by Elise Noble
Floyd himself sat behind the cash register, wearing a name badge with a smiley face on, completely at odds with his own expression. He reminded me of a basset hound—sort of droopy with doleful eyes. Both he and the two other customers tracked me as I picked up a basket and perused the shelves, hunting for snacks that didn’t require cooking.
Cheese, ham, bread, and butter, with a bit of salad thrown in to give the illusion of healthiness. Once, I’d been religious about getting my five-a-day, but lately, I’d started counting the bottles of wine Maddie kept bringing around as fruit. On the way to pay, I walked past the household products shelf, and my OCD got the better of me as I added bleach, limescale remover, antibacterial spray, cloths, oven cleaner, and more scouring pads to my basket. Floyd’s eyes widened as I struggled to the checkout, dragging a mop and bucket with my spare hand.
“Planning on doing some cleaning?” he asked.
No, I planned to make special sauce down at The Cock and Bull. “Just a little.”
“Haven’t seen you round here before.”
Was I going to get questioned at every establishment I visited? “I only moved to the village yesterday. I’m living in Eleanor Rigby’s old house.”
“Really? I didn’t see that one go on the market.”
“No, I inherited it. I’m her niece.”
His semblance of a smile faded entirely. “Well, I hope you’ll be a better customer than she was. Always went into town, she did, on the bus every morning. People like her kill small villages like this.”
I could get a bus into town? That was great news! Hopefully, I’d find a proper shopping centre there. But at the same time, I couldn’t afford to upset my new neighbours.
“I promise to shop here more often than Aunt Ellie.” That shouldn’t be difficult. “I’d like to support local shopkeepers now I’m living here.”
Floyd cheered up at that, hardly surprising when one considered his prices. They made London look cheap. No wonder Aunt Ellie had gone elsewhere—my wallet shed a tear each time he took an item out of my basket.
“Did you bring a bag?” he asked.
“No, sorry.”
He tsk-tsked under his breath. “Folk round here tend to bring their own bags. Good for the environment, it is.”
And better for his profit margin too, no doubt.
He packed my purchases into plastic carrier bags, six of them, and I began to regret my penchant for cleaning. How was I supposed to get that lot home, plus the mop and bucket? I didn’t fancy making two trips. One dose of Floyd was quite enough for today, thank you.
If only Aunt Ellie had left me a car. Not that I could afford driving lessons at that moment, but walking everywhere would get old really fast, especially when it rained. I made a mental note to check the bus timetable and pined for London. I already missed the hustle and bustle of the city, and Pawel, who’d run the corner shop near my old flat, had certainly been more cheerful than Floyd.
The honk of a horn behind me made me drop the bucket, and I was about to glare at whoever was driving the blue Ford Galaxy when the window rolled down and Warren leaned out.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to make you jump. I just thought you might want a lift with that lot.”
Ah, yes. He’d mentioned being a taxi driver. How did I politely decline without revealing quite how little money I had?
He must have read my mind. “Don’t worry—I won’t charge you. I’m driving past Lilac Cottage, anyway.”
“If you’re sure?”
He climbed out, and the brush of his hand against mine as he helped me stack my bags in the back made me stiffen. But when I looked at him, he smiled.
“You okay?”
“Absolutely fine,” I lied. The contact had felt…nice, but was I ready to contemplate spending time with another man? “I really do appreciate your help.”
“It’s no problem. Any time you need a ride, just give me a shout. It can’t be easy moving to a new place on your own.”
“It’s even harder than I thought.”
“I know the feeling. Took weeks for the other kids to speak to me when I arrived. Every night, I begged my parents to move back to London.”
“You’re from London as well?”
“Grew up in Hammersmith.”
“We must have been practically neighbours—I lived in Notting Hill until I turned eighteen. Do you still miss the city?”
“Some parts of it, but this place has grown on me. The slower pace of life, actually speaking to your neighbours. People look out for their own. It just takes a while to be accepted.”
“But how do I get accepted?”
“Best just to talk to people. Hang out in the pub and the café, maybe join the Women’s Institute or the horticultural society?”
As if I didn’t have enough on my plate. “How do I join those?”
“I could find a few phone numbers for you if you like?”
“I’d be very grateful.”
We pulled into Aunt Ellie’s driveway, and my heart soared at the sight of Dave’s van parked outside. Two more friendly faces in addition to Warren’s would help me to get through the afternoon.
“Thanks so much for the ride.”
“Do you need a hand with your bags?”
I spied Maddie and Dave heading towards us and shook my head. “I’ve already got help.”
The instant we got inside, Maddie started with the interrogation, after first reminding me that she was always right.
“I told you Warren liked you.”
“He only gave me a lift because he was passing.”
“And I saw him staring at your arse as you walked into the house.”
“Really?” Was that denial in my voice? Or hope?
“Really. So, do you like him too?”
“I’ve only met the man twice.”
“That was enough for me and Dave. Have you waxed lately? I think I saw a kit in one of the spare bedrooms.”
“Maddie, please. I’m only just getting over Edward.”
“You know what they say about falling off a horse.”
I thought about it for a second. “I’m not getting back on Edward.”
“Okay, so maybe that analogy isn’t quite right. But you could always ride a different man.”
“I’m going to make lunch now.”
Despite Maddie helping in the kitchen, we soon had a plate of sandwiches with crisps on the side, and Dave grabbed a handful before taking a seat at the kitchen table.
“What’s the plan for this afternoon, boss?” he asked.
I only had them for today, and then I’d be on my own until next weekend, five long days away. “Could you help to carry my bed upstairs? I can’t manage it on my own.”
“Sure thing. And when you’ve got the electricity turned back on, I’ll check over your wiring.”
Dammit, why couldn’t I meet a Dave? Edward may have been well off, but Dave had stayed loyal to Maddie from the moment they met, and he’d never been anything but kind to me as well.
But all too soon, he’d gone, driving Maddie back to London ready for another Monday morning. That left me alone, perched on the good end of the sofa as Aunt Ellie’s collection of china figurines glinted eerily in the flickering candlelight.
A sigh escaped. A new year, a new start, but I still wished I could back up 365 days. This time last January, I’d been bursting with joy as Edward and I headed for a minibreak in Barcelona.
But I was stuck at Lilac Cottage, and I needed to make the best of it.
Woohoo! I checked my emails as I made myself a cheese sandwich for breakfast and found I’d sold four items on eBay. A window squeegee, two necklaces, and the blanket with feet. I spent the morning packing them up as well as listing more junk while I waited on hold for the accounts department at the electricity company. Maddie had lent me her super-duper recharging battery, but my phone was almost dead.
By lunchtime, I had a promise of reconnection that afternoon, and I couldn’t help s
miling as I carried the first lot of Aunt Ellie’s tat out of the house. One small step for Lilac Cottage, one giant leap for Olivia.
In the post office, a grey-haired lady adjusted her glasses and craned her neck up to look at me. At five feet three, I’d never felt tall, but I towered a clear head above her.
“You’re the new girl. You’ve moved into Eleanor Rigby’s old house.”
News sure travelled fast. “That’s right.”
“Living with a man, are you?”
Living in sin, she meant. Her disdain when she said the word “man” was all too obvious.
“No, I’m on my own.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I heard you bought an awful lot of food yesterday.”
So, old Floyd enjoyed a bit of gossip, did he? It was tempting to fan the flames, but then I thought back to what Warren said about being accepted.
“Some friends came to help me move furniture and, er, things.”
“Things? You mean all that rubbish Mrs. Rigby kept buying?”
“You know about that?”
“Could hardly miss it, could I? The postman used to moan about her packages doing his back in every morning, and all because the woman was incapable of passing up a bargain.”
I thought back to the junk I’d been cataloguing that morning. How much of a bargain were an extendable backscratcher and a roll-up jigsaw mat?
“There is rather a lot of stuff in the house.”
“You’ll be needing a skip, you mean?”
“Actually, I’m hoping to sell most of it on eBay.”
The woman cackled so hard her false teeth came loose. She shoved them back in with one hand and held out the other to me.
“I’m Betty. I should introduce myself seeing as you’re going to be my new best customer.” Her grip was surprisingly strong.
“Olivia Porter. Did you know Mrs. Rigby well?”
“I don’t think anybody around here did. She and that no-good son of hers kept to themselves.”
A chill ran through me. A son? Aunt Ellie had a son? How had Mickey missed that? Could this son have me evicted from the house?
“Does he live around here? Her son?” The quake in my voice was all too evident.
“In a manner of speaking. He’s buried in the churchyard not too far from his mother. Good riddance, I say.”
Dead? Relief washed through me, quickly followed by guilt. “Oh. That’s, er…”
“You didn’t know him, then?”
“I barely knew Aunt Ellie. Inheriting her house was a complete surprise.”
Betty cackled again. “At least the woman finally did something good for somebody.”
First my mother, then Floyd, now Betty. Aunt Ellie hadn’t been popular, had she? What did she do to upset so many people?
A cheery “hello” came from behind me, and Betty’s attention turned to her next customer. No matter—I’d be back there soon enough.
I returned to Lilac Cottage four parcels lighter but with a weight on my mind. Would people’s feelings towards Aunt Ellie reflect on me? I needed to fit in here or life had the potential to be difficult. And speaking of difficult, I needed to get a phone line installed so I could work, then draw up a proper budget.
Over lunch, I formalised the to-do list floating around in my head on the back of a flyer for over-sixties yoga that someone had shoved under my makeshift front door. It started with “clean everything” and ended with “explore the jungle.” I’d taken a quick look around the garden behind the cottage, but the twisted tree limbs and thick mass of brambles suggested it had been untouched for years.
Reading through the list made me want to crawl into my bed, pull the duvet over me, and hide from the world, but I had to make a start. Blinking back tears, I picked up a bottle of bleach and headed for the downstairs toilet.
CHAPTER 11
THE NEXT TWO weeks passed in a blur of brown paper, string, and bubble wrap. I must have posted out a hundred parcels, but I’d still made no visible dent in what I’d taken to calling the “piles of peril” and Maddie had termed the “rooms of doom.”
On the bright side, I’d paid off the arrears on Eleanor’s utility bills, and now I had gas, electricity, and internet.
From the state of the cottage, I’d assumed Eleanor was technologically backwards, but when I’d spoken to the telecoms company, I’d found she’d had not one, but two broadband connections. Why two? Even I didn’t need two, and I relied on the internet for my job.
The two lines undoubtedly went with the two computers I’d found in the bottom cupboard of the monstrous shelving unit. A state-of-the-art laptop and a MacBook Pro, both new, both expensive. I’d tried turning them on, but I didn’t have her passwords, so I’d shoved them back where they lived until I decided what to do with them. Could I use one of them to replace my creaking Toshiba? Or should I try selling them? Trouble was, I had no clue what was on the hard drives, and I didn’t want to risk flogging any confidential data to the highest bidder.
Maddie had mentioned a computer programmer on a couple of occasions—a brother of one of her colleagues, or maybe a cousin. Would he take a look? I jotted a reminder on my calendar app to ask Maddie what she thought. She’d been due to visit last weekend, but last-minute work problems had meant I got a phone call instead.
“You know that promotion I got?”
Maddie had been made ward sister six months ago, and Edward had been miffed because I went out to celebrate with her instead of accompanying him to one of his work get-togethers.
“I’m not likely to forget. You got me drunk on cocktails right after you found out.”
She giggled. “That was an awesome night. But the honeymoon period is officially over. Do you remember that other girl who wanted the job?”
“The one who calls in sick whenever she’s got a hangover?”
“That’s her. Anyway, she’s got it in for me now. Her friend in the admin department does the rotas, and they keep putting me on horrible shifts.”
“Can’t you say something? Who’s in charge?”
“Wish I could, but I need to keep my head down at the moment.” She went silent for a few seconds. “I got reported for filling in a patient’s chart wrongly last week. I know I made a mistake, but I was so tired I just couldn’t see straight. Three guesses who reported me?”
“What a mean cow. Is there anything I can do to help?”
After the help Maddie gave me with Edward, I felt I should offer to unpick the seams on the woman’s clothes or stuff a mackerel in her sofa cushions.
“I’ll manage, but I might need to let off steam over the phone every so often.”
“Any time.”
Aw, it was almost disappointing. I’d quite enjoyed the guilty buzz I got from my revenge on Edward.
“I’ll visit you soon, I promise.”
“You’d better. I think we both need a hug.”
Even though Maddie couldn’t make it, Dave came on his own and poked around for a morning.
“I’ve changed the fuse box and rewired the light in your bedroom, but apart from that, it’s in surprisingly good nick.”
“How about the oven?”
“Old, but usable.”
Hurrah! At least I could cook properly now. At times like this, a girl needed cake.
I spent three solid afternoons cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, and gradually, the years of grime receded to reveal a serviceable work area, at least until I could afford something better. The ceiling still had a yellow hue to it, but until I repainted, it would have to stay.
And painting came somewhere near the bottom of my list. There was still too much junk around for me to get at most of the walls, and I couldn’t afford paint, anyway.
No, I needed to get my priorities straight. With the sale proceeds from one of the three hedge trimmers I’d found, none of which had been anywhere near the overgrown garden, I bought enough ingredients to make several batches of cupcakes. A morning spent baking made the house feel mor
e like a home, especially once the delicious aromas began drifting around downstairs.
And while I couldn’t deny I was looking forward to sampling the spoils, I did have an ulterior motive as I piped on frosting and added a few white chocolate curls. Once I’d packaged up the cakes neatly on paper plates, half a dozen to each, and added gift bows, I took them around to the neighbours.
Lilac Cottage lay second from the end in a row of five, although the large gardens meant they were widely spaced. Nobody answered the door at the house to the right, so I left the cakes inside the porch with a note and carried on to the other three.
At Woodbine Cottage, directly to Lilac’s left, a lady in her sixties opened the door while I was admiring the outside of her home. Built in the same style as Aunt Ellie’s place, nobody had skimped on the maintenance, and the neat exterior showed what was possible with a bit of effort. In short, it gave me something to aspire to.
“Come in, dearie. I’ve been wondering when we’d meet our new neighbour.”
“I’ve brought you some cakes.”
“Such a treasure. Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea and we can share them?”
So far, so good. Inside, Woodbine Cottage had a real country vibe going with bouquets of fresh flowers and little touches like the antique boot scraper near the front door.
The lady led me through to a rustic kitchen, complete with copper pans hanging from a rack over the central island. She certainly had all the good taste Aunt Ellie had been lacking.
“I’m Olivia, by the way,” I told her.
“And I’m Yvonne.”
Over a calming cup of camomile, she told me more about Upper Foxford. The village sounded as if it was in limbo, stuck between a time warp of retired people and the commuters gradually replacing them as they died off.
“So I’m an anomaly, then? Seeing as I plan to spend my days here rather than trekking back into the city?” Although when I thought about it, the lure of London formed an attractive option.
“Well, yes, but there’s plenty here for everyone. The Women’s Institute is having a fundraiser tonight for the local hospice. I don’t suppose I can convince you to come and bring a plate of those lovely cakes for the raffle?”
