‘Oh God, Daisy. What? What is it?’
Daisy screwed up her face and then started to laugh. ‘Apparently the third Monday in the month is speed dating at the Jolly Sailor. Now, I’m not promising you an ’andsome admiral or even a sexy submariner – and what’s better than some man who’s professionally trained to go down…’ Daisy began to laugh again as she saw the look on my face ‘… but I got us the last two places.’
‘No, absolutely not. No way. No. Non, nada. On your bike.’
‘I’ll take it that’s a “no” then?’ Daisy grinned.
‘Daisy, it’s the sort of thing we’d have done in the sixth form. In fact, we did do it in the sixth form. I ended up with Bradley Beaumont.’
‘Bad Breath Bradley?’ Daisy hesitated for a second.
‘The very same.’
‘Really?’ Daisy frowned. ‘In that case, I can understand your slight misgivings.’
‘Daisy, it’s bad enough having to come back up north, tail between my legs, without having to speed-date spotty men smelling of cheese and onion crisps.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll have moved on to eating something a little more sophisticated.’
‘I really can’t believe anybody still does speed dating anyway. That is so ten years ago.’
‘Well, yes, but I bet Tinder hasn’t got as far as Westenbury yet.’ Daisy frowned. ‘What am I going to do with this spare ticket now?’
‘Vivienne will go with you. She’ll get all dolled up and interrogate all the men as to whether they’ve seen any of the past episodes of Emergency! She’d love it: take her with you.’
*
‘So where do you want to go, Granny Madge?’ With the help of two of the home’s care workers, who’d fussed over Madge as if she were as fragile as an egg, I manoeuvred her into the front seat of Mum’s car.
‘I’m fine,’ she said crossly, waving her stick and shaking off the care workers with an impatient shrug of her shoulder. ‘Good God, they do fuss. Anyone would think I was ninety.’
Granny Madge turned and grinned. She could be very naughty when she wanted. She was still an extremely handsome woman – I’d seen photos of her in her younger days, particularly in the 1950s when she resembled Princess Grace of Monaco, silvery-blond hair swept up into a chignon, wearing Norman Hartnell ball gowns and draped in expensive furs.
‘Right, darling, take the road to the bungalow if you would.’ Madge patted my arm as we pulled out of the small car park, full, it seemed, with families on visiting duty. I wondered how many were actually being taken back home for Sunday lunch or out for a drive and resolved to ask Mum, once I returned, how often she went to pick up Madge.
‘I’m sorry I’ve not been in touch, Granny,’ I said, feeling horribly guilty. ‘I should have come up to see you when you first broke your leg.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Charlotte. That was six months ago and it’s mending very well now. Look.’ She stretched her right leg in its rather gaily-patterned (no elasticated-waisted beige polyester slacks for Madge) trouser. ‘The plaster came off weeks ago and a very nice young man comes to manhandle me a couple of times a week. I’m not sure what he is – physio or osteopath – but he’s very lovely.’ Madge turned to look at me. ‘He’s probably your age. Haven’t noticed any wedding ring.’
‘Stop matchmaking, Granny,’ I smiled at her. ‘I’ve given up men for ever. But I really am sorry I didn’t come and see you, you know.’
Madge gave a snort of derision. ‘You’re young, you were in London and in love. Why on earth would you be thinking of me? And that’s not me being martyrish, you know, darling. The last thing I was thinking about when I was your age was my great-grandmother.’ She paused and frowned. ‘To be fair, I never even knew my great-grandmother. Popped her clogs long before I was born. And the one grandmother I did know was a fearsome old biddy. Came to live with us on the farm during the war and spent her last years having us all running after her. I was glad when I joined up and got away from it all. Right, here we are, darling.’ Madge sat up in her seat as I pulled into the drive of her bungalow. ‘Now, if you’ll just come round…’ she began to take off her seatbelt ‘… help me out of the car and into the house, and then when I’ve found what I’m looking for we can be off.’
I looked at her in surprise. ‘Off? Off where? I thought this was it?’
‘No, no. You’ll see.’ She frowned. ‘This bloody leg, it’s a bit stiff today.’
I jumped out and manoeuvred Madge out of the passenger seat, handed over her stick and, taking her arm, assisted her up to the front door of the bungalow.
‘Poor old garden,’ she sighed, obviously upset at its overgrown and unkempt appearance. ‘I will get Daisy to give it the once-over.’
‘She will, you know; she’s very good. I’m sure she’d love to get stuck in. Gosh, I always forget how huge a garden you have. There must be a good couple of acres?’
‘Almost three if you include the paddock,’ Madge said proudly. ‘And I miss it so much.’ She took her front door key from the pocket of her camel trench coat. ‘Right, you wait there. I know exactly where it is; I won’t be a tick.’ She set off, limping slightly, down the hall and disappeared into her bedroom.
The bungalow was icy and smelled musty and stale. I looked round. Someone, either Mum or Nancy, presumably, had obviously been round in Madge’s absence and the sitting room was neat and tidy, the tapestry cushions standing to attention on the sofa and chairs, and when I wandered into the kitchen I saw that the work surfaces were clean and the parquet-floor polished. A weak sunshine had broken through the gloom of the last couple of days, refracting light through drops of water held static on abandoned spiders’ webs. The juniper, directly in front of the kitchen window, glistened with myriad jewels.
‘Come on, I’ve got it.’ Madge reappeared at my side.
‘Do you want a cup of tea or something while we’re here? It seems a shame to go straight back, although it is absolutely freezing in here.’ I shivered, banging my gloved hands together in order to get the circulation moving.
‘No, no, we haven’t time for that.’ Madge was impatient. ‘Anyway, the water and electricity will be off.’
My phone beeped an incoming message and my heart did the thumping thing it had become accustomed to doing ever since Friday. God, was it only two days ago?
Madge looked at me with some sympathy. ‘Your young man?’
I scrabbled in my hoody pocket. ‘No,’ I managed to smile. ‘Mum, telling me to bring you back to eat with us.’
‘That’s very kind of her. Your mother does do a lot for me.’
‘But it’s because she wants to, you know, not from any sense of duty.’ I hated the idea that Madge thought we might be feeling sorry for her and that she might consider herself a burden.
‘I know that, darling.’ She smiled and picked up her gloves and stick. ‘I’m not quite at the dribbling stage yet; I’m still able to feed myself. And I fully intend coming back here once the weather gets better.’
‘I’m sure you do. I can’t see any reason not to. OK, where next? Some shopping? Church? The garden centre?’ I waited while Madge made the bungalow secure once more and then led the way down the path. It was slippery with wet November leaves and I was terrified she’d fall. She didn’t speak, concentrating on planting her heeled and booted feet securely with each step until we reached the car.
She grinned at me as she fastened her seat belt. ‘There. You see? Fit as a flea. Right, take the Midhope road and I’ll direct you from there.’
As we drove through the town centre, thronged with what I assumed must be Christmas shoppers, Madge tutted. ‘Look at this lot. What’s the matter with them, shopping as though their life depended on it, and on a Sunday morning?’
I glanced at her. ‘You’d rather they were in church?’
‘Church? Certainly not. Why aren’t they in bed, making love, instead of spending money on tat in an overheated shopping centre?’
I laughed, slightly embarrassed at my great-grandmother’s referral to sex. ‘Maybe those without children are. Once you have kids, I would think such luxuries as Sundays in bed go right out of the window.’
‘Depends on who you’re with, darling… Now, take the road out towards Heath Green.’
I indicated, taking the road out of town and we drove in silence, both obviously lost in thoughts of other, more amatory Sunday mornings, for another ten minutes or so, until Madge suddenly sat up in her seat, peering through the windscreen. ‘Left here,’ she barked.
I braked. ‘Here? There is no turning here, Granny.’ I peered through the windscreen at the dense stretch of overgrown hawthorns weaving thickly amidst lines of woodland allowed to run wild.
‘Yes, there is. Here, here.’ Madge grabbed her stick, indicating, with several taps on her window, where I should turn.
An unmade lane, thick with mud, fallen leaves and the dendritic limbs of untamed oak and beech lay to the left and I hesitated, worried that the car would get stuck.
‘Down here?’ I asked. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Definitely.’ Madge raised her eyebrows. ‘And presumably Harriet’s daughter has been down here in the past few weeks? It’ll be fine. Go on.’ She was growing impatient and I could see tracks ahead where other vehicles had disturbed the vegetation. Cautiously, I drove down the lane, concentrating on keeping the little Corsa on track, but also aware of Madge sitting gripping the crook of her stick in total silence, at my side. She seemed to be rather agitated and I was beginning to wonder if I’d done the right thing, agreeing to this jaunt. Round a bend and then another, and there, in front of me, dozing in the very lee of the valley, was a long, low farmhouse, the glass of its windows long since gone, and what was left of its stone-tiled roof an obvious target for marauding scavengers.
‘Blimey.’ I pulled the Corsa over to a scrubby area of grassland and killed the engine. I turned to Madge. ‘You’re not going to tell me this is all yours? This is what Harriet and Liberty came to see you about yesterday?’
‘All mine, Charlotte. Every little bit of it.’ Madge stared out of her window at the ivy-clad walls of the house and, for a good minute, didn’t say another word.
‘I don’t understand, Granny,’ I said eventually. ‘I mean, I can understand you not wanting to live down here now. It’s miles from anywhere and far too big for one person to manage. But it looks as if it’s not been lived in for years.’
‘Sixty-five.’
‘Sorry?’
‘My house hasn’t been lived in for sixty-five years.’ Granny turned from staring out of the window and, instead, looked me full in the face. I was horrified to see tears in her eyes. One spilt down her lined cheek, making a furrow through her face powder, but she hurriedly wiped it away with her leather-gloved hand and smiled before attempting to open the car door.
‘Hang on,’ I said, unbuckling my seat belt. ‘I’ll come round and get you out. Do you want to get out?’
‘I want you to see the place, Charlie. I’ve not been down here for years and years. I should have realised the state it would be in after all this time.’
The late morning had morphed into one of those totally unexpected November days where a weak sun breaks through the depressing mist and drizzle and, although the skeletal trees around the house were divested of virtually all their leaves as they awaited the real blasts of winter, one could almost imagine for a moment that spring had fought winter, trouncing it before it had managed to take hold its grip.
‘I’m glad the sun’s come out,’ Madge smiled as she stood with her stick. ‘Let me show you the view.’
‘I’ve never been here before, have I?’ I asked as I followed Madge down an overgrown path, a couple of raucous blackbirds cutting across the dark canopy of the huge beech trees ahead.
‘No, absolutely not. Neither has your mother.’
I stopped, but Madge carried on, determined to get where she had planned to go, and I hurried after her. ‘What? Mum doesn’t know about this place either?’
‘No. There was never any need to tell her,’ Madge said, turning slightly to answer before stopping at the periphery of the garden. She raised her stick. ‘There now, did you ever see anything like that?’ Madge had come to a standstill, rather breathless as she leaned on a broken-down and rotting fence.
‘Careful,’ I warned. ‘That doesn’t look safe. Oh, my goodness…’ I stared down at the valley of which the house was part. ‘What a view. This house must have the best position in Midhope.’ The land below, consisting of untold acres of farmland interspersed with woodland, bridle paths and footpaths stretching as far as the eye could see, was dotted every now and then with farmhouses from whose chimneys wreathes of smoke ascended lazily in the still air. A plethora of sheep, the black and white Friesian cows that symbolised much of the Yorkshire farming round here, and one field given over to rather splendid-looking horses were proof that this valley was working. I turned to look back at the garden. The autumn had been mild and the last of a spray of rusting yellow roses, totally gone wild and choked by avaricious brambles, was still visible.
‘I think it probably does,’ Madge smiled. ‘I can’t tell you the amount of people who have approached me over the years wanting to buy it from me. If Nancy had her way, it would have gone to developers years ago.’
‘Oh, Granny Nancy knows about this place?’
Madge smiled. ‘She lived here until she was about nine.’
‘Right… but she never told Mum?’
‘She had her reasons. Look, come on, let me show you the house.’
‘I think it’s too dangerous to go in, Granny.’ The last thing I wanted was Madge slipping and falling. I felt for my mobile in my jacket pocket and gave thanks I’d remembered to charge it before I set off.
But Madge was already off, planting her stick firmly in the overgrown garden as she went, thrashing the long, wet grass, weeds and brambles in front of her as she headed for the house. The huge oak front door, although cracked and weather-beaten, had stood firm against decades of rain and wind and Madge stopped in front of it, leaning against the wall as she scrabbled in her coat pocket.
‘Right, Charlie.’ She handed me a huge key. ‘Have a go with that.’
‘Granny, I can’t even see a keyhole.’ There was no way the door would open after all this time.
‘Here, here, let me,’ Madge said impatiently. ‘It’s here, look.’
She took the key back from me and attempted to insert it into the black hole that must have once been the keyhole, almost collapsing against the door as she did so.
‘Granny, stop it. You’re going to fall. There’s no way that’s going to open. Look, you can see the door is swollen; the lock will have rusted up as well. If we walk round here, we can see through the windows. All the glass has gone.’ I took her arm, thankful that she seemed to realise how reckless she was being in her eagerness to show me the interior, and we walked slowly round to the side of the house. The remains of a stone seat, although damp and covered in a green moss, looked fairly stable and Madge sat down for a couple of minutes to get her breath back.
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she said crossly. ‘Go and look through the kitchen window. Go on. I’m fine here.’
With the help of an ancient wisteria on which I was able to get a foothold, I levered myself up and, steadying myself on the thick stone mullion, peered in through the overgrown void that had once been the kitchen window. I was relieved we’d not been able to gain access through the front door as it was very obvious the ceilings were down, piles of dusty, cracked plaster lying in heaps along the stone-flagged kitchen floor. While heavy beams, black and broken, had collapsed and were hanging dejectedly towards the floor, a wooden creel was somewhat incongruously still hanging tenaciously to what remained of the crumbling plastered ceiling.
Poor old house. It must have been beautiful when Madge lived here. No wonder Libby and her partner wanted to get their hands on it. I pulled my head bac
k out of the window and, missing my foothold on the wisteria, swore aloud as I scraped my wrist and fell to the ground.
6
I could get very little out of Madge on the journey back into Westenbury village. She’d agreed to come back home with me and stay for lunch and, although she’d also agreed that I could tell Mum and Daisy about the house and told me she was in fact seriously thinking of letting Harriet’s daughter buy it from her if Liberty was still interested, she seemed reticent to explain further as to why she’d abandoned the house and kept it such a secret all these years.
‘You’ve got another house, Granny?’ Mum, in the middle of beating batter for Yorkshire puddings, stopped mid-beat. ‘Where is it? Why’ve you never told us about it?’
Granny shrugged. ‘Long, long story, Kate, which I didn’t actually anticipate ever having to tell. It’s such an age ago now, you see. I sort of assumed, once I passed on, Nancy would sell it and nobody would be any the wiser. She’d pocket her inheritance, probably spend it all on cruises and handbags, and that would be that.’
‘My mum knows about it?’ Mum asked, wiping her hands on her pinny. ‘Lay the table, Daisy, would you? Well, she’s certainly never said anything to me. What is it? A little cottage you lived in when you were first married?’
I laughed at that. ‘Little cottage? Mum, just wait until you see it. It’s the most beautiful house – pretty derelict now – in probably the best position in all of Midhope. Honestly, Granny, it’ll be worth a small fortune now.’
‘Well, that’s what Nancy’s been banking on. She’s been badgering me to let her sell it for years.’
‘And why haven’t you let her?’ Daisy, in the process of laying the dining-room table for lunch stopped in the middle of rooting in a drawer for table mats and came back over to where Granny was holding court as we sat around the kitchen table.
‘Oh, lots of reasons, Daisy darling, but the main one being I know Nancy wouldn’t care who bought it and what they did with it, as long as she got the best price for it. I couldn’t bear to think of the house being flattened and fifty houses being built there instead.’
Coming Home To Holly Close Farm Page 5
