping for words.

  Was he coming on to her?

  ‘Yes, maybe.’ Her mind raced with excuses. ‘If I’m not planting…’ She tried desperately to think of something country-esque and settled on vegetables. After all, she knew it wouldn’t be far off the truth: how hard could it be to grow vegetables? She would be the embodiment of The Good Life. ‘Potatoes,’ she announced triumphantly.

  He smiled knowingly. ‘Ah, that old chestnut, planting potatoes.’

  She nodded firmly and started to move off, leaving Horatio with his horse and a strange look of amusement on his face. The lane leading to the house was steep and rough.

  ‘Right, let’s go and see our new home.’ She drove along the bumpy lane to the house, about a quarter of a mile from the bridge, and at the top she stopped, her heart sinking. The downstairs windows were covered in ivy and the garden entirely overgrown with weeds. She could have cried if it weren’t for the sight of Horatio and Taittinger walking up the hill in her rear-view mirror.

  ‘Oh, why can’t he get lost?’ Horatio’s pity must have stemmed from his knowledge that the house was in need of that man off the daytime-telly home-improvement programme. Anna vaguely remembered a female presenter prancing manically from one room of tea-slurping builders, showing their bum cleavage, to another. All before said frilly presenter, along with the poor owners, who had never actually asked for a magenta-coloured kitchen, and the builders toasted their heroism and cried at their brilliance. The owners were then forced to smile at the camera and pretend they had always wanted a hot-pink kitchen with a life-size mural of their dead hamster on the main wall.

  Anna felt humiliated. Turning to Freddie and Antonia, she put on a brave face. ‘How are you guys doing?’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ they chimed in unison and a lump rose in her throat. What had she been thinking? At least, in London, she had been able to provide the most basic of care for them: warmth and food. Now, she searched the derelict cottage for any signs of homeliness. It was a shell.

  ‘Me again,’ Horatio announced, out of puff, as he and Taittinger sidled up to the car and she put the window down once more.

  ‘I can see that. If you’ve come to gloat, please don’t.’ Her eyes smarted.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be pleased.’

  She bit back her comment and leapt out of the car, indignation flaring inside her. ‘But we’ll be just fine. So, Mr Horatio Spencer-what’s-it, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me and my children alone, instead of standing their looking on like we’re some sort of entertainment, then that would be most jolly.’ Jolly? Why did she use the word ‘jolly’? Help. Horatio was already rubbing off on her.

  ‘Jolly,’ repeated Freddie from the back.

  Horatio was staring at her intently; maybe too intently. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

  ‘Listen, about that chat…’ She stared at him incredulously as once again he floundered. Who was this man? ‘I know what it feels like to be suddenly alone.’

  ‘I am not suddenly alone,’ she said, defensive. ‘I’ve been alone for years.’ Then she smiled, despite herself.

  He grinned.

  Her heart fluttered at his incredibly sexy smile but she pushed her shoulders back, more determined than ever. She was an independent woman, she said to herself, although she wasn’t entirely convinced at this point in time.

  ‘Thank you, I really appreciate your help,’ she said with sincerity. She knew she shouldn’t be so stubborn. Her mother’s voice rang around her head: ‘Anna, you are a mule, girl, a mule.’

  Despite this, and ignoring the gnawing maternal guilt eating away at her stomach as she glanced in the rear-view mirror at her children giggling at Freddie’s burping-on-demand, she said, ‘
We’ll be just fine.’

  He plucked a fountain pen from his jacket pocket and a gilt-edged card from another pocket. Horatio suddenly looked like an ad for some ridiculous shop on Bond Street where the rich bought diamond-encrusted hip flasks because they could. Writing quickly, he passed her the card and tilted his riding hat with his forefinger, bidding her farewell. ‘Goodbye… Oh, I never got your name.’

  ‘Anna,’ she said frostily.

  ‘Anna. Like Anna Karenina.’ He laughed. ‘Same fighting spirit.’

  ‘Anna Compton.’

  Anna hated coming across as the damsel in distress, but she was beginning to wonder if she had taken on too much. The cottage did not in any way match up to the idyll she had concocted in her head. She shook away her doubts. No, her aunt had left it to her and it was meant to be. She would make the most of it.

  She refocused on Horatio who, she noticed, looked vaguely amused.

  ‘Right, well, Anna Compton. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.’ He clucked at the horse and Taittinger obligingly followed his owner down the hill.

  ‘Like Anna Compton,’ she muttered. ‘Idiot and hopeless mother.’ A tear made its way down her cheek and she brushed it away. She had to be strong or, at least, find the nearest shop and buy food for the kids and Sauvignon Blanc for herself. It was the only way. She looked at her children in the back and they smiled. She wondered if it was possible to love two little people any more than she did in that moment.

  ‘OK, it’s all going to be OK.’ She smiled unconvincingly.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said Antonia.

  ‘Me too,’ said Freddie.

  ‘Me three,’ Anna joined in. ‘OK, let’s go and see our home.’

  Anna helped them out of the car and held their hands, one child either side of her, as they approached the cottage. She let go of Freddie’s hand as she retrieved the key from her pocket and slid it into the lock. As she pushed open the squeaky door, she was hit by a musty smell and dust danced in the air at the disturbance. The three of them stared wide-eyed at the sitting room. All the furniture was in place, as if Aunt Florence had just upped and left. Anna was flooded with memories of childhood summers spent here long ago and she remembered how magical Primrose Cottage had appeared then. She had always thought she and Aunt Flo were kindred spirits and knew it was through utter generosity that she had been left the small cottage and half acre of land. Why oh why, then, was she unable to get rid of the niggling doubt in the pit of her stomach? A little voice in her head was telling her she couldn’t do this; that the whole notion of idyllic country living had been barmy and out of her reach. She was washed afresh with guilt as she glanced down at her suddenly innocent and angelic-looking children: what sort of awful mother drags their children away from the safety of their – albeit incredibly poky and mold-ridden – flat, in a beaten-up Nissan Micra, with barely more than a handful of crushed, ready-salted Hula Hoops at the bottom of her tote bag? Anna Compton, that was who.

  Taking Freddie’s hand again, she led them carefully through to the kitchen. She caught sight of the cream Aga and the quarry-tile floor, now thick with dust, the shelves covered in cobwebs, feeling hope for the first time that day. Maybe they would be OK after all. It just needed a good spring-clean and the help of a handyman. She would make it cosy…

  An almighty crash came from outside and she let go of Freddie and Antonia, told them to stay put and ran to the open front door. Her car had rolled forward into an old chicken hut. She hadn’t put the sodding handbrake on, she thought, all because that stupid man had put her off.

  She felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down. Freddie gazed up at her, looked outside, and smiled. ‘Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’

  She pulled them towards her and nodded, sniffling. ‘Yep, Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’

  Anna realised then that she was still holding the card the Horatio person had given her. She read the address. It wasn’t so much an address. Well, not the kind that required a postcode. It read: Ridley Manor.

  The Chicken Hut

  Half an hour later, Anna was still staring helplessly at her car.

  ‘Mummy, the car is hurt,’ Antonia chimed in for the billionth time.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said, pushing down the lump in her throat. ‘Right, Mummy’s going to back the car out of the chicken house.’ She wondered momentarily if those words had ever been uttered before, and then bent down to the twins. ‘Listen, you two, Mummy has made a big mistake. I’m going to make a call to Diane and see if we can have a sleepover at hers tonight.’

  ‘Whoo,’ Freddie said, beaming. ‘Love sleepovers at Auntie Dee-Dee’s.’

  Diane, Anna’s best friend, lived in an even grottier flat than her own in Hammersmith, but she did have three bedrooms. Anna grabbed her mobile from her back pocket and started to make the call. It beeped twice at her and she swore under her breath.

  ‘How can there be no signal? We’re on the top of a bloody mountain.’

  ‘Mummy.’

  Anna glanced at Antonia. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘OK, um, you two…’ She turned and looked around the front room. ‘You two can watch CBeebies. OK? Mummy needs to sort a few things out.’ She was grateful she had downloaded various programmes last week onto her phone.

  Anna instructed them to sit at the base of the stairs and to keep their coats on until she had managed to warm the house up. She flicked the light switch by the front door but nothing happened. Her face crumpled and she willed herself to be strong, trying to ignore the nostalgic yearning she suddenly felt for London.

  The sound of laughter outside snapped her back to reality and, with the twins grinning happily at the sound of Postman Pat prancing around the screen, she headed outside.

  Horatio stood by the chicken shed, a plastic bag in his hand, shining a torch at her car, wedged thickly in the chicken hut.

  ‘Hi,’ Anna said. ‘Something funny?’ She arched a brow.

  His grin disappeared, but even in the dim light she could see his shoulders gently shaking. ‘I got Mary, my um… Anyway, I got her to cook you some…’ He stopped talking, offering her the bag. When she didn’t immediately take it, he ploughed on. ‘To put some food together for you. Should still be hot.’

  Anna was torn between unadulterated happiness at the thought of food (she could at least ensure her children wouldn’t starve tonight and wished there was a bottle of wine in there too), and her pride.

  She went with the latter. ‘We’ll head out to a shop in a minute or two. I just need to do a couple of things…’ Anna attempted her best haughty look, aiming for something reminiscent of Keira Knightley in Pride and Prejudice.

  ‘Like remove your car from the chicken hut?’ he suggested. She scowled. ‘Well, you have to admit it’s quite funny that I’ve only been gone for an hour and, in that time, you’ve managed to demolish a chicken hut and, by the looks of it, the front end of your car has seen better days.’

  ‘Please go away, Mr…’ She stopped, tried to remember which of his names had been his surname. ‘We’ll be leaving in the morning, so I thank you for your, um, help today but we won’t be needing your services any more.’ She realised now she had taken the Austen-scripting too far and was grateful it was now almost entirely dark and he couldn’t see her blush. It was funny, the whole situation was hilarious, and if she had been back in London, in the warmth, with fed, happy children, she would have laughed uproariously. Only she wasn’t. Right now, she wanted the ground to swallow her whole, because what kind of woman managed to send a car through the back end of a chicken hut.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘take the food. Stop being so proud. At least, make sure your children have something to eat tonight. Nothing’s open around here now. The nearest Waitrose is forty minutes away in Cirencester and it’ll be shut now.’ He pushed the food in her direction again. ‘I’ll see if I can get your car out of here.’

  ‘I’m sure I can do it.’

  ‘I’m sure you can, but why don’t you go and get the ch
ildren fed?’

  As if on cue, she heard their voices inside. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’

  She remembered the lights. Oh crumbs, they were sitting in the dark. ‘The lights, they don’t work.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Horatio asked.

  Clenching her fists, she thought she was pretty sure she could send something else through the chicken hut, in the form of a grown man. ‘No, I’m not sure, as we didn’t have electricity in London. I’m a dab hand with candles, though.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I’m sure, I tried the light switch.’

  ‘OK, come on then,’ he said, pointedly ignoring her comment and shining the torch towards the house as he walked up the path. ‘Mind how you step.’

  ‘Hello, you two,’ he said to the twins standing at the front door.

  ‘Mummy, I hate the dark,’ Antonia said.

  ‘Me too,’ Freddie said. ‘I hate, hate the dark.’

  ‘Since when have you hated the dark, Freddie?’ Anna said, thinking back to the number of times she had asked Freddie not to turn all the lights out in the flat, despite his protests that ninjas worked best at night.

  ‘Now. Cos you brung us to here.’

  Anna went to correct his grammar but, aware of Horatio standing feet from them, fumbling around at the back of the room, she told Freddie he should view it as an adventure, and he jumped up, ninja-like, on cue. Seconds later, the front room was flooded with light.

  ‘There you are,’ Horatio said, standing from a kneeling position by the cupboard. ‘Electricity was off.’

  ‘Oh.’ Anna avoided his eye. ‘Thanks.’

  He smiled. ‘Have you got plates? If not, Mary put some plastic picnic plates and so on in there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again, imagining Mary’s perfectly manicured hands daintily holding a glass of sherry as she asked him to pop round to ‘the poor’ with yesterday’s leftovers.

  ‘You serve up and I’ll get the car out.’ He nodded, breaking the awkward tension that had descended on the room.

  She knew she should say more but she was tired and…