‘OK, Dad.’
‘Give some thought to Christmas, won’t you? We’d love to have you and Jack come and stay.’
‘I will. Bye now.’
I put the phone down, unsure why I hadn’t been able to say any of the things I’d planned.
I went back to the kitchen websites, and looked at some cheaper designs. They weren’t the same, but there was one that looked similar, and was reasonably priced, even though it would still take up a chunk of our funds. I sent the site over to Jack, and swallowed back my disappointment.
Jack’s reply came:
This one’s fine with me. Jx
*
‘Hello,’ Jack shouted out from the front door.
‘Hi, I’m in here,’ I called back.
‘Hey, love,’ he said, coming through to the kitchen and kissing me hello. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit pale.’
‘I’m fine. I ordered that kitchen, and they’re coming to install it at the end of the week.’
‘OK, that’s good.’
‘Yes, I think so, and with some shelving, and this shabby-chic dresser I found on eBay, I think it’ll look really nice.’
‘Somewhere to display your teapot collection?’ Jack teased, used to my vintage crockery obsession by now.
‘Yes.’
‘So, do I take it that this means no sign of the money from your dad yet?’
‘It’ll come through soon,’ I said. ‘There’s just a bit of a delay – he’s made the first payment, though, which is really positive.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ Jack said, looking less than certain. ‘How much was it?’
‘Just a portion of it,’ I said. ‘But we always knew we’d be doing some of this work on the cottage on a budget.’
‘How much?’ Jack insisted.
‘Four hundred pounds.’
‘Four hundred?’ Jack’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s barely anything. Did he give a reason?’
‘Things haven’t been easy for him lately,’ I said, feeling protective. ‘Apparently Mirabel’s been giving him and Caitlin a hard time.’
‘When are they ever easy for him? Amelia, I know you’re not going to like me saying it, but I think you’re too soft on him.’
*
On Friday morning the kitchen fitters arrived, a man and woman in their forties who’d driven up in a large white van that was now parked alongside Callum’s truck.
‘Just through here,’ I said, showing them the way.
‘Right,’ the woman said, sizing up the space and laying down her tools. ‘Shouldn’t take too long.’
‘Help yourselves to tea and coffee. I’ll be just across the hallway if you need anything.’
‘Thanks, we’ll be fine,’ the man said. ‘Right, Janice – let’s get everything in here and get to work.’
I went back to the downstairs bathroom. That morning I’d unscrewed the pipe and finally found what was blocking the basin drain. There was a silver locket trapped in there. Inside – remarkably untouched by the water damage that had tarnished the metal – was a portrait of a man. Presumably it belonged to Eleanor. I’d polished it up and put it on the side to return to Callum.
I filled up the steamer and got to work stripping off the wallpaper, scraping so that it peeled away. The previous day I’d ordered a skip, which had arrived that morning, and I’d made a trip over to a home supplies store in Canterbury and picked out some beautiful wallpaper – white with a small green leaf print – and some other things for the room. We might not be able to afford to replace the pale green toilet and basin at the moment, but we could definitely spruce things up – I’d bought a nice wooden cabinet and a set of three shelves to go by the window. For the curtains I’d chosen some white embroidered fabric, delicate, pretty and fine enough to let plenty of light in. Once the shower was taken out, there would be much more space in there.
I put on the radio and listened to some eighties tunes as I worked. The kitchen fitters trooped past the door carrying the old units.
‘Oh, blimmin’ heck!’ came a shout from the kitchen.
I dashed through to see what was going on, passing Dexter, who was standing in the hallway with his back arched, meowing. In the kitchen I was greeted with the vision of a fierce jet of water coming out from one of the pipes on the wall, soaking the floor and the cabinets surrounding it. The old cabinets had gone, apart from one, and the walls were bare behind them.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked, panicked.
‘Must’ve hammered through the wrong bit, I’m afraid,’ Janice said. She had one tea-towel covered hand pressed over the pipe, but it didn’t seem to have any effect in stemming the flow.
‘Here, hold this for a mo, would you?’ she said, motioning for me to take her place. ‘We’ll go and get some tools from the van.’
I grabbed a fresh tea towel from the side and took over from her, pressing it onto a large gash in the pipe. They left the room, in no apparent hurry, and my jeans and top were soon completely soaked.
Callum opened the back door. ‘I’m guessing there’s a leak?’ he said, grinning.
‘No prizes,’ I said, mustering up a smile in spite of it all.
He came over and looked at the source, then swiftly got underneath the sink and switched the water off. The pressure on my hand eased immediately, and the forceful jet of water slowed to a dribble.
‘Only a temporary fix,’ Callum said, ‘but hopefully it’ll stop you needing to swim out of here.’
*
‘God,’ Jack said, when he got home that evening and took a look at the kitchen with the floor covered in cloths and towels. ‘What on earth happened in here?’
‘It hasn’t been a great day,’ I said. ‘We don’t have any water. Or a kitchen.’
‘No water?’ I nodded. ‘How did that happen?’
‘When they were installing the new units they hammered through one of the pipes. Callum helped to stem the flow and cut off the water supply. But the place is still a swamp, as you can see.’
I’d dreamed that in a couple of days we’d have our new kitchen installed – instead, we were stuck with no running water, no flushing toilets, not even a tap to wash with.
‘Emergency plumber?’ Jack said.
‘I’ll arrange it tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I can’t face doing anything else today.’
‘What do we do?’
‘Go out for dinner?’
‘Out, out?’ Jack said.
‘Well, I’m not sure how much choice we have,’ I said. ‘Unless you know of a takeaway which will deliver here? Come on, we should get to know our neighbours. There’s that little pub, the Three Kings – only about five minutes’ drive away. We could road-test that – have a pint, and they must do a chilli con carne or something.’
‘OK,’ Jack said. ‘You got me with the chilli. I’ll drive.’
We got in the car and drove the short distance to the pub. What I was expecting, I suppose, was a countrified version of the Florence – a cosy, warm, welcoming local where we’d feel immediately at home. What we found, as we swung the door open, was a dozen pairs of eyes turning to look at us in a not altogether friendly way.
Jack took my hand and squeezed it, apparently sensing my discomfort, and together we walked over to the bar. ‘A ginger beer, please,’ I said to the barmaid, a woman in her late forties with a stern look in her eye. ‘And a pint of lager for you, Jack?’ He nodded.
The barmaid poured the drinks, the whole room still silent.
‘You new around here?’ she said, as she passed them to us.
‘We’ve just moved into Brambledown Cottage, down the road,’ Jack explained, his voice quieter than usual.
‘Oh, right. Mrs McGuire’s old place. My husband said he saw a skip outside it.’
‘Yes, we’re doing a bit of work,’ I said, picking up our drinks and giving her the money.
‘I suppose you are. They all do. Used to be cheap as chips, property round here,’ the barmaid continu
ed, ‘but now, what with all the Londoners moving in, place is starting to change.’
‘Right. Yes,’ I said awkwardly.
‘Pricing our kids out of the market, you lot are,’ the barmaid went on, her expression sour.
‘Shall we go and sit down?’ I asked Jack pointedly, picking up a menu and nodding over to a table by the window that was set safely apart from the other punters.
We made a quick move away from the bar, and I tried to ignore the stares that followed us as we sat down at our table.
‘God, don’t think we’re going to be winning any popularity contests around here, are we?’ I whispered to Jack, putting my drink down.
‘They’re probably just curious.’
‘Hmm, is that what it is. Mum said everyone was really friendly.’ I glanced over at the old men clustered around the bar, staring mournfully into their pints, wondering who she had been talking about.
‘I’m sure if you just worked a bit of your charm on them,’ Jack continued.
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Perhaps another pub would be more our crowd,’ he said. ‘And it’s only been a week.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘We’ll settle in soon enough.’
‘We will. And you’ll get a job before you know it.’
‘I hope so. I’m still crossing my fingers that a role at Woodlands Secondary will come up. The Head there did seem really positive when we met.’
‘Maybe you could do some cover lessons there in the meantime?’
‘Yes, I’ll contact her about that. I’m starting to miss teaching, the kids, spending time with Carly – even the marking, would you believe it?’
‘I can believe it. You’re a great teacher and you’re not giving it up, just taking a break, that’s all.’
‘Yes. And we’ll get used to being here, I know. The rooms will get finished, and who cares if we don’t have a local cinema.’ Images of how our life used to be came into my head. ‘Or a pub quiz, or a cafe where I can meet my friends for coffee …’
A message pinged through on my phone. I got it out of my bag and checked it.
‘From Suni,’ I said. ‘God, it’s today, isn’t it?’ I clicked on the message and read it quickly.
Baby Bella Graham, born at 2 p.m. today, actually on her due date – like Sunita she’s a punctual lady! – 7 lb 2 oz. Mother and baby both doing really well. Nico x
Tears welled up in my eyes.
‘You OK?’ Jack asked gently. I nodded, and unable to talk without sobbing, passed the phone to him.
I was incredibly happy and very sad, all at the same time.
*
‘Just got home,’ Sunita said, sounding exhausted. I’d phoned her as soon as I could the next morning.
‘Sorry, you must be knackered … I just couldn’t resist calling. Congratulations, Suni! To both of you. Me and Jack are so happy for you.’
‘Thank you. It took forever, and I won’t tell you what it felt like, but we’re so happy to meet her. She’s gorgeous, Amelia.’
‘I can’t wait to see her.’
‘Come up to London next weekend?’ she said. ‘Carly’s coming round on Saturday.’
‘I’d love to,’ I replied, without hesitation. ‘I can’t think of anything better. See you then.’
Buoyed up by hearing my friend’s voice, I felt re-energized and ready to get the kitchen sorted. I called in an emergency plumber. It was Saturday – but there was no way we’d be able to make it through the weekend without any water. The plumber baulked slightly when he saw the damage that had been done, but thankfully he was able to fix the leak in a couple of hours. We asked him for a quote on updating the pipework in both the upstairs and downstairs toilet, both of which we’d realized really needed doing.
Jack closed the door after him, then turned to me. ‘So, that’s one thing sorted.’
‘Thank God for that,’ I said. ‘Everything looks better when you can fill a kettle. Fancy a tea?’
‘I’d love one. Is there anything we can do in the kitchen before the fitters come back on Monday?’
‘There is something, yes.’ I explained about the flooring, pulling up another whole tile and showing him what lay underneath. ‘Fancy getting your hands dirty?’
‘Let’s do it,’ Jack said.
The rain poured down that afternoon, battering against the windows. But Jack and I turned up the radio to drown it out, and sustained ourselves on hot tea and flapjacks, laughing together as we ripped up the lino in the kitchen. Soon we had half a dozen black bags full of rubbish, ready for the skip. The floor was gummy with a black glue, but we could see now that it was a warm grey stone throughout.
‘I’ll take this lot out,’ Jack said, picking up one of the bags. ‘And then we can get scrubbing.’
I poured buckets of hot water and detergent and found some scourers, as Jack ferried the bin bags outside.
‘You poor thing, you look like a drowned rat,’ I said when he finally came back in. His dark hair clung in wet strands.
He shook his head gently so that the drops caught me, making me laugh, then looped his arms round me and kissed me in the middle of our messy, stripped-down kitchen.
We worked through the afternoon, scrubbing at the stones until the whole of the original floor was revealed. The stones worked perfectly with the dark red Aga Mrs McGuire had left, giving the place a really authentic country feel.
On Sunday Jack and I got up together, and after a breakfast of toast and tea in bed, polished the Aga and cleaned the windows and garden door until they shone, then finished stripping the patches of wallpaper so that the room was ready for repainting.
‘It’s going to look good, isn’t it, when it’s all finished?’ Jack said.
‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I’m just hoping that the kitchen fitters don’t mess anything else up when they arrive tomorrow.’
*
‘Delivery for Mrs Grey?’ the man said, the following Friday.
I nodded. ‘It’s a kitchen dresser, right?’
‘Yes – an antique one. Where would you like it?’
‘Over there in the kitchen. I think we’re finally ready for it.’
He returned to his van and I thought back on the past week. The kitchen fitters had returned on Monday, full of apologies for the inconvenience of the leak, and worked hard until the new cabinets and sink were installed. While Jack was at work, and Callum and his cousin raked and cut back weeds in the garden, I cleaned the new units and painted the kitchen walls a pale eggshell blue.
The fridge, a red Smeg one I’d been lusting after ever since I saw it on The Great British Bake Off, had arrived on Wednesday and now nestled against the larder door, and I’d picked up a flower-patterned rug online which, placed under our modest table and chairs, warmed up the room and the stone floor really nicely.
In the evenings, when Jack had his head in a book or was catching up on his emails, I’d been busy at the sewing machine. I’d sewn some seat cushions in complementary pastel shades for each wooden chair, and some small cotton curtains were hand-tied on to the curtain rail above the kitchen window.
The dresser I’d snapped up on eBay for just under a hundred quid was the final piece of furniture we’d been waiting for.
‘Over here,’ I said as the man entered, carrying the dresser. ‘In that alcove next to the Aga.’
He put the dresser down and together we shuffled it back. It looked even better than it had on the site, painted white and slightly distressed in places, with a small two-door cupboard at the base and three wooden shelves above.
I thanked him and gave him a tip, then got out the box I’d been longing to open since we arrived. One by one I unpacked my teapots, took off the bubble wrap and placed them on the dresser shelves. As I did so, I spotted something tucked away in a crack on the floor, where the newly exposed flagstones met the wall.
I reached down and tugged at it. The brown paper began to come loose and soon an envelope was in my hands, the bottom of it b
urnt. Sitting down at the kitchen table, I pressed the creases flat so I could read what was written on the outside – the address was almost burnt away, but the name was there: Alfie Monroe.
I opened it and caught sight of a lock of dark hair, tied with a blue ribbon. Attached to it was a note.
I had to go away for a while, Alfie. But you won’t forget about me, will you?
Yours always, Ellie
Chapter 9
Cresswell Road, London N8
Application for a place at Little Raccoons Nursery, Dalston. For Bella Graham. D/O/B 13/9/2013. Parents: Sunita, Nico.
Saturday, 21 September
The 10.05 to London Bridge on Saturday morning. While most people might be heading in the opposite direction for their weekend’s peace and relaxation, I couldn’t wait to get back to the city.
I caught sight of the Shard, the pointed glass tower – a reminder of the city that had once been home. Over the two weeks I’d been away from London, I’d found myself missing the familiar streets but more than that, my friends.
The train pulled into London Bridge and I got my things together. I stepped out into the chilly autumn air, and pulled my coat tightly around me. I bought a takeaway coffee from the platform kiosk to warm me up, then travelled overground to Dalston Junction. Sunita’s home was a short walk from there – a garden flat in a row of Victorian terraces, an oasis of calm in busy East London. She opened the door to me, and her eyes lit up instantly. ‘Amelia!’
She went to draw me into her usual warm hug, then remembered the baby in her sling that I was about to squash and kissed me on the cheek instead. ‘Keep forgetting,’ she said with a smile.
‘This must be Bella.’ I peered inside the fabric sling. Even with her slightly squished-up face, she was definitely adorable. ‘She’s gorgeous.’
‘Thanks,’ Sunita said proudly, turning so that I got a clearer view. ‘We’re pretty chuffed, I have to say. And believe me, it takes a lot to make twenty hours’ worth of labour seem worthwhile. Come in, come in, and get warm.’
Carly came out of the living room and hugged me hello. ‘You’re here!’
Amelia Grey's Fireside Dream Page 12
