Spring Blossoms at Mill Grange

by Jenny Kane

  Or will it?

  The dinosaur roaring had stopped next door. Helen wondered if Dylan was asleep, or if he and Tom were lying in their separate beds reading their own books. She hadn’t heard the door open, so she knew Tom was still there.

  Trying not to picture Tom in her double bed in Bath, Helen suddenly sat upright.

  In Bath.

  ‘I thought, in Bath, not at home.’ She shut her eyes again and forced herself to move her mind from room to room of her home in the beautiful Georgian city.

  The kitchen was a muddle, but a muddle she liked. Messy but hygienic. Small, with only three cupboards and a larder, it had a scrubbed oak table in one corner. A poor cousin to the one in Mill Grange’s kitchen, but every bit as loved. Helen wasn’t sure how much paperwork, books, bills, unopened letters and academic papers she’d left strewn on it when, on September 8th last year, she’d simply got up and decided that she wasn’t going to work that day, instead heading for the wilds of Exmoor to visit her former colleague and good friend, Thea Thomas, and the fortlet she thought she’d found.

  Apart from quick trip to grab a rucksack of clothes and to throw away the milk in the fridge, she hadn’t been back since.

  Her mind drifted on, seeing the hundreds of books that lined the library-like shelves in her living room, and on to the landslide of DVD’s on the floor by the out-of-date television and the forever dusty CD player. The squashed leather sofa and the wing backed armchair that had once belonged to her grandfather.

  Do I miss any of that?

  She looked at the pile of novels sat on the chair that doubled as her bedside table. Taken from the rows of bookshelves that lined the corridors of Mill Grange’s second floor, she was never without reading material, and although there was a television room, Helen hadn’t watched it since the last episode of Landscape Treasures had aired at Christmas.

  The notion that perhaps Bath wouldn’t feel like home when she returned gnawed at her.

  If I go back, will I have time to write the book?

  How much will have changed at the Baths?

  Will whoever’s been doing my job, want me back? Will they resent me sweeping back in and taking over?

  Helen knew there was an email in her inbox from the museum board; she suspected it was intended to bring her up to date on developments there. Although it was the weekend, and she wasn’t technically at work, it was unusual for her not to respond to an email straight away. She knew the board would have noticed that too.

  Her stomach rumbled. Not in the mood to be sociable when she’d got home from her walk, Helen had snuck up to her room, and not ventured down for dinner. But it was now eight o’clock, and she knew if she didn’t get some food, she wouldn’t sleep properly.

  Glad to be distracted, albeit only briefly, from her struggle to decide whether to stay at Mill Grange or not, Helen was just admitting to herself that she did miss takeaways, when there was a knock at her door.

  Startled by the sound after the silence of her thoughts, she called, ‘It’s open.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Helen hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath until Tom’s head peeped around the door.

  ‘Is Dylan asleep?’

  ‘Sound. Lots of fresh air and too many scones.’

  Not wanting to dwell on her absence from the scone consumption, Helen asked, ‘Did you go for a walk?’

  ‘The Tarr Steps. It’s fast becoming one of Dylan’s favourite places.’

  Having convinced herself that it was perfectly reasonable for Tom to spend time with Sue and Dylan, she hadn’t expected to feel so winded when he told her that he’d taken his ex to the very place they’d become a couple. Her lips opened to say something about Dylan having fun on the bridge, but all that came out was a quiet, ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tom frowned. ‘I’d thought we might find you there. When we got back to the house after being at Sybil’s, Mabel said she’d seen you head off with your walking rucksack.’

  ‘I went to Landacre Bridge.’

  ‘Right.’ Tom shut the door behind him, and hesitated, not sure if he should cross the room to sit next to Helen or not. ‘Nice spot.’

  She picked up her notebook and waved it in his direction. ‘I was planning for the book.’

  ‘Good idea. How’s it going?’ Tom rested his back against the closed door, the three strides between them feeling miles wide.

  ‘I’m getting there. The chapter headings are sorted and I’ve sketched a few rough plans of the site to develop on the computer for their graphics team to adapt.’

  ‘You’re going to write it then?’

  ‘Yes.’ Helen found she meant it as she held the book to her chest. ‘That’s the one decision I have managed today.’

  ‘And what’s the other you should have made?’ Tom felt uneasy as he wondered what else Helen had been planning.

  ‘Oh, nothing really.’ Cursing herself for her slip of the tongue, Helen asked, ‘Did Sue like the Tarr Steps?’

  ‘Sue?’ Tom looked puzzled. ‘I wouldn’t take Sue there. That’s our place. I told you, I thought Dylan and I might find you there.’

  ‘Just you two?’ Helen’s face flushed. ‘I assumed…’

  Crossing the room as her words trailed off, Tom sat next to her on the bed and grabbed both her palms. ‘That Sue and I would spend quality time together after coffee?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Sybil’s scones are good, but as yet I don’t think they have miracle working qualities, and it would take that before I spent longer with Sue than I need to.’ Tom smiled. ‘I know I’m rubbish with women, but even I’m not so low as to take my ex to the place where I first kissed my new partner!’

  ‘Sorry, Tom,’ Helen sighed, ‘you looked so happy when you headed off to the café. Like a proper family, and what with Dylan… I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.’

  ‘What with Dylan what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Come on. Give.’

  ‘Okay, but it’s me being silly, and I’ve since given myself a firm talking to about it so it isn’t important. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I felt as if Dylan had forgotten about me. You’d just told me he was keen for me to come for scones, and then, minutes later, I’d been replaced at the café by his mother.’

  Tom groaned. ‘He’s only five, he’d never…’

  ‘I know.’ Helen placed a hand on his knee. ‘As I said, I worked it all out as I walked. You might be rubbish with women, but I’m so inexperienced with men that I haven’t even had time to work out if I’m rubbish or not.’

  Tom shifted uncomfortably. ‘These beds are ridiculously small. Can you budge up a bit?’

  ‘Only if one buttock hangs off the bed.’

  ‘How about you budge up, and we each hang one buttock off each side of the bed?’

  ‘As romantic gestures goes, that’s a good ’un.’ Feeling the tension that had built between them disperse, Helen tapped the space next to her on the bed.

  Tom moved with more speed than dignity, his head resting next to Helen’s.

  ‘Good job you’re so slim.’ Helen kept her eyes focused on the window across the room. If she looked at Tom now, she wasn’t sure she could stop what might happen next.

  ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t have sacrificed buttock space for me if I was bigger?’

  Helen laughed, but rather than reply she asked how the meeting with Sue went.

  ‘Apart from Sue offending Sybil, Tina and Mabel, it was a huge hit.’

  ‘She didn’t?’ Helen turned to face him. ‘How?’

  ‘Do you mind if I tell you later?’ Tom ran a hand over Helen’s cheek, before taking a single red ringlet, pulled it gently and watched it bounce back into place. ‘You have the most erotic hair in the world.’

  ‘Do I?’ Rather breathless, Helen found herself picturing her double bed in Bath again as Tom continued to run his fingertips through her curls.


  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘I’ve never thought of my hair as sexy before.’

  Tom, suddenly hoarse, whispered, ‘You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all—’

  He placed a finger over her lips and shook his head. ‘No. I’ve never said that before, not to anyone. I promise.’

  Tears filmed over Helen’s eyes as she whispered, ‘Stay.’

  Twenty-one

  Sunday March 29th

  A warm smile lit Helen’s face as she read the note on the chair next to her bed.

  I haven’t ‘gone’ – but I didn’t want Dylan to wake up and wonder where I was. Come for a walk with us today? PTO.

  Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Helen raised herself up on one elbow as she turned the small piece of paper over.

  I think I love you – no – I know I do. Hope that’s OK. xx

  Sitting up properly, Helen clutched the note to her chest, before reading it again, just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it.

  ‘He loves me.’

  She spoke the words shyly. They felt good on her tongue.

  The sun shone through the ill-fitting curtains as Helen placed the note back on the table. She felt different.

  Lifting her hands up before her, she turned them over, looking at them properly for the first time in years. Far from smooth, they were archaeologists’ hands, with blister marks, permanent calluses and rough skin. The nails were blunt and unpainted.

  Helen found herself blushing like a self-conscious teenager as she thought about where those hands had been last night. Then, she found herself lifting the blankets up from the bed, and peering down at the length of her body.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done more than glance at her naked form. Even in a shower or bath, Helen simply ignored herself, concentrating instead on the act of getting clean. Her lumps, bumps, curves and wobbly bits were, in her mind, not dissimilar to a cut through diagram of the Himalayas. Tom had disagreed.

  Helen’s body glowed as she remembered exactly how he’d disagreed, and his delight at exploration. He’d made it very clear when she’d told him to prepare himself for disappointment, that he’d been to the Himalayas, and she was even more beautiful than they were.

  She was surprised she’d slept. It seemed impossible that she hadn’t lain awake in a mist of heady bliss. Helen blushed again as she lowered the blankets. They’d been energetic to say the least. It was no wonder she’d slept.

  A deep growl of her belly reminded Helen she hadn’t eaten for a long time. Leaping out of bed, she gathered the clothes Tom had disposed of with lightning speed, hugging each one to herself, while tutting at herself for being so sentimental.

  ‘A shower, clean clothes, food and then a walk with my two favourite men.’

  Helen picked the note back up. By the time she’d dressed, she’d read it eight times.

  *

  The ambulance car had been kitted out with so many pills and potions that Mabel felt rather daunted as she led Bert into their cottage. A feeling that increased as the paramedic issued a list of instructions a mile long.

  It wasn’t until the paramedic had gone that Bert rested his head back on the cushions and exhaled in relief. Patting the place next to him for Mabel to sit down, he cupped her hand in his.

  ‘Now before you start, listen to me, my girl. I can tell just by looking at you that you’re worn out. And it’s no wonder, visiting me every day, working at the manor and then keeping that lot going.’ He pointed to a pile of open files on the dining room table, which made up all the committees and clubs that Mabel ran or took minutes for.

  ‘You’d rather I’d sat here pining for you? Well, let me tell you, Bert Hastings, it’s not easy sitting here, day after day, scared stiff that…’

  Mabel broke off. Weeks of emotion and fear catching up with her as she sobbed, ‘I was so looking forward to you coming home, and now you’re here, I just want to sleep.’

  ‘There, there lass.’ Bert wiped a tear from her face. ‘I’ve been desperate to get home too. I’m also shattered.’

  Mabel gave a weak smile. ‘A doze on the sofa then?’

  ‘A doze on the sofa with my favourite girl.’

  Nestling her head on Bert’s shoulder, Mabel had just got comfortable, when she sat bolt upright. ‘Sybil sent over fresh scones. I forgot. They were a surprise for you, do you want—’

  ‘Later.’ Bert stifled a cough, the effort making him yawn. ‘Sybil’s scones are always worth waiting for.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mabel’s head was only just back on his shoulder when she jolted up again. ‘But what if we sleep through when you next pills are due and—’

  ‘Whoa, there.’ Bert shifted within his cocoon of cushions so he met his anxious wife’s eyes. ‘I’m not due more medicine until four.’

  ‘Oh yes, right. Of course.’ Mabel checked her watch, it was eleven o’clock. She settled back against Bert, only to sit back up for a third time. ‘But Tina and Sam said they’d pop over. If they come and we don’t hear them, they’ll worry.’

  ‘No they won’t.’ Bert tapped his shoulder, and Mabel rested back against him. ‘They’ll assume we’re having a nap and come back later or tomorrow.’

  He was about to tell her he was glad she was still the same overactive Mabel he’d left behind when he’d gone into hospital, but she was already fast asleep. Soft, hedgehog-like snores, which she’d later claim she hadn’t made, ricocheted around the living room.

  *

  ‘Looking forward to heading back to Mill Grange for Easter, Thea?’

  Ajay passed her a glass of white wine as they sat in the sunshine in The Carthorse’s beer garden.

  ‘Very much. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but it feels ages.’

  ‘Time not flying while you’re having fun then?’ Andy swung his legs over the wooden bench to sit down, as he joined Thea, Shaun and Ajay for a pub lunch.

  ‘I’m having a great time dig wise, but there’s only so long a girl can go without one of Sybil’s scones.’

  ‘Or how long a boy can go without Mabel’s bacon…’

  ‘Sandwiches,’ his friends chorused as Shaun poked at his inferior BLT.

  He laughed. ‘I’ve mentioned I like them then?’

  ‘Having tasted both of those culinary delights, I can understand the hurry to get back.’ Andy nodded into his pint.

  ‘I think work might be waiting for me when I get back.’ Thea gestured to her phone. ‘A heap of texts arrived this morning from Helen.’

  ‘Where were you standing when they arrived?’ Ajay asked eagerly, before changing his mind. ‘Actually, don’t tell me. If I know, I’ll feel obliged to go there, and I’m quite enjoying not being bombarded with notifications.’

  ‘Very wise.’ Thea turned to Shaun. ‘Helen’s been asked to write a book about the fortlet.’

  ‘That’s great. Will she do it?’ Thea held her phone up so Shaun could read the texts from Helen. ‘Ah, so she’s still thinking it over, but this was sent a few days back.’

  ‘I know. I thought I’d take a walk and get enough signal to phone.’

  ‘Or you could get really modern, and use the call box in the hall.’ Andy waved a hand towards the pub.

  ‘I hadn’t realised there was one. Whereabouts is it?’

  ‘Hidden right at the far end, opposite the gent’s loo. It’s more or less underneath the coat racks, so it’s no wonder you didn’t know it was there.’

  Taking a sip of her wine, Thea got to her feet. ‘Thanks, Andy, I’ll go now. That way, I’ll miss Shaun bemoaning the inferior taste of bacon and bread combinations outside of the Upwich area.’

  *

  If it hadn’t been for the sight of two legs sticking out under a mound of coats, Thea wouldn’t have seen where the public phone was.

  Shielded from view by – what she assumed – were the staff’s jackets, all she could see of the person currently engaged in a muted conversation at the o
ther end of the narrow corridor, was a pair of blue jeans. The way they were positioned suggested that their owner was resting with his back against the wall as he spoke down the line.

  Not surprised to find the phone in use, when the signal for mobiles was so unreliable, Thea realised she might need change or a phone card to make the call, and headed to the bar to enquire how the phone was paid for.

  Five minutes later, a fully charged phone card to hand, Thea returned to see the same pair of legs in situ. Not sure if she should wait nearer, so the caller knew someone was queuing for the phone, or stay where she was, so they could finish their call in private, Thea hovered in the passageway until she had to move to let someone by to reach the toilets.

  Moving forwards, so she wouldn’t be constantly in the way of the cloakrooms, Thea came to rest on the other side of the coat rack, close enough to hear the conversation, but shielded from the caller by the coats. Wondering what advice she could give Helen, if any, she suddenly recognised the shoes at the same time as she registered who the voice belonged to.

  Julian was talking as if afraid of being overheard. There was definitely something covert about his tone. Thea had the strangest notion that if the coats hadn’t been there to hide him, he’d have been wearing a disguise. Finding herself picturing the producer in a beige overcoat and trilby, she tried not to listen, but now she knew who was speaking, Thea found her curiosity getting the better of her.

  Anyway, how I’m supposed to avoid hearing him?

  ‘… so I manoeuvred the right person into doing the interview… Yes, it worked a treat. The production team were impressed… Absolutely, a private word in the right ear and all that…’

  Thea winced as Julian gave a muted laugh of self-congratulation before carrying on his conversation.

  ‘… you could say they’ll soon be seen in action on a wider stage.’