The Secret of Orchard Cottage: The feel-good number one bestseller
The Secret of Orchard Cottage: The feel-good number one bestseller
Alex Brown
Warm and wise bestselling fiction from the hugely popular Alex Brown, the author of The Great Christmas Knit Off and The Great Village Show.April Wilson is wondering what to do next – her life has been turned upside down after the loss of her husband so she’s hoping to piece herself together again with a visit to her elderly great aunt, Edith. Arriving in the rural idyll of Tindledale, she’s dismayed to find Edith’s cottage and the orchards surrounding it in a sorry state of disrepair. Edith seems to have lost interest completely, instead she’s become desperate to find out what happened to her sister, Winnie, who disappeared during WWII.April gets to work immediately, discovering that the orchard still delivers a bumper crop each year, and with the help of some of the villagers – including Matt, the enigmatic Farrier – begins to unravel the mystery of the missing Winnie. Slowly,April can feel things coming to life again – but can Orchard Cottage work its magic on her too?
Copyright (#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016
Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2016
Cover design by Alexandra Allden © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover images © Ivary / Getty Images (orchard scene); Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com) (all other images).
Alexandra Brown asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007597420
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780007597444
Version 2017-10-20
Dedication (#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
For all the ordinary women everywhere,
doing extraordinary things
‘Treasure this book always, for it will stand the test of time’
– Winnie Lovell, 1941
Table of Contents
Cover (#u1796a1da-2665-5179-9ac6-b6c79110bc1d)
Title Page (#u064e953f-50d2-5540-86e7-4a58ef0a0f9d)
Copyright (#u0419ec32-671e-5f08-8465-d8359fdb41f9)
Dedication (#u2c2453d0-47a8-57e3-b190-c83abac69f78)
Epigraph (#u3b3c3196-9eb0-575c-aaf5-07288a51e368)
Prologue (#ua6d1ef14-4c2d-5039-ae93-3010bb36bc25)
Chapter 1 (#udd09e0d4-758b-5405-af01-4e371110e2a1)
Chapter 2 (#u9871934f-91a9-524d-a50a-c24647bb6e76)
Chapter 3 (#u479bd070-a79d-5b0e-bec1-d250d4c620b7)
Chapter 4 (#ude9ef9b9-0dc1-5ea6-9517-9d5ec7761639)
Chapter 5 (#ubadbf3f4-3742-5f83-b0bf-8abe692d26c6)
Chapter 6 (#u8fd13730-0ac7-50d3-8187-39b6460fdb83)
Chapter 7 (#u10622a99-39fb-5b27-b8b9-60d1ec3efeb3)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Alex Brown (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Tindledale, June 1941 …
As the early morning sun sauntered over the apple trees in the orchard next to the cottage, bathing her bedroom in strands of glorious spun gold, Winnie Lovell tucked the last letter into an envelope and stowed it inside her handbag along with the others for posting later. Then, after replacing the lid of her fountain pen, she crouched down and swept the rug aside to lift a wonky floorboard to the left of the wardrobe and reached in between the rafters to retrieve an old wooden apple box containing her diaries dating back to when she was a little girl. Winnie placed the pen inside the box and took out the pressed purple violet one last time and held it up to her cheek, allowing herself a brief moment of contemplation before hurriedly secreting it all away back under the floor. She stood up and straightened her stockings in silence, reminding herself that this wasn’t the time for sentiment. No, absolutely not. Her mind was made up. Resolute. And there really was no going back now.
Winnie buttoned up her new khaki uniform jacket and straightened the collar, proud to be a part of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, or FANY as everyone said, and cast one last glance around the rose-print-papered bedroom in the eaves of the honey-stoned cottage that had been her home for all of her twenty years. She really would miss this old place, Orchard Cottage, a special place on the outskirts of Tindledale, the village where she had grown up. With its tiny school with the clock tower on the roof and the cobbled High Street, flanked either side with black timber-framed, white wattle-walled shops with mullioned windows, surrounded by lush, undulating fields full of hops, hay, lambs, cows, strawberries, buttercups and delicate pink cherry blossom in springtime that swirled all around like confetti in a breeze. All the familiarity, and there was a certain beauty, comfort even in the predictable, seasonal routine of a life lived in a rural village. But constraint too, and as much as she loved Tindledale, Winnie knew there was a whole new world waiting for her beyond the bus stop in the village square. Adventure. That’s what this was. She had waited her whole life, or so it seemed, for this very moment. She had already fulfilled her duties in the Women’s Land Army, teaching the city girls how to work the land. Luckily the base hadn’t been that far away so she had been able to hop on the bus home when she had leave, but this time it was different. As soon as the next part of her training was completed, she would go into the field and then who knew when she might next come home? But Winnie was determined to give it her all. Do her bit for the war effort. Her patriotic duty. And her parents had been so proud when Bill the postman had cycled up to the apple barn door to deliver the letter requesting her to report to the special FANY training centre located over two hundred miles away. Before war had been declared, the furthest Winnie had been was to Market Briar, the market town on the other side of the valley, and she had certainly never travelled on a train, which reminded her – she looked at the alarm clock on the cabinet beside the bed – it really wouldn’t do to be late! The next bus, on the hour every hour, left the village square at ten sharpish, and it was already nearly nine o’clock.
Winnie folded her new hand-knitted cardy into her suitcase – made especially for today with some wool unravelled from an old blanket. Make do and mend! That’s what all the women in the village were chatting about, along with ‘beauty is your duty’. So she checked her hair and make-up then applied a little more lipstick in Scarlet Pimpernel – having swapped a stick of liquorice and a book for a selection of tester sticks and a block of mascara with a couple of younger girls in the village. (Hettie and Marigold; one had an aunt who worked on the Yardley make-up counter in a department store.) She then gathered up her hat, gloves, handbag, suitcase and, lastly, the ugly gas mask in its square cardboard box with a length of string for a handle, and closed the bedroom door behind her. Winnie made her way down the rickety old staircase and into the kitchen where the homely aroma of a traditional fry-up greeted her.
‘Eggs and bacon for you, Winifred?’ her mother Delphine asked, with the hint of a French accent, lifting the edge of her apron to wipe her hands as Winnie slipped into the chair next to Edith, whose cheeks were flushed red like a pair of plum tomatoes from having been outside in the fields since the crack of dawn. As little sisters went, Edith – or Edie, as she liked to be called – wasn’t too bad. And Edie loved working in the orchards, crating up the apples and pears and tending to the horses, which was just as well now that it all came down to their father, George, and their neighbour, seventy-year-old Albert from three fields over, to keep things going, since both of their brothers had left the farm at the start of the war, having enlisted right away. Which was even more reason why Winnie was determined to do her bit. Yes, the Land Army had been fun, hard work too, but she was quite used to that, having grown up helping her father in the orchards. But now she wanted to do more; properly support the war effort like her brothers and saw no reason not to just because she was a woman. So after using every shilling she had, and with some help from her parents, she had managed to buy her uniform and was now ready to show what she could really do to help stop the Nazis in their tracks.
‘Ooh, yes please Mum,’ Winnie said, knowing better than to refuse, given that the rationing of bacon had come into force last year. Nerves and anticipation had seen to her appetite, but Winnie knew that her mother had saved the rashers, cut as generously as could be afforded during war time by Bessie up in Cooper’s the butchers’ shop in the High Street, especially for her farewell breakfast, just as she had for each of her brothers. So it would be churlish to turn it down and risk the wrath of her father who was a stickler for citing that old adage of ‘waste not want not’ and gratitude really was next to godliness, as far as he was concerned.
Winnie poured herself some tea from the knitted tea-cosied pot before smoothing a starched white linen napkin into her lap – her mother always liked to look her best and to keep an immaculate home too, and certainly saw ‘no reason to let standards slip just because Hitler has seen fit to turn our lives upside down’, as she frequently reminded them all. Their father begged to differ, and said that it was Delphine’s chic French ancestry that made her a perfect petal amidst the ‘ruddy-cheeked horrors’ that he had grown up with toiling the fields surrounding Tindledale. Talking of which, both parts of the kitchen stable back door burst open and George appeared, stamping the mud from his boots on to the mat before pulling Delphine towards him for a hearty morning kiss.
‘Ew! Enough of that,’ Delphine shooed him away, pretending to chastise. ‘You’ll make my face all mucky and that really won’t do when we venture up to the village square later on.’
‘Don’t worry about that – handsome woman like you. You’re the best looker in Tindledale!’ George puffed out his chest as he reluctantly let go of his wife. Delphine patted her neatly prepared pin curls back into place.
‘You always were a charmer, George.’ Delphine pecked his cheek, before bringing proceedings back to the importance of the day. ‘Now, there’s a fresh shirt hanging in the wardrobe next to your good suit. But first …’ Delphine delivered two perfectly poached eggs on to a plate, ‘eat your breakfast up!’ And she smiled contentedly. Delphine was in her element and at her happiest when feeding and fussing over her family.
‘Right you are,’ George replied, doing as he was told. He sat at the kitchen table and popped the filmy yolk of an egg with the corner of a hunk of home-baked crusty bread. ‘Want to look my best too for waving off our Winnie,’ he added, winking at his eldest daughter. ‘It’s been smashing having you home again for a bit love, and so grown up you are now.’
Winnie smiled; she wasn’t the naïve girl she used to be. Not like she was when she first went off to the Land Army at the start of the war. But so much had changed since then … courting for starters, that had come as a pleasant surprise. And quite unexpected too. She smiled at the memory of that morning when she first met him – she’d just finished showing the girls how to crate the apples correctly, when someone from the nearby army base at Market Briar had requested a volunteer who could drive.
‘And it’s not every day one of our own gets chosen for driving duties,’ George went on. ‘For the top brass no less. I knew my showing you how to drive would come in handy one day.’ He punctuated the air with the prongs of his fork. ‘You didn’t even know how to switch on the apple lorry’s engine before I showed you.’ He took another big bite of his bread.
‘Daaad.’ Winnie gave him a pretend exasperated look. ‘It’s hardly the same – an open-back truck crammed full of apples bobbing all over the place every time the tyres hit a pothole. No, the “top brass”, as you call them, enjoy a very smooth ride in a proper car, thank you very much.’ Winnie took a sip of her tea and pondered again on her good fortune in having spent the last couple of months in and out of the army base where she had been noticed, something that never would have happened if she’d stayed milking cows and digging for victory in the fields with the other girls.
‘You’ll be driving ambulances now though!’ Edie blithely chipped in, before turning her attentions back to the infinitely more interesting dollop of homemade blackberry jam that she had just let plop from a knife on to her toast. Winnie turned to study her little sister, half wishing that she still possessed Edie’s innocent view of the world. But there was a war on, and already Winnie had seen first hand the real effect it was having on the country. What her parents didn’t know was that one of Winnie’s driving duties had taken her to Brighton – she hadn’t wanted to alarm them with accounts of what she saw there, preferring they enjoy their still near-idyllic lives out here in the countryside – but the devastation that the German bomb had caused when it landed on the cinema in Kemp Town would stay with Winnie for always, especially the four children amongst the fifty-five people who were killed.
‘And doesn’t she look a picture in her uniform?’ Delphine joined in, smoothing a proud hand over Winnie’s right shoulder with a formidable look on her face, as if warning the tiniest speck of fluff to so much as dare go near her daughter’s immaculate jacket.
‘Indeed she does,’ George nodded, equally proud.
*
As the emerald green and cream split-window Bedford bus chugged away from the village square, Edie dashed after it, along with several other girls from the village, all waving white cotton hankies with stoic smiles fixed firmly in place as they treasured last glimpses, potentially, of their soldier sweethearts. But it was different for Edie: she loved her big sister, of course she did, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a tiny bit gleeful that Winnie had signed up to join the FANY, driving ambulances and doing first aid, and it wasn’t as if she was going somewhere really dangerous like her brothers. No, Winnie would be having the time of her life at the training centre, and it wasn’t for ever. Winnie would be back before they knew it, which was why Edie didn’t feel quite so bad for having already boxed up all her belongings ready to move into her big sister’s bedroom for the duration. After their parents’ room, which was set at the front of the cottage overlooking the single-track lane, Winnie’s attic bedroom, with its very own pastel-pink vanity unit and dual-aspect windows with views of the surrounding fields, really was the perfect place to be in Orchard Cottage.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Present day …
In the bedroom of a 1930s bungalow in Basingstoke, April Wilson slipped off her pink hand-knitted cardy and placed it back on the padded hanger before putting it away inside the wardrobe – managing, as she had become accustomed to doing, to avoid making eye contact with her late husband’s shirts still hanging neatly on his half of the hanging rail.
Graham had died eighteen months ago. Motor neurone disease. Ten years her senior, but with a zest for life befitting a far younger man, Gray had been the proverbial life and soul of the party until the cruel disease had taken hold, and then when his breathing muscles had degenerated so severely, he had slipped away one night in his sleep. And April would always be grateful for that. Having given up her nursing career to care for Gray, it had been his wish right from the start, on that sad, drizzly autumn day in the consultant’s room at the hospital when the diagnosis had first been given, to be at home in his own bed when the end came.
‘Only me,’ the effervescent voice of April’s stepdaughter, Nancy, cut through her reverie as the door opened slowly. ‘Sorry, am I disturbing you? Only these arrived a few minutes ago addressed to Mrs Wilson.’ And a gorgeous array of vibrant red and orange roses appeared in the gap between the door and the frame.
April quickly closed the wardrobe doors and pulled on a polka-dot towelling robe, before smoothing down her curly brown hair, which had got mussed up from tugging the dress off over her head.
Gray used to help her with the zip.
April stopped moving.
Instinctively, she inhaled sharply and squeezed her right hand, pressing the fingernails hard into her palm to stop herself from going there. It was the best way. And it was always the little things that still managed to catch her off guard. But she’d get out her sewing machine and alter the zip, build in a small ruched panel on either side of the waist to create a looser fit and the problem would be solved. No more tugging at the dress and her heartstrings while yearning for Gray to be there beside her. Of course, that feeling would never completely disappear, but for now, April needed at least some of her waking hours to feel normal, to be free from the near-physical pain of her battered heart.
‘No, I was just getting changed, come on in sweetheart.’ April smiled, tying the belt as she walked across the room to take the roses from Nancy. ‘Oh they’re absolutely lovely, thank you so much.’ She pressed her nose into the highly scented flowers, figuring they must have cost quite a bit by the looks of the gorgeous white wicker trug and elaborate puff of scarlet tulle ribbon wrapped all around it.
‘Oh, don’t thank me,’ Nancy grinned. ‘The cookery book and that melt-in-the-mouth steak were your birthday treats from me – flowers are a waste of money in my opinion,’ she added in her usual matter-of-fact way before bouncing down on to the end of April’s bed. Just like her dad, thought April; Gray had been a pragmatist too. ‘Here, see who they’re from,’ and Nancy plucked an envelope from a wire stem and handed it to April.
After placing the trug on top of the chest of drawers, April opened the envelope and pulled out a gold-embossed cream card.
To my amazing and beautiful wife on her birthday. Seize the day my darling, wherever or however that may be, as life really is too short.
Bye for now.
Love always.
Gray xxx
April pressed the card to her chest and gasped. Trust him to have remembered, even from beyond the grave, but then Gray always was so thoughtful, and they had joked about this bonkers idea years ago – it was over Sunday lunch in the local pub, shortly after the diagnosis, when they’d all been keen to keep spirits up and put on brave faces. Gray had said he was going to pay his sister, Jen, a florist, up front, to send roses every year on April’s birthday. Gray had then teased April, telling her, ‘But just don’t be living until you’re a hundred years old or the money will have run out by then and you’ll end up getting a measly bunch of dandelions.’ They had all laughed, and then later Jen had taken April aside and explained that she intended on honouring Gray’s wishes no matter what. April would have roses on her birthday. It was the least she could do after all the love and care she had already shown her brother. And April had smiled and shrugged, for she liked taking care of people, loved it in fact; it gave her a purpose and made her feel like she was making a difference. It was the reason she had trained to become a nurse in the first place.
And then so much had happened since to keep her busy: there had been the funeral to arrange, sorting out his financial affairs and the memorial service – Gray had been a renowned research scientist, involved in pioneering work developing cures for a number of life-limiting illnesses, which Gray had often said was actually very ironic really, given the fate of his own health. And of course there was the grieving process to work through. That had hit April hard and somehow all the brave facing and wry jokes while Gray had still been alive had made it even harder once he’d gone. Back then it had been easy for April to occupy her thoughts and time by caring for Gray as he deteriorated: making sure all his needs were met; showing him she was strong and would be OK without him. It had been important for April to give Gray that, to ease the burden of worry for him, as she knew his biggest fear after the diagnosis was for those he loved and was used to looking after, and would ultimately leave behind – his family. Twenty-two-year-old twins, Freddie and Nancy, how would they cope? Their mother lived on the other side of the world in New Zealand, having emigrated there with her new husband when they were teenagers. But the twins had coped remarkably well, in that robust, resilient way that many young people seemed able to do. Of course, there had been ups and downs, but April admired them, their strength, and having spent some time with their mother they now seemed OK and were starting to normalise … which was more than could be said for her.
Gray had worried so much about April; often confiding in Jen, asking her to look out for his wife and to support her through his demise and when he was no longer here. Because, although Gray and April had been together for a while, they had only been married for a year when the diagnosis came, and Gray had said he would completely understand if April wanted to end things with him then and move on. Make a life for herself with somebody new. Somebody fit and vibrant. Instead of ‘saddling herself with a sickly, older, and quite often grumpy git like me’ (Gray could be quite self-deprecating at times). It was a lot to expect of her to stick by him, but April was having none of it. In sickness and health. That’s what she had vowed, and gladly so. She wasn’t a quitter, never had been.
And caring for Gray had given April a purpose, something to live for, and God knows she had needed it, because if the truth be told, her world had fallen apart that day in the consultant’s office. April had hidden it well of course, put on a brave face, stoic, and she was good at that, having trained at Great Ormond Street hospital where nursing seriously ill children required an ability to protect one’s self, close off emotions when required – maintain an emotional distance, if you like. It really wouldn’t do for a nurse to cry. No, that was for other people. April’s job was to be strong so that everyone else around her could cope. Hence, she hadn’t cried once in front of Gray or the twins. Or burdened any of her friends from the knitting group or gym classes that she used to do in the local leisure centre before Gray became seriously incapacitated. And April used to love knitting: sitting next to Gray on the sofa of an evening, they would watch TV together and he’d tease her about the chunkiness of her size 12 needles for a cosy Aran jumper that had been her last project. It was the simple, everyday ‘doing nothing’ stuff that April missed most. But now, well … it just wasn’t the same on her own. The happy association of knit one purl one and laughing along to Gogglebox wasn’t there any more.
‘Are you OK?’ Nancy asked, leaning forward to stroke April’s arm.
‘Yes, sure. Sorry darling, I was miles away.’
April shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, and then smiled at Nancy.
‘Don’t apologise,’ Nancy smiled back. ‘We all knew today would be extra tough for you. Another birthday without Dad.’ She shuffled her bottom backwards over the duvet and then patted the bed, indicating for April to sit beside her.
‘Actually, today has been better than I anticipated,’ April replied, conscious that underneath the veneer of being OK, Nancy was still grieving too, and she didn’t want to upset her stepdaughter by appearing to be ‘getting over her father’s death’ too quickly. But deep down April knew that she most likely would never really ‘get over’ Gray. Yes she’d learn to live without him, be happy again perhaps, a different kind of happiness, she hoped, one day, but still …
‘Good,’ Nancy stated. ‘You know, Dad would never have wanted you to be “moping” all over the place.’ She paused to do quote signs in the air and April winced. ‘Especially on your birthday.’ A short silence followed. ‘Um, sorry, not that you are,’ Nancy added. ‘Gosh, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, you aren’t … um, haven’t been “moping” at all, in fact you’ve been amazingly strong and kind and lovely as always to me and Freddie, putting everyone else before yourself. Sorry, me and my big mouth. I really must engage my brain before opening my gob and just letting words blurt out.’ Nancy pulled a face and shook her head, making her fiery red hair swish around her shoulders. ‘I just meant that … well, you know how practical Dad was about stuff, being a scientist and all. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive, God no, but somehow it always comes out that way.’
‘It’s OK,’ April replied. ‘Like father like daughter, eh?’ and she nudged Nancy with her elbow, before both women exchanged glances and a smile.
‘Hmm, I guess so.’ Nancy pressed her hands together as if to break the moment and lift the mood, buoy them both back up. ‘I know! How about we watch an old film together? Mamma Mia, you love that one.’ April’s smile widened. ‘Whaaaat? What’s so funny?’ Nancy lifted her shoulders and pulled a face.
‘Mamma Mia!’ April laughed. ‘It’s hardly an old film …’
‘Hmm, weeeeell … it is to me. Or would you prefer to watch something really ancient, like Dirty Dancing perhaps?’
‘Or how about Some Like It Hot?’ April couldn’t resist, and Nancy creased her forehead.
‘Sounds like filth to me.’ Nancy folded her arms. ‘April, you fox! Never had you down as a porn fan,’ she teased.
‘Noooooo!’ April protested, her cheeks flushing. ‘Oh gosh no, nothing like that. It’s a classic, starring Marilyn Monroe. With Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon – they dress up as women and—’
‘Cross-dressing! Hmm, guess that could be cool.’ Nancy raised her eyebrows.
‘Hmm, it’s a bit more than that,’ April said.
‘Well, I’ve never heard of it!’
‘Ha! Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ April gave her stepdaughter’s thigh an affectionate pat. ‘You know, I feel reeeeeally old now.’ She shook her head and let out a long sigh.
‘Oh don’t be daft! You’re still young. A million miles away from the menopause.’ April shook her head; trust Nancy to be so blunt. ‘Tell you what … why don’t I do your hair and make-up this afternoon? I could do your nails too; we could have a girly makeover party. I’ll get us some chocolate and maybe a cheeky bottle of bubbles … what do you say?’
‘That sounds lovely, are you sure though?’ April said, surprised, as it wasn’t really Nancy’s thing.
‘Yep. It’s your birthday and I want to make it nice for you. And you love all that beauty and pampering stuff.’ A short silence followed. April swallowed, hard. And then Nancy added, ‘Weell,’ she hesitated, ‘you used to before Dad died, and I know it’s hard, I really still miss him too, but he’d want us to make an effort on your birthday and you made an effort on mine, even though I bet you didn’t really feel up to it.’ She pulled herself off the bed and went in search of April’s beauty paraphernalia. She opened the top drawer of a chest. It was full of underwear. ‘Sorry,’ she said, closing it again. ‘Nail polish?’
‘No problem,’ April replied, ‘it’s in the basket on the shelf in the ensuite.’ She paused and fiddled with the belt of her dressing gown. ‘And I say that a pamper afternoon is a very lovely idea, thank you sweetheart.’
‘Great!’ Nancy chimed. ‘But I’m sensing a big but!’ She stopped moving and turned to look at April.
‘It’s just that I thought my hair looked OK! Why didn’t you tell me before we went out for lunch?’ April pretended to admonish, but knew seriously that she hadn’t really bothered with all of that since Gray went, often wondering what was the point. Of course, she always made sure her hair was brushed and that she looked presentable and had clean clothes on, that sort of thing (well … underwear at least), but she had found it hard to muster up much enthusiasm for applying make-up or painting her nails. To be honest, the last eighteen months had seen her operating as if on autopilot, going through the motions really.
‘April, your hair looks lovely. Honestly. I just thought it would be something nice to do for the rest of your birthday.’
‘Ahh, OK. Then thank you, and sorry, ignore me, I’m just being oversensitive. Come on, you grab the chocolate and champagne and I’ll sort out what we need up here,’ April chivvied, seizing the opportunity to busy herself and be in her preferred state.
‘Perfect.’ Nancy walked towards the door. ‘Ooh, before I forget – this came too. It’s addressed to “Miss W. Lovell”, no idea who that is, but it looks like a birthday card and Lovell was your surname before you married Dad so I’m guessing it’s for you.’ She pulled out a crumpled lilac envelope from the back pocket of her jeans and gave it to April. ‘Sorry for squashing it.’
‘Thank you. Ooh, it’s from Edie,’ April said, taking the envelope and recognising the old-lady spidery writing on the front.
‘Your great aunt?’
‘That’s right.’ April opened the envelope and slipped out the card, drawing in the faint, but evocatively familiar scent of her childhood summer holidays spent in the quaint little village of Tindledale with her grandfather’s sister. This was before her parents had died in a car crash shortly before her sixteenth birthday and her life had changed for ever. April, an only child, had gone to live with her mum’s parents at the other end of the country and the strong connection with her great aunt Edie faded until she was able to visit more frequently as an adult. And then her grandparents died, leaving Edie as April’s last living relative.
April wafted the card in front of her nose. ‘Ahh, lavender mingled with mothballs. Takes me right back – I used to get told off for fiddling with the mothballs hanging in the little muslin bag in the back of her wardrobe whilst playing The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe game, thinking I was on my way to Narnia.’
‘Really? I can’t imagine you getting told off for anything, April,’ Nancy grinned. ‘I always imagined you as a polite, well-behaved child … much like you are now.’
‘Trust me, I had my moments.’ April rolled her eyes before opening the card. ‘Ooops!’ She bent down to retrieve a five-pound note that had fluttered from it, while simultaneously reading.
Happy birthday Winnie
Treat yourself to a nice dinner somewhere fancy.
Lots of love
Your Edie xxx
April frowned.
‘What is it?’ Nancy asked, sounding concerned. April sighed as she realised what this meant, showing the card to Nancy. Her great aunt Edie must be getting forgetful and somewhat confused. And a fancy dinner for a fiver? Oh dear.
‘Ahh! Well, it’s nice that your aunt remembered your birthday, eh? Probably just got into a muddle with names, that’s all, no need to worry. How old is she?’ Nancy asked, folding her arms.
‘You know, I’m not sure exactly,’ April said, feeling a twinge of guilt as she racked her brains trying to recall when she had last visited her great aunt Edie or indeed sent her a birthday card. ‘I reckon she must be ninety at least.’
‘Wow! And did she come to Dad’s funeral? I don’t remember seeing her there, but then it was all such a blur …’
‘No, she wasn’t up to it – was getting over a fall, I think she said, I can’t really remember either, as it was, like you said … all a bit of a blur for me too. But I do know that I promised to—’ April stopped talking.
‘What’s the matter?’ Nancy asked gently. ‘You look like you’re about to cry. What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ April dipped her head and busied herself with putting the card and the money back inside the envelope.
‘Something clearly is.’ Silence followed. ‘Come on, out with it,’ Nancy cajoled.
‘I feel dreadful,’ April eventually said.
‘Why?’
‘OK.’ April inhaled and let out a long breath. ‘When Great Aunt Edie wrote to apologise for not coming to Gray’s funeral, I said I’d visit her soon, and well, that was over a year and a half ago …’ April’s voice dwindled, knowing that it was eighteen months, two weeks and three days to be precise. She crossed off the days in her diary. At first, it had been a comfort, well, more of a life-raft, something to cling on to, because every day ticked off was a day closer to shedding the cocoon of numbness in favour of feeling something again – she had hoped. But now it was just a habit, because April had learnt over the months that grief really wasn’t as kind as all that. It came in peaks and troughs like a giant rollercoaster with no predictability; it was not a set process to be worked through at all, despite what people had assured her.
‘Oh April, come here.’ Nancy pulled her in for a big hug. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand – your husband had just died! I’d say that’s extenuating circumstances, wouldn’t you?’
April knew that Nancy was trying to make her feel better, but it had to be at least a couple of years since she had visited her great aunt in Tindledale. The last time had been with Gray, when he was still fairly mobile. They had driven down one sunny Saturday afternoon, stopping on the way at a quaint old black and white Tudor-framed pub with a lovely garden full of pink hollyhocks and a couple of goats in a pen for children to pet. Gray had surreptitiously fed them his salad – never having been a fan of ‘rabbit food’, as he called it. They’d had a wonderful time relaxing, and for a few precious hours it had seemed like the old days, carefree and fun, before the diagnosis changed everything.
‘I guess so. But I’ve still neglected her,’ April said.
‘Then do something about it. Go and see her.’ Nancy stepped back from April and put her hands on her hips. ‘Go on! It’ll do you good – get away from here for a few days, give yourself some space, and you know what they say, a change of scenery and all that.’ Nancy looked April in the eyes. ‘A mini break is exactly what you need.’ She nodded.
‘Hmm! Are you trying to get rid of me?’ April asked, instantly wishing she didn’t sound quite so needy. It really was unlike her, but it was something she had noticed creeping upon her more and more since Gray had died. She felt exposed, vulnerable even, and she wasn’t really sure why, preferring not to think too much about it, hoping the feeling would go away if she ignored it.
April coughed to clear her throat. ‘But I can’t go and leave you here on your own.’ She wasn’t sure it was right, certainly not so soon after the memorial service – the twins might need her.
‘Of course you can.’
‘But what about Freddie?’ April knew how hopeless he was at getting himself up for his job as a car mechanic every morning. And hadn’t she promised Gray that she’d be here for the twins no matter what?
‘What about him?’ Nancy shook her head. ‘No. It’ll do Freddie good to look after himself for a day or two. He’s a lazy arse and relies on you too much. And you really must stop doing his washing!’ She wagged a finger in the air.
‘But it’s no trouble to put it in with my stuff, I quite like doing it in fact,’ April said, always happy to help out.
‘Oh April, pleeeeease, go and visit your great aunt. If only to remind her that your name isn’t Winnie! And you never know, you might even solve the mystery!’
‘Mystery?’ April raised her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know … find out who this Winnie woman is,’ Nancy joked.
‘Ahh, yes, indeed. And I could very well have her fiver here,’ April smiled, waving the note.
‘Exactly! And Freddie is perfectly capable of seeing to his own washing and I’ll be here to make sure he pulls his weight around the house,’ she laughed.
‘Hmm. But joking aside, the name Winnie does seem to ring a bell. I’m sure I’ve heard it before … a relative perhaps. I think there was an old black and white picture of her on my aunt’s sideboard in the sitting room … in a uniform during the war … It used to fascinate me as you don’t often see that, it’s mostly men, the soldiers.’ April creased her forehead, casting her mind back trying to remember more.
‘Sounds intriguing, what happened to her?’
‘I’m not sure – you know how family history gets lost in the mists of time – but I’d like to see if I can find out before it’s too late. My aunt is getting on now and once she’s gone that’ll be it, I suppose, for my family, my flesh and blood. It’ll just be me left.’
‘Then you must go right away, before, as you say … it’s too late.’
‘Yes, I should do that. And I am concerned about Aunt Edie.’ A short silence followed, leaving April deep in thought.
‘And it can’t be easy for her on her own at that age. Has she got a husband? Any children? I can’t remember … ,’ Nancy asked.
‘No. She never married,’ April replied, then pondered, casting her mind back. ‘She used to joke that there was a shortage of men around after the war, and the only eligible ones in the village were either daft, or already spoken for … And that she much preferred the company of horses in any case.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Indeed. She always had a good circle of friends though, but I guess most of them have probably died by now.’ April shook her head.
‘I guess so. Ninety is a ripe old age. And definitely more reason why you should go and see her.’
‘But are you sure?’ April checked, but now that all the practicalities following Gray’s death had been completed, she was actually starting to feel a tiny bit brighter each morning. Gone was the dreadful split-second gear change on waking, that glorious moment before the synapses of her brain kicked in and it was as if Gray was still alive and still well, only for the grief to come hurtling back all over again when her memory was restored. Yes, April was definitely on the way to feeling a little bit more like her old self, less wobbly, and it would certainly keep her busy for a couple of days. All this sitting around doing nothing very much really wouldn’t do. And hadn’t Gray said on his card for her to seize the day?
So, April made a decision. Nancy was right: she could do with a break, time to gather her thoughts, dust herself down and figure out what next. And it was a pleasant, pretty drive through the countryside to get there, which would give her plenty of time to do just that. Yes, first thing tomorrow morning April would go to Tindledale and visit her great aunt Edith in Orchard Cottage.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
April’s blue Beetle bounced around the corner of the pot-holed country lane, the top of her head very nearly making contact with the little lever that opened the sunroof. She slammed her right foot on the brake, just in time! Gripping the steering wheel, April held her breath as a resplendent gingery-brown feathered hen dawdled across in front of the car followed by a row of fluffy yellow chicks.
‘Awww, so sweet,’ April said to herself, before picking up the concertinaed paper map nestled next to Gray’s trug of roses on the passenger seat beside her. Nancy had said it would be a shame for April not to bring the flowers with her, as she was on nights for the rest of the week so would most likely forget to water them and they’d end up dying from dehydration. So April had loaded them into the car along with a lovely bunch of late blooming pastel-pink peonies picked earlier this morning from the back garden, and a tin containing a magnificent cherry madeira cake, with the perfect crack running across the top, for Great Aunt Edie. April had remembered that madeira cake was Edie’s favourite so had baked one last night especially, using a recipe from The Great British Bake Off book that Nancy had kindly surprised her with for her birthday. And everyone loved peonies.
April unfolded the map, thankful to the man in the petrol station situated just outside Market Briar, the nearest big town. After asking where she was heading, he had reminded her that most of the country lanes in and around Tindledale were simply single-track ‘unnamed’ roads so April really needed to ‘do herself a favour and take a good old-fashioned map’. And he had been right. April had done this journey more than once with Gray, but it all looked so different now. Although Great Aunt Edie’s postcode was on the sat nav, it covered such a vast rural area that April had reached her destination point supposedly fifteen minutes ago so was now reliant on reading the map to make her way down to the valley and right through the middle of fields, or so it seemed. At one point, after taking a wrong turn, the Beetle had to go along little more than a dirt track with enormous black-and-white-splodged cows on either side chewing and staring at April, before arriving at a tiny derelict church in the middle of nowhere, which was a bit eerie if she was honest. April had then had to do at least a ten-point turn, being careful not to topple the crumbling gravestones, before making her way back along the dirt track and on to what constituted a proper road around these parts.
Once the last of the chicks had safely made it to the other side of the lane, April tentatively continued on her way, turning another corner, but still not entirely sure that she was going in the right direction as there weren’t any signposts to guide her. A few metres later and she was facing a five-bar gate with an empty field behind it. Although on second glance, April saw a very large black bull eyeing her from under a tree in the far corner. Wasting no time, and remembering as a child the very close encounter she and a friend had experienced when a similarly intimidating bull had charged at them whilst they were picking blackberries on the other side of Tindledale, April quickly and quietly reversed back on to the lane. She had seen first hand how a raging bull could trample a wooden gate, given enough ground to gather enough speed. Even now, the sight of a blackberry brought back that moment when she had hurled her Tupperware box into a bush and legged it over a stile to safety – a well-placed farmer had then grabbed her and her friend and hurled them up on to his hay tractor before dealing with the bull.
After finding a layby, April pulled over, switched off the engine and sat for a while to weigh up her options, wondering if she should head back to the main road and start again in her quest to find Orchard Cottage. It all looked so different somehow, or perhaps it was because she hadn’t really paid attention on any of the previous trips over the years, when her parents had brought her here in the school summer holidays, or Edie had arranged for a taxi to pick her up from the station located down the bottom of the hill, or Gray had driven and she would have been busy chatting and laughing along with him.
Ahh, April spotted a van in the distance. She’d flag it down and ask for directions. Stepping out of the car, she waved an arm and the green van slowed down until it was stationary in front of her. The diesel engine was still chugging away as the window was rolled down. April glanced at the side and saw ‘Only Shoes and Horses. Matt Carter & Daughter – Farrier’ written in white signage. Nice touch mentioning his daughter. And then she saw the man. With curls the colour of treacle, prominent cheekbones, full lips and the greenest eyes that April had ever seen. Wearing a chocolate-brown leather waistcoat over a checked shirt, he had the look of a Romany gypsy about him, or as if he had just stepped out of a Catherine Cookson saga – all windswept and mysterious, moody, brooding angst. And he was definitely ‘hot for an older guy’ as Nancy would say, while most likely elbowing April in the ribs and nodding her head slowly with a cheeky smile set firmly in place like she used to when they went out shopping together, in the carefree, fun days, before Gray got ill. And on second thoughts, was there something vaguely familiar about this man? April wasn’t sure. Had she seen him somewhere before? Hmmm. Maybe in the village on a previous visit. That’ll be it! He is very striking so it’s entirely possible that our paths have crossed and his face and those green eyes have just stuck in my mind. And he’s not that old, but then Nancy is only twenty-two – anyone over thirty-five is practically ancient as far as she is concerned.
‘Um, hello …’ April ventured a few seconds later, after Matt (she assumed) still hadn’t spoken, having busied himself with pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing part of a sleeve tattoo, before taking an enormous swig of water from a plastic bottle which, now empty, he had thrown into the footwell of the passenger seat beside him. ‘Er, sorry to bother you … but, er …’ April was feeling self-conscious; his eyes really were quite mesmerising and they were fixed on her. She hesitated and then managed a somewhat meagre, ‘I’m lost!’
Still silence.
Then Matt gave April an up-and-down glance as if mulling over whether to help her or not, although it was difficult to tell for sure what exactly he was thinking as his face hadn’t moved at all except to drink the water. He stared intently, making April feel a little hot as she wondered what was going on. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was as if he was in some sort of trance. And then, as if someone had found the cord in the back of his body and given it a good yank, Matt started talking.
‘Where you heading?’
‘Oh, um thanks. I’m trying to find Orchard Cottage, it’s—’
‘I know it. Get in your car and follow me. I’m going past the top of the lane.’ And before April could get another word in, if only to say thank you, Matt wound up the window and drove off, but then waited in front of the Beetle while April raced over to it, leapt in and started the engine up as fast as she could. Ten minutes later, Matt stuck his right arm out of the van window and pointed to a gap in the hedgerow before disappearing around a bend further on. April assumed this meant she should turn right … so she did.
*
Matt watched her go. Glancing again in his wing mirror as the blue Beetle disappeared out of sight, he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter before pulling into a layby and switching off the engine. He couldn’t believe it. Of course, he had recognised her right away. But she had no idea who he was. And why would she? He looked very different now. Unrecognisable, it seemed. April Lovell. Even her name was lovely. And she really had been so lovely back then. When he had first spotted her, cycling along the stream down near the Blackwood Farm Estate, it had been the school holidays and he had been fishing on the other side of the water with Jack, his brother, who had teased him for gawping at the girl down from London. Everyone in the village knew who she was; she came every year in the school holidays to stay with her aunt.
Matt must have been about twelve – bottle-top glasses and crooked teeth – and with typical pre-pubescent boy hormones racing through him, but still, he had never seen a girl like her. A vision she was. With her long curly brown hair flaring out behind her as she sped along, her white cotton skirt puffing up in the breeze, allowing him a glimpse of her suntanned thighs. And to cap it all, she had turned her freckled face and actually grinned at him as she had gone by. He thought he had died and gone to heaven. And he had never forgotten that moment.
It had been a few summers later when he had seen her again, part of the group that met on the village green every morning with their bikes, bags of sweets and clingfilmed sandwiches and instructions to be home by sunset for their tea. More confident by now, thanks to the braces straightening his teeth and the new, decent glasses, he hadn’t wanted to miss his chance a second time around and had plucked up the courage to talk to her. He had made her laugh and in turn she had made him feel on top of the world. They had spent the whole week of her holiday together that summer. Cycling, fishing, swimming in the stream, they had even made a den in the woods together. And that was where it had happened. April Lovell was the first girl Matt kissed. Properly kissed. Pulling her into him, pressing his body against hers in the buttercup field. Soft and curvy, he had been nervous of crushing her. Later, they had lain on the grass in the sunshine together. Him with his arms wrapped around her, his fingers entwined in her hair as she rested her head on his chest and twirled a buttercup underneath his chin, making jokes about liking butter or something. He couldn’t remember the words for sure, but he’d never forgotten the scent of her, like a bunch of lovely fresh flowers it was.
Matt pushed a hand through his hair, shocked at the effect the sudden memory of that intense summer was having on him all these years later. Even though he had never seen her again until today in the lane. He rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin and glanced in the rear-view mirror, knowing he needed to pull himself together. And fast. Everything was different now. He was a dad with responsibilities for starters, so there was no point mooning over the past like some lovestruck teenager. He switched the engine back on and carried on driving.
*
Orchard Cottage was at the end of a private, single-track lane, April remembered that much, and last time she’d been here the lane was pristine with beautifully manicured herbaceous borders running the length on either side. But now, there was just a mass of higgledy-piggledy brambles and nettles, some so long they were practically meeting in the middle like an arch covering the lane and tapping the top of the Beetle as April nudged gently on. And she didn’t dare risk going over five miles an hour for fear of driving into one of the gigantic craters (and that really wasn’t an exaggeration) littering the tarmac. Or worse still, the hen and her chicks that were dandering along, weaving in and out of the undergrowth and bringing a whole new meaning to the term ‘free-range’. From what April could see, these chickens had the run of the whole place, and there were at least six hens now – she’d lost count of the number of chicks – all pecking away and squabbling with one another.
April came to the end of the lane. Ahh, this looked more like it. With rolling green fields all around her, there was a patch of dandelion-covered tarmac that she reckoned constituted a turning point. And what was that? A tiny opening in between two giant bun-shaped blue hydrangea bushes.
April got out of the car and looked around, drawing in the sweet honeysuckle mingled with wood-smoke scent that filled the air, feeling baffled that Aunt Edie’s cottage looked so overgrown. It hadn’t been like this at all the last time she had visited. April walked over to the opening and saw a narrow, winding footpath to the left leading up to the cottage’s front door that was barely visible now, given the glorious red, yellow, pink and green rainbow assortment of geraniums tumbling down from two hanging baskets, almost touching the red tiles surrounding the porch.
After retrieving her handbag, the cake tin and the bunch of peonies – figuring she could pop back to the car for the rest of her stuff in a bit – April made her way along the footpath, flanked either side by tons of tall buttery-yellow hollyhocks, and up to the front door. Placing the bunch of peonies and the cake tin on the tiles, she found the rope attached to the brass bell hanging from the wall and gave it a good jangle. Nothing happened. April waited for what felt like a respectable length of time before giving it another good jangle, a little louder and longer this time. Perhaps Great Aunt Edie was having a nap. April checked her watch. It was nearly two o’clock and she knew that her great aunt liked a little lie-down in the afternoon after her lunch, which was always at one p.m. sharpish; but then she was in her nineties so it only seemed right for her to be taking it easy at her time of life.
April took a step back and looked up at the two upstairs windows nestling in the eaves of the thatched roof, with their black paint surround and criss-cross ironwork, and saw that the curtains were still closed. She opened the white picket fence side gate and stepped tentatively through the thigh-high grass – trying not to imagine what the soft, sluggy-like feeling was that had just squelched along the side of her right Birkenstock sandal – and across to the sitting room window.
Taking in the flowery wallpaper, the mahogany sideboard with dusty bottles of alcohol on a silver tray for guests – Cinzano, Vermouth, Campari and of course the creamy yellow Advocaat – ahh, April smiled, fondly remembering the potent snowballs with a glacé cherry on a cocktail stick that her great aunt used to mix into a big highball glass tumbler for her as a young teenager, telling her in a naughty whisper-voice not to tell her mum. On the other side of the room was a Dralon settee with white lace covers protecting the arms. There was a rosewood display cabinet in the alcove next to the log burner, crammed with various keepsakes gathered over the years – lots of black and white framed photos, a sprig of lavender wrapped in silver foil, a lucky rabbit’s foot, a collection of china thimbles and postcards sent from her soldier brothers during the Second World War – April remembered being allowed to look at these when she was a child. And, still there, was the picture of the woman in the uniform. Winnie perhaps.
But where was Great Aunt Edie?
Wading through the grass, across the footpath and around to the back of the cottage, April wondered what was going on. When she had phoned her aunt to thank her for the birthday card and to ask if she could visit, Edie had sounded delighted.
‘Oh yes, dear! I had been wondering when you would come back. It’ll be very lovely to see you. And I’ll bake your favourite cinnamon apple crumble and custard for your tea. I’ll use the Carnation evaporated milk, just the way you like it,’ she had said – getting a little confused after mistaking her for Winnie again, April had assumed, as she couldn’t stomach evaporated milk. But once she had gently informed Edie that it was April, her brother Robert’s granddaughter, who would be visiting today … well, April was surprised that her father’s aunt wasn’t in. It was very unlike her, Edie was always quite fastidious when it came to receiving guests. April remembered one time as a child, she had been staying for the weekend while her parents went to a wedding, and the Tindledale village vicar had been due to pop by, just to collect some jars for the church fete (Great Aunt Edie was famous for her homemade apple sauce, using sweet Braeburns from the orchards) – Edie had spent the morning dusting the cottage and had changed into her best dress at least an hour before the vicar arrived. So how come she wasn’t at home now?
Admittedly, it was a little later than April had predicted arriving, damn sat nav, but Aunt Edie wouldn’t have just gone out, surely? And where would she go in any case? The last time she had visited, April had got the impression her aunt never went very far at all; being a home bird, she preferred pottering around her country cottage.
April made her way around to the back of the cottage where the grass was just as tall – and what was that? As she ventured nearer to the back door, she felt her Birkenstocks sinking into something slippery and wet. A bog of some kind, or a blocked drain overflowing, perhaps. April went to lift her bare foot, to no avail. It was sinking into the foul-smelling puddle that seemed to be seeping from a mildew-covered mound, the septic tank. Oh God. With her hand over her face, April shook her head when a shot of guilt darted right through her. Clearly her aunt was struggling, had let things go and if April had visited more often then she would have known about this before now! The once tidy lawn was now almost a meadow, left to nature and full of wild flowers, which she was sure would be eyed with envy in some of the trendier London suburbs, but knowing her great aunt, April was certain the rustic charm was not intentional.
Gingerly, April tried to lift her left foot, but nothing happened. She tried again, but it was well and truly submerged in the quagmire. Instead, she shoved her other foot forward, but lost her balance and skidded backwards, and ended up planting both palms in the mess to stop her whole body from getting covered. Ugh. She wiped the worst of it off down the front of her jeans, but then without thinking, touched her cheek so she now had a streak of the stinky stuff on her face. There was nobody around, so April quickly lifted the front of her top to use as a cloth to clean her face as best she could. She was a muddy mess, and the sooner she got into Orchard Cottage to clean up properly, the better. Although it was highly likely that her aunt might mistake her for some kind of vagabond living off the land in the depths of the woods, given the now disgusting state of her. Even her hair was a sight, the curls conspiring to form an unruly big bale of hay, having been buffeted about in the summer breeze.
April persevered, making a conscious effort to breathe in through her mouth in an attempt to avoid the smell wafting all around her, as she waded towards the cottage. Then, after batting away a tangle of blackberry bushes, she made it to the kitchen window and with her filthy hands up to the side of her head, but not quite touching her skin, she used the sleeve-covered part of her forearm to push her bushy hair back and pressed her nose up close to the window.
And gasped.
Oh God!
How on earth had things got so bad that it had come to this?
Aunt Edie was slumped on the quarry-tiled kitchen floor with her snow-white curly-haired head inside the big oven part of the sunshine-yellow Aga. And her left arm was draped in the top of the two small adjacent ovens.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
April’s pulse raced as she took in the scene. Not one to normally panic, she pushed up the sleeves of her top as a call to action, dumped her handbag in the long grass (not giving the gunk a second thought) and hammered hard on the window.
‘AUNT EDIEEEEEEE!’ April hollered as loud as she could, her voice slicing through the silence of the rolling green fields all around the cottage. ‘ARE YOU OK?’ She banged again and inwardly berated herself – clearly her great aunt was not OK, far from it, so why had she asked such a daft question? But with no time to ponder on the nuances of everyday niceties, April yelled some more before crouching down to rummage inside her handbag in search of her mobile phone.
She’d call an ambulance.
No signal.
April waggled her phone around in the air hoping to magic up at least one bar, but no luck. Oh well, she dialled anyway in the hope of getting through on another network. Still nothing. Ahh, one bar, she tried again, but as soon as she pressed on the nine key, ‘No Service’ flicked up on to the screen. Damn. So April went to plan B and shoved the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She had a Swiss Army knife in her bag somewhere. It had been Gray’s and for some reason April had taken to carrying it around with her, sort of like a comforter, a talisman that made it seem like Gray was still with her, by her side. And thank goodness she had, as it was just the thing to prise open a rickety old wooden window frame. In haste, April turfed out the contents of her bag – purse, book, three opened packets of tissues, a ripped yarn label, a variety of lip balms, a diary, a ridiculous assortment of pens and half a packet of wine gums.
A-ha! Found it.
April flicked open the knife and pushed the sharp end into the side of the frame just underneath the catch and tried to yank open the window, but it was no use, it seemed to be painted shut. She tried again, pulling harder this time with her fingertips, but the window definitely wasn’t budging.
‘AUNT EDIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?’ April shouted again, but still no response. Well, there was nothing for it; she’d have to smash the window. There was no other way. The front door was solid oak and about six inches thick so April was never going to be able to force it open, even if she pressed her shoulder against it or attempted to karate kick it in as she had seen people do in films.
After desperately scanning the garden looking for a suitably heavy object – there was nothing – April pulled off her bog-caked right Birkenstock and lifted it in the air and, after swinging it back behind her as far she could, she was just about to throw it hard into the window when a man’s voice bellowed right behind her, nearly making her jump right out of her skin.
‘WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?’
April swivelled on her heel, the Birkenstock, like a brick at first glance, still high up in the air, the other hand pressed to her chest in shock, and saw a tall, well-built man wearing a tweed deerstalker hat over wavy blond hair with a furious look on his suntanned face. And a shotgun hanging from a leather strap over his shoulder.
April gulped, and then quickly pulled herself together. There really was no time to waste. Aunt Edie could be dead for all she knew. Oh please no. April wasn’t sure if she could cope with any more loss right now.
‘Um. Thank God you’re here. Come on, you can smash the window! Hurry!’ she ordered, before hopping forward to hand him the Birkenstock brick.
‘Er, I don’t think so!’ The man’s eyes flicked towards the sandal, before he gave her an up-and-down look, practically recoiling in horror at the state of her. His nose even wrinkled when the stench hit. ‘I’m calling the Old Bill. Stay right where you are.’ And he actually clasped a hand around the end of the shotgun and tilted it upwards as if to apprehend her in case she tried to abscond before the police arrived.
‘Well good luck with that,’ April quipped, stepping back as he lowered the gun and pulled out a big black phone that looked like it should be on display in a museum; it must be at least twenty years old. ‘There’s no signal in this place.’ She nodded, folding her arms around her body as if to protect herself.
‘Don’t need one.’ The man flashed her a look. April narrowed her eyes and held his stare, masking the panic that was mounting inside her. She needed to get to Edie, and quickly. This really wasn’t the time to be dealing with the local eccentric (must be – who went around tilting shotguns at people?) busybody, gamekeeper, rambler, or whatever he was. ‘Walkie-talkie,’ the man retorted, going to lift the handset to his ear. ‘This’ll go straight through to my pal, Mark, in the police house up in the village,’ he informed her, before doing a supercilious smile that made his conker-brown eyes crinkle at the corners in satisfaction.
April had heard enough, and with no time to waste she didn’t bother explaining – seemed the busybody had already drawn his own conclusions about her – so she turned back to smash the window and get to her aunt.
‘Yep! Mark? Is that you?’ A short crackly silence filtered into the quiet, rural, countryside air. ‘Got a nutter down here trying to burgle old Edith’s place …’
SMAAAAASH!
Glass went everywhere.
Using the sole of her Birkenstock, April carefully cleared the glass debris away as safely as she could and then reached her hand through the remaining shards to deftly lift the latch on the window.
‘Okaaaayyyy … got a live one here, she’s going in!’ The man with the shotgun continued commentating with a mounting urgency in his voice. ‘Bold as brass she is, right in front of my eyes. And covered in crap too by the looks of her.’ Another silence. ‘Whaaaat? Mark, you’re cracking up. Just get down here sharpish or I’ll have to execute a citizen’s arrest. She’s clearly a pro. And armed with a brick. Probably on drugs looking for a way to fund her next fix.’ And April felt the man’s hand on the top of her arm. ‘I’m arresting you for breaking and entering, you do not, um, er … well, you probably know the rest. A seasoned crook like you,’ he bellowed at the back of her head.
April managed to wrench her arm free.
‘Get off me, you idiot,’ she yelled back over her shoulder whilst attempting to pull herself up and over the windowsill. ‘It’s a sandal. See!’ April deftly attempted to wipe the Birkenstock as best she could with her sleeve, before waving it in his direction. ‘And Old Edith, as you call her, is my great aunt, and if you had bothered to investigate first … Sherlock Holmes,’ April flashed a disparaging glare at the silly deerstalker hat, ‘then you would know that she’s currently on the kitchen floor with her head inside the oven! Now get back on your walkie-talkie and tell Mark to send an ambulance,’ April instructed in the best staff-nurse voice that she could muster before pausing to catch her breath and adding, ‘SHARPISH!’
The man fell silent momentarily, his jaw dropped, he stared with a fleeting glimmer of admiration in his eyes, he closed his mouth, and then it registered.
‘Then why the bloody hell didn’t you say so?’ And he jumped into action. April instantly felt two large hands cupping her bottom, propelling her forward like a bowling ball hurtling towards a row of skittles, and she was immediately able to fling her right knee up on to the window-sill. Balancing carefully, she gripped the window frame with both hands and managed to hoist herself through the gap and on to the top of the tall, old-fashioned boiler directly in front of her. Crouching in the confined space – the beamed cottage ceiling was so low she could barely lift her head, let alone stand up – April contemplated just letting herself tumble on to the quarry tiles, but her great aunt’s surgical stocking-clad legs were right there in front of her on the tiny patch of empty kitchen floor, so she couldn’t risk doing that. What if she misjudged and landed splat on top of Edie and hurt her?
April managed to shuffle sideways on to the draining board and was just about to crawl on all fours towards the end of the counter, where she could see a tiny gap next to the pantry door that she could easily slip her body down on to, when the man with the shotgun appeared in the kitchen doorway with the cake tin in his arms and the peonies perched on top. He dumped his load on the table and after taking one long stride towards Great Aunt Edie, he bent down to place two fingers at the side of her neck to check her pulse.
‘Still going!’ he pronounced, as if checking on a snared rabbit in the woods. ‘And the oven isn’t even on, not that it matters, no gas around here if that’s what you were panicking about! Plus you can’t even gas yourself in an oven these days anyway – we might be out in the sticks in Tindledale, but this isn’t the 1920s.’
April’s mouth fell open as she sagged a little in relief at this news – thank God her aunt was still alive and hadn’t deliberately tried to kill herself. But that still didn’t explain why she was sprawled like this in her kitchen in the middle of the afternoon.
‘Um, well … I knew that!’ April said, her cheeks flaming.
‘No you didn’t.’
‘Yes I did.’
‘Why did you panic then?’
‘I didn’t panic! Anyway, I don’t have time for an interrogation; I need to see to my aunt. How did you even get in here?’ April asked as she scanned the scene and tried to work it all out. To the left of Edie was a dustpan and brush on the floor alongside a cloth.
‘Through the front door!’ he replied, glancing up at her and casually raising an eyebrow. April could see the corners of his mouth resisting the urge to smirk.
‘But how?’ she asked as he swiftly sprang up and swung her from the draining board before plonking her into a standing position on the tiles next to him.
‘Er, the usual way. You know, I pushed it open with my hand.’ And he actually laughed and waggled his hand in air as if to demonstrate the action before giving April a big wink. Cheeky.
‘So it was open all along?’ April shook her head as she bent down to tend to her aunt.
‘Of course! Old Edith never locks her front door … nor do I, come to think of it. Not sure anyone does here in the valley. Apart from the ones moved down from London.’ He paused to shake his head, clearly not enamoured by newcomers. ‘No need. This is Tindledale,’ he explained, as if the village was some kind of crime-free oasis leftover from bygone times.
‘Hmm, well, you could have mentioned it before I broke the glass and hauled myself in through the window,’ April bristled, carefully unbuttoning Edie’s crocheted waistcoat so she could push it back over her shoulders and loosen the collar of her blouse.
‘You never asked! You were too busy breaking in.’
April opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it. He was clearly enjoying winding her up, and besides, Edie let out an extremely loud snore at that precise moment. The old lady then fluttered her eyelids and tried to move, seemingly having forgotten that part of her body was still inside the Aga, so she ended up nudging the top of her head on the roof of the oven.
‘Ewwwwwwww,’ Aunt Edie groaned.
‘It’s OK. I’m here,’ April started in a soothing voice, and the busybody coughed. ‘Um, we are here,’ she corrected, flashing him a look. ‘What happened, Aunty?’ She stroked Edie’s forehead as she contemplated the best way to get her aunt out of the oven and up and on to a chair.
‘Oh hello dear. There you are. No need to fuss, I was just having a lovely little nap.’ Aunt Edie smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world to have forty winks while cleaning the oven.
‘A nap? Inside the oven?’ April stuttered, her mind boggling. And then saw her aunt had a tea towel folded up like a little makeshift pillow underneath her cheek, but still … and how on earth had she got down on to the floor in the first place?
‘I’m very nimble,’ Edie stated as if reading April’s mind. ‘I keep my joints well oiled. It’s the dancing. And the stout, dear – a bottle a day! But the cleaning takes it out of me sometimes, although it’s important to keep the Aga nice. My mother was a stickler for it and I see no reason to let standards slip. Will you help me up please? I usually use the chair but someone has moved it,’ she said, giving the man a disparaging glance.
‘Um, yes, of course,’ April replied, quickly trying to get her head around all that her aunt was telling her, and regretting all over again that she hadn’t made more of an effort to visit more frequently. A ninety-year-old lady really shouldn’t be cleaning the oven, even if she did think she was nimble! ‘Here, lean on me.’ April swiftly manoeuvred herself into position to properly lift her aunt, as she had first been trained to do back when she was a fledging nurse, and placed her hands around the old lady’s body. And then up and under her armpits so she could clasp them together to form a sturdy support.
‘No need for all that carry on, my love.’ Edie shook her head and April smiled. Her great aunt always had been a fiercely independent woman, which might explain the state of the garden – she couldn’t imagine Edie would willingly ask for help even when it was so obviously needed. ‘Just give me your arm,’ Edie said, and gently lifted April’s hands away from her chest. ‘There we go. Bob’s your uncle!’ April tried not to look concerned as her elderly great aunt deftly pulled herself up into a standing position with a very determined look on her face. But then her papery skin crumpled into a frown.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Edie pointed a bony finger towards the guy with the shotgun. April turned to look at him.
‘Hello Edie,’ the man said pleasantly enough, but the old lady looked confused, so he swiftly added, ‘It’s me, Harvey from the fruit farm. Your neighbour. You remember me.’ But Edie still looked blank, and April wondered what on earth was going on.
‘He, um … Harvey.’ April glanced at the man and he nodded and shrugged as if he was quite used to Edie being forgetful. ‘He helped me get into the kitchen, Aunty. I was worried about you—’
‘What for? I’m fine,’ Edie immediately admonished, looking even more puzzled now. April spotted a dart of fear flicker in her aunt’s eyes. ‘And you better get going before my father returns from the orchards! He’ll have your guts for garters coming in here with flowers before you’ve been introduced.’ The old lady looked at the bunch of peonies and then lifted a gnarled index finger and remonstrated in Harvey’s direction. But before April or Harvey could say any more, a police officer burst into the tiny cottage kitchen with a baton at the ready, followed by an exuberantly plump woman muscling her way to the front with, April was astonished to see, a ferret wearing a little high-visibility vest nestled in the crook of her elbow. And April felt as though she had been plunged into a parallel universe where nobody really knew what was going on.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Later – it having taken almost an hour for Harvey, whose fruit farm was a few fields over and was actually very charming once he knew that April wasn’t a drug-fuelled, crap-covered burglar, to fix a wooden board at the broken window as a temporary repair – April persuaded Edie to put her feet up on the Dralon settee with a nice cup of Earl Grey tea and a generous slice of April’s exceedingly good madeira cake (according to Mark, the policeman, who enjoyed a quick slice too). It seemed that the old lady had indeed nodded off while attempting to clean the Aga, so April, who’d had a good wash and changed into a clean top and jeans, having also made a note to get the blockage by the back door seen to right away, was finishing the job while Aunt Edie pottered around in the sitting room looking for a pack of playing cards that she swore were just there on the sideboard. But after searching everywhere, even looking under the settee in case Edie had dropped them and then shuffled them underneath it with her slipper-clad foot, April still hadn’t been able to find them.
She had figured it best to leave her aunt to it, because Edie had been delighted by the offer of having her Aga cleaned, even though April wasn’t convinced it needed doing as it already looked immaculate to her. But it was a small thing to do to make an old lady happy, and if the truth be told, April still felt guilty for not having visited her aunt in over three years. Edie clearly wasn’t keeping on top of things and was finding it difficult to ask for help, not to mention her memory loss, and April felt as her only living relative that it was her responsibility to rectify that. And pronto. She may only be here for a couple of days but at least she could get the garden into some sort of tidy state, and perhaps tackle the hedgerow in the lane, before her great aunt got completely blocked in when the road became impassable. She’d see about getting a cleaner to come in and help out too, if Edie would agree to it – April was under no illusion that her aunt might take some persuading to allow a stranger into the cottage, especially to keep the place nice; Aunt Edie was old school and might very well take issue with having a cleaner. What if people thought she was lazy?
There was a brief knock on the front door and the woman from earlier appeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘Just thought I’d pop in and see how you’re getting on? I’m Molly by the way, don’t think we were properly introduced, what with all the commotion that was going on.’ The woman chuckled and pushed out a hand towards April. ‘You must be Winnie. Old Edie often mentions you. We always have a little chat when she calls up with her meat order – I’m Cooper’s wife, we own the butchers’ shop in Tindledale High Street,’ Molly finished explaining.
‘Oh, um pleased to meet you again!’ April smiled and pushed her hair off her face with the top of her forearm. ‘But no, I’m not Winnie. I’m April. Edie is my great aunt.’
‘Ahh, that’s nice and a turn up for the books – I didn’t think Old Edie had any relatives left … apart from Winnie of course and from what I gather she looks just like you – dark curly hair, handsome and petite, is what Edie says. Well there you go, just goes to show.’ Molly lifted her eyebrows. ‘And it’s very nice to meet you, April.’ She nodded resolutely. ‘You gave us quite a scare before … when we thought you were a burglar.’ Molly chuckled heartily, making her shoulders bob up and down and her ample bosoms jiggle around.
‘Um, yes!’ April grinned as she stood up. ‘And I really am so very sorry to be the cause of such a drama in the village … it’s unlike me, I’m usually quite calm in a crisis but I guess, well, I panicked and …’ April paused to shrug. ‘I certainly shouldn’t have smashed the window, not when the door was open all along and my aunt was only sleeping, even if it was inside her oven … I feel like a prize fool now.’ She peeled the rubber gloves off her hands to reciprocate Molly’s handshake, pleased to see that the ferret wasn’t in attendance this time. It did have quite an acquired scent, which April was still being treated to a whiff of from time to time. But, thankfully, in the ferret’s place was a large white enamel pie dish covered with a navy striped tea towel from which a deliciously cosy aroma wafted.
‘Oh, don’t be daft, no need to apologise, love. Honestly, you did me a favour to be fair …’ Molly smiled as she took a place mat from the pile next to a fruit bowl and carefully set the pie dish down on the kitchen table.
‘I did?’ April asked, keenly eyeing the dish.
‘Steak and ale, just warm it through for your tea, and it’ll be lovely with some runners and mash,’ and Molly rummaged inside a reusable shopping bag looped over her left arm before producing a handful of super-sized runner beans followed by two large Maris Pipers which she placed on the table next to the pie. ‘Freshly pulled from my patch in the garden – thought you could do with a decent meal after your long journey, and then what with all that broken window shenanigans …’ She shook her head as she lifted the towel before instantly getting back to the conversation – leaving April with not even a second to acknowledge the kind gesture (instead she made a mental note to call into the butchers’ to return the dish and say a proper thank you, before she went back to Basingstoke). ‘Oh yes. Mark, he’s the policeman,’ Molly continued, ‘well, he came into the shop to pick up some pork and leek sausages for his tea …’ she paused to catch her breath. April nodded, liking Molly right away. ‘Anyway, I was up to my elbows in chicken giblets when the call came through to Mark on his radio and then, well, I just couldn’t help myself.’ Molly’s cheeks flushed. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had a bona fide emergency in Tindledale and it’s not every day that you get to see a crime unfolding right in front of your eyes so I hot-footed it down here …’ Her voice petered out and silence followed. ‘Blimey, I sound dreadful don’t I?’ Molly added a few seconds later. ‘What must you think of me?’
‘Not at all,’ April replied graciously to spare Molly’s obvious embarrassment – her neck was now covered in a myriad of red blotches. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’ve come back to the cottage.’
‘You are?’ Molly looked relieved and the redness immediately started to diminish.
‘Sure. Because I can’t remember the last time someone brought me a homemade pie, so thank you.’ April beamed. ‘And I’m curious to know more about Winnie … what else has Edie told you about her?’
‘Oh, it’s my pleasure, I love baking,’ Molly said. ‘It’s so satisfying, and you can’t beat a good pie, don’t you think?’ April nodded. ‘And as for Winnie, um, well I don’t know very much, not in terms of where she lives and stuff. Only that Edie is very fond of her … I get the impression she’s a much younger relative, a niece or daughter perhaps. That’s why I assumed you were Winnie – Edie always says stuff like, “Our Winnie loves a nice rasher of bacon for her breakfast”, you know, when I bring down her order. I always pop in an extra few slices for Old Edie.’ Molly paused and lowered her voice. ‘Poor dear doesn’t have many pleasures in life, and I guess I feel a bit sorry for her … think she gets lonely, probably why she likes to go for a wander,’ she mouthed, indicating with her head towards the sitting room next door, ‘and that’s no way for a lovely old lady to end her days.’
‘A wander?’
‘Yes, you know, it’s happened a few times … I found her once in her slippers at the top of the lane. Driving past I was when I spotted her, and thank God I did as she only had a cotton sundress on and it was perishing outside.’ Molly shook her head. ‘Soon got her warmed up though after I popped her in the car and brought her back home, so disaster averted.’ And Molly chuckled like it really was no big deal … or, and April’s heart sank at the thought … maybe Molly, like Harvey, was just used to Old Edie’s muddled ways and impromptu jaunts around the village in her slippers!
‘Thank you,’ April said quietly.
And now it was her turn to feel embarrassed. It really was no excuse not to have visited her great aunt – since the funeral was fair enough, but that was over eighteen months ago as it was. April felt that she should have mustered up more effort and made herself come to Tindledale before now. Whilst it was wonderfully community-spirited of Harvey and Molly to be looking out for her aunt, it shouldn’t be that way. April flicked her eyes away and then pretended to busy herself by putting the rubber gloves back in the cupboard under the sink. When she had finished, she grabbed her bag from the counter and found a tube of hand cream. She squirted a dollop on to the back of her right hand while Molly continued talking, moving on to another topic.
‘So I see you’re married?’ She gestured to April’s left hand where her wedding band was. ‘Is your husband visiting too?’
April froze.
Silence shrouded in awkwardness hung in the air between the two women.
After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was probably only a few seconds, April managed to shake her head, initially taken aback at the directness of the question, but then quickly came to the realisation that, actually, she felt OK. A bit wobbly, she hadn’t been prepared, that was all, but …
She took a deep breath and replied.
‘Um, no. No he won’t be doing that,’ April started, wondering how to explain … as so far she hadn’t had to. Everyone she had spoken to since Gray died – friends, his colleagues, utility companies, people at his squash club (Gray had loved playing squash before he was no longer able to swing a racket), the library, bank, etc. – already knew. April was suddenly conscious that this would be her first time explaining from scratch to a person who didn’t know Gray and she had no idea where to begin – in fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to share this information about her husband with someone she had just met. It might seem strange, but by keeping the motor neurone disease and Gray’s death to herself while she was here in Tindledale, April felt as though his memory, indeed his life, could be just hers, and hers alone, and therefore protected. Whole. And not diluted by having to share him. At home, she had no choice but to share him with Nancy and Freddie and, whilst April knew that he was never hers alone, today and tomorrow he could be – selfishly so, and right now, she really wanted that.
So she added, ‘It’s just me,’ and pulled her bottom lip in over her teeth and bit down hard as she worked the cream into her hands, masking the sudden tremble that had engulfed them. Molly studied April momentarily before continuing.
‘Don’t worry, love. Happens to the best of us! My Cooper, and the boys – I’ve got four of the wee bastards, God love them – but they drive me bonkers sometimes and I have to take off to a spa for a day or so just to gather my thoughts and gear up for round two hundred trillion.’ Molly puffed in sheer exasperation. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place for some R&R, fresh rural air and hearty country food, and you’ll have made up in no time … give him a few days to miss you and see how he likes lying next to a cold section of the bed—’
‘He died!’ April blurted involuntarily, despite her earlier decision to not mention Gray, and then instinctively pressed a hand to the top of her chest. ‘Sorry, I um … er, I shouldn’t have shouted it out like that.’ The hand moved to her earlobe to twiddle a silver stud as she wondered what on earth to say next. Molly was staring at her, her mouth still open in an O shape and her eyebrows furrowing underneath her fringe.
But then, quite unexpectedly, Molly had her arms around April.
‘Oh God love you,’ she said, patting April’s back before letting her go and taking a couple of steps backwards into her own personal space. ‘I am so bloody sorry. Me and my massive mouth … and don’t you dare apologise,’ Molly admonished harshly, although her eyes were soft and full of warmth.
‘It’s OK. It was a year and a half ago now … don’t know why it still gets me like this,’ April fidgeted.
‘Crikey. That’s no time at all. And who said there was a time limit on your feelings in any case? If it gets you, it gets you, and that’s the end of it!’ Molly shook her head and then looked as if she was trying to work out what to do next for the best. April waited, wondering if she should explain, indeed could explain … without breaking down. She had become so accustomed to keeping all her feelings stashed away inside her and was getting pretty good at it to be fair. But then this was big, a first, having to tell someone what had happened to Gray – her wonderful, witty, vibrant husband, best friend and lover – and would Molly really get it? Could April do Gray justice? Convey exactly how amazing he was to someone who had never known him, or even met him? And somehow it made it all seem so raw again. But April was saved from having to fathom out how she felt exactly in this precise moment in time, because Molly came right out with it and asked a very direct question. A question so direct that many other people may have avoided it for fear of upsetting the bereaved person.
‘How did he die?’
And April surprised herself by suddenly feeling relieved, relaxed even, especially when Molly bustled across the kitchen to where the kettle was on the Aga and, after lifting it up, added, ‘If you’ve got time, I’d love to hear all about him. Shall I make us a brew?’
April nodded and smiled, before glancing through the little serving hatch in the wall into the sitting room to check on Edie. Ahh, her great aunt had given up on her search for the playing cards and was having her afternoon snooze now, so was unlikely to need her for a little while. Feeling unusually calm and, dare she say it … a little uplifted at the prospect of talking about Gray, April pulled out two chairs, took a deep breath and thought what a wonderful thing the kindness of strangers could be.
(#ulink_e3b55c2c-d0de-53d0-a3c1-5789e0299287)
An hour or so later, as April said goodbye to Molly, she closed the front door behind her new friend and smiled to herself. She felt as though she’d known Molly her whole life, which it turned out was pretty near true, as Molly remembered cycling around Tindledale one summer as a child with the ‘girl down from London’. April couldn’t remember this exactly, it seemed so long ago, but she did have fond memories of those carefree days in the school holidays with a big group of children from the village, so it had been lovely to reminisce with Molly. A rare treat for April, as apart from Aunt Edie, there wasn’t anyone else in her life who shared those memories from years back. When she had gone to live with her grandparents, after her parents died, April had lost contact with her school friends. It was as if the rug had been pulled from under her, and she’d been left dealing with a massive thing when she should have been concentrating on exams and filling her time with reading Jackie magazine and such like. But instead the grief took over and since then she had always found it hard to connect with that period before her parents died. It was often too painful to remember the happy, good times, only for the reality of not having them in her life to then come crashing back all over again. And later, when April had finished her nurse training, she had immersed herself into working as many shifts as she could in the hospital, until she met Gray. It had been easier that way, especially after her grandparents died and she had felt so very alone.
Yes, she had friends now, but was conscious that she had retreated into her shell again after losing Gray, and even though her friends had made such a tremendous effort to re-engage her in life since his death – taking it in turns to visit on a Saturday night with a bottle of wine and ideas for fun nights out, bowling, ice skating, cinema, etc. – she just hadn’t felt up to it. Preferring instead to curl up on the sofa in her pyjamas staring at her wedding video, and then the honeymoon weekend in Venice on the flatscreen TV. No lights on, no volume, just silence and Gray waving and pulling a silly face at the camera. It had been a comfort. But April knew it wasn’t right, she couldn’t carry on like that for ever. Even Nancy, when she returned from her nights out, wouldn’t come into the lounge, probably couldn’t bear to; instead she had crept upstairs to bed and left April alone with her memories.
This had made April very self-conscious, often feeling whenever she left the house for essential trips, such as the bank, supermarket and such like, that everyone was looking at her, as if she had a big sign hanging around her neck that said, ‘My husband died and now I’m turning into a very sad and lonely recluse’. It was an utterly awful way to be. But slowly, it had subsided and her confidence was starting to return – just driving to Tindledale had already given her a boost, something she wouldn’t have even contemplated doing a while ago. Although, she reflected, some of those friends had drifted away … maybe it was too late and they had run out of patience already, moved on. After all, they had their own life ups and downs to deal with, so she couldn’t blame them for that. April chewed the inside of her cheek, and resolved to make more of an effort when she got back home. She’d neglected her aunt, and it wouldn’t do to neglect the few friends that she had left as well. Yes, a change of scenery sure had given her a different perspective on things. And maybe she’d go back to work, find a nursing job again – she’d thought about it on and off since Gray had died, but somehow hadn’t managed to actually put herself forward, get a plan in place and be proactive about it. It had felt, somehow, in that time, that going back to work meant the part of her life with Gray was properly over, and she hadn’t been sure she was ready for that …
April went back into the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised to see that her aunt was laying the table for dinner. Humming to herself, Edie seemed perfectly sprightly as she nipped around the table making sure everything was just so. Knives, forks, pudding spoons, napkins and even a jug of iced water with two glasses. It was nice to see, and gave April a warm glow, a sense of having come home, belonging, just like she had felt as a child during those trips to Tindledale …
‘You’re just in time. Dinner won’t be long, dear. Sit down and I’ll dish up.’ Edie smiled, reaching for a very faded, holey tea towel with which to open the Aga to check on the pie. April hesitated, unsure whether to intervene or not as the tea towel really wasn’t up to the job of protecting an old lady’s hand from getting burnt. But April was conscious that she was in her aunt’s home and didn’t want to be seen as interfering – and, besides, her aunt seemed to be managing just fine, as she then flung the tea towel over her shoulder and pushed a masher into the saucepan of potatoes and started mashing, so April sat down. On second thoughts, maybe not! Hot water was splashing everywhere. April jumped up and gently took the masher from Edie as she winced when a droplet landed on her bare arm.
‘Oh dear. I forgot to drain the potatoes,’ Edie said, wiping her arm on her apron before clasping her hands together.
‘It’s OK. Easy mistake to make,’ April consoled, carefully lifting her aunt’s arm to check that she wasn’t hurt. Thankfully, she was fine. ‘How about you sit down and let me wait on you for a change? Think of me as your waitress for this evening. Dinner will be served in five minutes, Madame.’ April did a little bow and laughed, remembering the game they always played in the past when she had visited as a child. Aunt Edie would let her carefully bring the plates to the table, reminding her to use two hands, and April had felt so grown up. Sometimes, the game had started earlier with April pulling out a piece of paper from her letter-writing set on which to write a menu, and then Aunt Edie would pretend to choose her favourite dish – naturally it was always the meal that they were actually having. April wondered if her aunt would remember – probably not, it was such a long time ago – but to her delight Edie’s face broke into a smile of recollection.
‘Well, that would be marvellous, my dear. But aren’t you forgetting something?’ April raised an eyebrow, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘The menu? We must have a menu.’ And as if by magic, April instantly felt transported back in time. Just like the old days, before her parents died and her whole world changed, to a simpler section of her life, halcyon, where nothing bad ever happened, or so it had seemed back then. And it really was rather lovely to relive the memory … if only for a few minutes. And Aunt Edie looked calm and relaxed too, her eyes had come alive and gone all sparkly, but then there was a certain safety in the past, a comfort. April had seen it with Gray, especially towards the end when she knew he had been feeling frightened, and Aunt Edie had seemed fearful earlier too when she couldn’t remember who Harvey was. Gray had coped by cosying up with a blanket and watching all the old Monty Python shows with Nancy – something they had done together when she was a child – the pair of them nodding along to that upbeat ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ song. Gray, with a very content smile on his face, cocooned almost in a bubble of familiarity and happy memories that this simple pastime recreated.
‘Coming right up!’ Keen to see if reconnecting with the past would have a positive effect on Aunt Edie, April darted off to the sitting room to retrieve her handbag – there was a notepad inside, but she needed something to write with. She popped her head through the hatch. ‘Do you have a pen, Aunty?’
‘Look in the sideboard, dear.’
‘Thanks.’ April pulled open the door and immediately inhaled. Mothballs and lavender. Ahh, she really was ten years old all over again. She selected a pencil from an old, washed-out Del Monte peach tin, then went to close the door, but paused to run her finger over the red felt lining inside the sideboard, just as she’d loved to do as a child. Then, after closing the door, she stood up and quickly glanced again at the framed photos: her parents – Dad with his arm around Mum, her long hair blowing out in the breeze – and April in her Brownie uniform with a big gappy smile after losing two front teeth. There were also photos of various people she didn’t recognise – although on closer inspection, the one of a teenage girl standing under an apple tree looked just like Edie, only much, much younger, with lovely long dark plaits (it was hard to be sure with the picture being black and white) and a gorgeous smile that lit up her whole face. Next to this was a picture of the woman in the uniform, only this time she was wearing a lovely, floral tea dress and had a beautiful, sunny smile, and there was definitely a family resemblance. Molly was right, because if this was Winnie, she did look a bit like April with her dark curly hair and petite frame.
Having polished off Molly’s scrumptious pie, runners and mash, April went to clear the plates away, but Aunt Edie stopped her by placing a hand on April’s forearm.
‘What is it, dear?’
‘Um, what do you mean?’ April, her hand still clasped around a plate, hesitated.
‘Well, you’ve been awfully quiet, and that’s not like you.’ Edie’s voice softened. ‘What is it, Winnie?’ April blinked. And sighed inwardly, as she had already corrected her aunt three times over dinner, but to no avail. So, deciding on another approach, April tackled the issue head on.
‘Aunty, I’m not Winnie. But I’d love to know who she is. Can you tell me about her?’ April smiled and waited, eager to hear more about Winnie, the relative she had never known.
Silence followed.
Edith stared at April. She blinked a few times, frowned and then glanced away with a doubtful look on her face. Suspicious almost. And then attempted to cover up her muddle by saying, ‘Oh, now you’re just teasing me. Shall I put the kettle on?’ And she stood up and turned her back.
April’s heart sank with disappointment; she was so keen to know more about her family, but she decided to leave it for now. She didn’t want to put pressure on her aunt, make her feel alarmed by bringing attention to her failing faculties, and maybe there was a valid reason why Aunt Edie was being evasive, confused, or whatever it was that was going on for her.
‘Yes please, that would be lovely. And there’s some cherry madeira cake left if you fancy another slice?’ April offered.
‘Ooh, don’t mind if I do.’ But then Edie hesitated, and changed her mind. ‘But I really shouldn’t, don’t want to ruin my figure.’ And she patted her perfectly tiny tummy with both hands, while a disappointed look darted across her face.
‘I’m sure a second slice won’t hurt.’ April busied herself with opening the tin, and after pulling a knife from the block on the side, she cut a couple of very generous slices, figuring it a crying shame if an elderly lady couldn’t have two slices of cake in one day if she really wanted to, and served them on to plates. ‘There, I’ll finish the tea while you tuck in.’ April put the plates on the table.
‘Well, if you insist, my dear.’ Edie wasted no time in breaking off a corner of cake and popping it into her mouth.
‘I most certainly do,’ April grinned, preparing the tea in a china tea pot, with cups on saucers, just the way she knew her aunt liked it.
‘You always were a persuasive child,’ Edie chuckled, licking crumbs from the tips of her fingers, thoroughly enjoying the treat.
‘Was I, Aunty?’ April asked, seizing the moment to talk about the past.
‘Oh, yes, very much so. Spirited! That’s what we used to say … your parents and I.’ April placed the pot of tea on the table and sat down, allowing herself a moment of contemplation while she remembered her parents. Their smiles. Her mum’s perfume – one whiff of Rive Gauche and April was in her childhood bedroom being kissed goodnight. She swallowed, hard, and rearranged her thoughts, not wanting to go there right now. It was at least twenty years ago and she had only happy, albeit faded, memories of her mum and dad, but she knew from experience that train of thought inevitably led to Gray. But his death was different. Raw. And he had suffered, been forced to be brave and face up to his end of life. At least her parents had gone quickly, most likely went out with a bang – literally, if the newspaper reports at the time were anything to go by with their unnecessarily graphic details about the crash. She had read them online, several years later, out of curiosity mainly, but had regretted doing so ever since.
‘And what did they say about you when you were a child?’ April asked, pouring her aunt some tea.
‘Cheeky!’ Edie shook her head. ‘But I got away with it you know.’
‘Oh, why was that then?’
‘I was the youngest. The apple of my father’s eye. Spoilt, my brothers and sister would say …’
‘Your sister? What was her name?’
‘Winnie.’
Bingo! April leant forward and the faded memory of her dad chatting to Aunt Edie in the sitting room, years ago, flooded into her head. She had been playing with her Tiny Tears doll on the carpet and Dad had picked up the photo of the woman in the uniform. April suddenly felt overwhelmed with joy, figuring it was very lovely indeed to be piecing her family history together – precious memories returning – bringing her long-gone relatives alive and making them immortal. And one day perhaps, she’d reach a point where memories of Gray would create the same feeling within her.
‘What happened to your sister, Aunty?’
‘I don’t know,’ Edie said quite abruptly, before finishing her cake. ‘Mmm, that was delicious. We must bake some more cakes, dear, you used to love helping me cook, do you remember?’ And April’s heart sank all over again on realising that the topic of Winnie seemed well and truly closed … for now.
(#ulink_bdb2d349-ad11-54cf-bcb1-4d99b5c6111c)
The following day, having enjoyed her best night’s sleep in ages, up in the sunny rose-print-papered attic bedroom that she remembered sleeping in as a child, April was standing by the white picket fence surveying the front garden and wondering if she really would have enough time to tackle it before she went home. On closer inspection, it was a veritable jungle and there was no way April was going to make a deep enough dent in just one day. Maybe she could come back another weekend, bring Nancy and Freddie with her. Freddie might be inclined to be lazy around the house, but he was always up for doing outdoorsy stuff, and Nancy would be happy to get stuck in, April was sure of it.
Deep in thought, April had just taken a mouthful of her post-lunch mint tea when Aunt Edie appeared on the footpath wearing a floor-length, russet-red organza ballgown and a big sprig of cherry blossom in her hair. April nearly snorted tea from her nose, but managed to refrain from doing so in the nick of time. She then opened her mouth. And closed it. Utterly unsure of how she should react. Edie looked resplendent, like a shiny big Quality Street as she rustled down the path. But she was dressed quite inappropriately for another afternoon of pottering around her rural country cottage, or indeed cleaning her Aga … again, as she had mooted earlier this morning over their scrumptious breakfast of freshly laid eggs. Edie had asked April to check the hen house, and amazingly there were ten feathery, mud-splattered eggs waiting in the straw for them, which they enjoyed boiled with soldiers slathered in salted butter, made from bread from the baker in the village, whose sister lived in the cottage at the top of the lane, so ‘it’s no trouble for him to drop a loaf in when he’s passing by’, apparently. April had heard all about it from Edie over breakfast.
‘There you are, Winnie, my dear! I looked all over for you,’ Edie said in a very chirpy, singsong voice. April went to correct her, but didn’t get the chance before the old lady carried on talking, and besides, April wondered if it really mattered. Especially as she had lost count of the times now that she had reminded her great aunt that her name wasn’t Winnie. And when April had taken the opportunity again over breakfast to find out more about the elusive Winnie, her aunt had given April a baffled look, just as she had last night, before swiftly changing the subject. Not to mention the fact that Edie still hadn’t said a word about Gray; it was as if she really had forgotten he had died, and that in itself was worrying as April knew that her aunt had been very fond of him. Until his death she’d always asked after him when they spoke on the phone and she had never missed his birthday. In fact, when they last visited Edie together, it had been Gray that her aunt had seemed most keen to chat to, even taking him around the orchard and regaling him with stories of how she had enjoyed many summers playing in the fields, running in between the apple and pear trees with her brothers, paying special attention to Robert, April’s grandfather. Gray had said she was very lucid for a woman of her age – she had remembered the tiniest of details, such as the time Robert had found a baby starling with a broken wing and nursed it back to full health before setting it free.
‘That’ll be where your compassion comes from, April,’ Gray had said later in the car on the way home, and April had liked the thought of having inherited something of her grandfather. It was comforting, knowing that a genetic part of him lived on in her. It seemed important to April, with her not having any living relatives left apart from Edie. And April and Gray hadn’t been blessed with babies, despite them both wanting a family – they had tried at the start, soon after the wedding, but then when Gray became ill … it hadn’t seemed important any more. Although still young enough to have a baby, April doubted now that she’d ever be a mother, but she felt very lucky to have Nancy and Freddie in her life. Being their stepmum was a wonderful next-best thing …
‘Now, I shan’t be gone for very long – will you be all right without me for a bit?’ Edie smiled sweetly as she patted the sprig of cherry blossom.
‘Er, um …’ April managed before nodding her head, curious to know what this was all about. ‘You look amazing, Aunty. May I ask where you’re off to?’ she ventured, making a mental note to see if she could have a chat to her aunt’s GP before she went back home – just to see if she, or he, had any concerns too about Edie’s mental health. But her aunt didn’t answer. Instead, she did a blank stare before busying herself by plucking dead leaves from a nearby rhododendron bush. Perhaps she hadn’t heard – maybe Edie’s hearing was diminishing, and April could ask the GP about that too.
April had a little bit of experience of caring for elderly patients, having worked a summer, many years ago, on a geriatric ward as part of her training, but no real first-hand knowledge of dementia. Or memory loss. Perhaps that’s all this was – with the obsessive Aga-cleaning thing, and wandering out and about in her slippers, forgetting to put on her shoes, and of course continually forgetting April’s name – and Edith was in her nineties so it was to be expected … she guessed, hoped. Full-blown dementia could be a very cruel thing. Debilitating, just like Grey’s motor neurone disease was, which had progressively robbed him of the man he used to be. He had kept his independence for as long as was possible though – going to work in a wheelchair with oxygen piped directly into his nostrils, wearing an elastic strap around his head to keep the plastic tube in place. April had admired him for that as he had always hated wearing stuff on his head, ever since childhood when his mum had said she could never get him to keep a hat on even in winter. April hadn’t known this until later in their relationship when she had knitted him a lovely red wool hat as a stocking filler for their first Christmas together. And, to give him his due, Gray had worn the hat a couple of times before stuffing it into his coat pocket, later admitting that hats just drove him mad. She could still see his face now – apologetic but exasperated too, followed by silliness when he had made light of it all by suggesting several ludicrous alternative uses for the hat, culminating in April crying with laughter at the ‘cut in two leg holes to turn it into a pair of woolly pants’ option.
April smiled at the sudden memory before focusing her attentions back to her aunt who was still busy inspecting the rhododendron.
‘Aunty, is everything OK?’ April started.
‘Of course my dear, why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Well, I …’ April paused to take a breath, and changed tack. ‘You look marvellous, where are you off to this afternoon?’
‘To the tea dance of course! My escort will be here soon, and a very dashing chap he is too,’ Edie smiled, making herself look much younger as she pulled a powder compact from a sparkly evening bag that was swinging on a delicate silver chain from her elbow.
‘Oh! I see,’ April said, watching her aunt pat powder across the bridge of her nose. ‘Well, perhaps I can drive you there, where is it?’ she asked, thinking on her feet, for she didn’t want to alarm her aunt by going in gung ho and telling her that a dance on a Tuesday afternoon was very unlikely and perhaps she should go inside and take the ballgown off. What if it just added to her confusion? There had been no mention of her going to a dance over breakfast so it was obviously a spur of the moment thing. Or what if Edie got upset or cried with disappointment? It could happen – April vaguely recalled watching a documentary about Alzheimer’s where an elderly lady had sobbed like a little girl and it was heartbreaking, distressing, pitiful and poignant and there was no way she was going to put her aunt through that unnecessarily. Right now, Edie could very well be thinking she was young again, waiting for a suitor to arrive to escort her to the ball, so to burst that bubble of joy was the last thing April wanted to do. But how long should she let her aunt stand on the path waiting for the imaginary man to not show up? April had no idea, and ordinarily would have rung Gray and said, ‘Guess what …’ and they would have chatted about it and worked out the best course of action between them, but …
April pressed her fingertips into her palm and was just about to put an arm around her aunt to gently guide her back into the cottage when a woman’s voice trilled out from the turning-point piece of tarmac where April’s Beetle was parked.
‘COO-EEEEEEEEE. Only me!’ April swivelled on her heel. ‘Ooh, Edie, you do look a picture!’ a vivacious, sixty-something woman chuckled as she swept a glittery pink pashmina around her shoulders and practically skipped on up the path towards them, her super-strong perfume permeating the air. ‘The general is going to be so very pleased to see you.’
April marvelled at the transformation in her aunt. She was absolutely glowing at the mention of the general, whoever he was, but there was something more. A sort of luminance radiating from within Edie now, as if she had suddenly come alive. And clearly wasn’t imagining there to be a suitor after all! April was now even more fascinated to see how things were going to unfold.
‘And I’m so looking forward to seeing him,’ Edie cooed, popping the powder compact back inside her bag. ‘But where’s the bus?’ she asked, leaning forward as if to scan the lane.
‘Oh, not to worry, the general had to park it a bit further back near the main road,’ the woman said brightly, and then turned to April with a saucy look on her face and added, ‘it’s getting very bushy down this end!’ before doing an extremely filthy laugh.
‘Yes, I really should—’
‘I’m Audrey by the way,’ the woman said, letting the pashmina slip down into the crooks of her elbows, revealing a tight, low-cut bodycon dress, before April could offer to get the hedgerow sorted out too before she returned home – maybe a local gardener? April made a mental note to ask Molly later if there was someone she could pay to keep on top of her aunt’s garden and the section of the single-track lane that was her responsibility, as she was quite sure Edie didn’t have the means to pay for help around the home. And April had some funds, a third of Gray’s modest life insurance money (she hadn’t thought it fair to keep it all, so had split it with Nancy and Freddie), not very much, but certainly enough to help her aunt get the garden straight. ‘I run the weekly speed-dating tea dance …’
‘Ooh, sounds intriguing,’ April said, fascinated that such things went on in rural villages where she had assumed the elderly residents spent their time making jam and watching Countdown.
‘Oh, it’s just a bit of fun. It’s not full-on dating, or looking for …’ Audrey paused, did furtive sideways eyes and after leaning into April she clutched her arm and mouthed, ‘seeeeex.’ April had to press a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘No, it’s more companionship for the …’ she paused again as if searching for the right words before settling on, ‘our more “young at heart” villagers.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘And just call me Deedee, everyone does,’ the woman continued. ‘My daughter, Meg, is the headteacher at the village school,’ she added proudly.
‘Lovely to meet you, Deedee,’ April replied, feeling a little foolish for doubting Edie. Seemed there was a tea dance here in Tindledale on a Tuesday afternoon after all. Weeeeell, fancy that!
‘You too. And I’ve heard all about you …’ Deedee made big eyes.
‘You have?’ April asked tentatively.
‘Yes, that’s right. You’re April. Molly mentioned that you were here visiting your aunt, our lovely Edie, and the star of the weekly tea dance in the village hall.’
‘Oh, yes, um … that’s right,’ April replied apprehensively, wondering if Molly had mentioned their conversation about Gray too. But then Deedee said, ‘Are you here on your own, or have you got a gorgeous husband hidden about the place?’ in a breezy voice, as she scanned around the garden as if searching for him. So Molly clearly hadn’t gossiped, and April was pleased that she had been discreet, remembering that news usually travelled fast in a small village like Tindledale. Whenever April had arrived to stay with her aunt in the school summer holidays, within an hour or so the local children would be down to the cottage to see if she was coming out to play in the fields after someone had spotted her parents’ green Morris Minor Traveller pulling into the village store on the way to get a box of chocolates to go with the flowers as a present for Edie. Everyone always knew everyone else’s business. Tindledale was just that kind of place.
April took a breath and felt much more prepared for the question this time.
‘No, just me – here to spend some time with my aunt …’ April said as cheerily as she could muster.
‘Lovely. Well, if you’re at a loose end this afternoon and fancy a bit of a booooogie,’ Deedee paused to do an enthusiastic shoulder shimmy, making her boobs wobble around like two jellies, and April laugh, ‘then you are more than welcome to join us. The more the merrier. Isn’t that right, my love?’ And Deedee tucked her arm through the crook of Edie’s elbow, giving the top of her hand a little pat.
‘Ooh, yes,’ Edie agreed. ‘And don’t be put off by it being called a tea dance. It’s not a load of old dears shuffling around the dance floor in pairs because all the men in the village have already popped their clogs. Certainly not. There’s the raffle to think about too. And the general does a veeeeery good quiz.’ Edie nodded her head several times as if to emphasise this fact. ‘And there will be sandwiches and cake. And champagne!’ she continued marvelling, all the while making big eyes.
‘Yes, that’s right. My Meg makes it – homemade fizzy elderflower champagne,’ Deedee confirmed. ‘Goes lovely with the buffet – a smashing spread of cold cuts and healthy salad options, courtesy of my Meg’s other half, Dan – he’s a famous chef you know, on the telly and everything … well, used to be, he’s retired now. Not that he’s old or anything, oh no, very fit and vibrant in fact. He just doesn’t need the pressure of the high life any more so he sold his Michelin restaurant in London for an absolute fortune and can afford to take it easy now.’ Deedee paused to take a quick breath and puff her hair up a little more, clearly captivated by her daughter’s partner. ‘And we always have a beautiful selection of pastries and fairy cakes from Kitty’s café. It’s called The Spotted Pig. Can’t miss it, it’s on the corner of the High Street. You must try it if you get a chance … the Battenberg is TO DIE FOR!’ Deedee shook her head and fluttered her eyes as if being transported to her very own personal nirvana, while April felt breathless on her behalf just taking it all in.
Then Edie smiled brightly and added, ‘And my niece loves a little tipple, don’t you April?’
April instantly flicked her attentions on to her aunt. Ahh, a moment of clarity! And suddenly, April felt very thrilled to have her aunt back again, even if she was making her sound like some kind of lush.
‘Weell, I’m not sure I’d put it quite like—’ April started.
‘Do you remember those snowballs, April?’ Edie interjected and April nodded, fascinated that her aunt now seemed able to remember this minutiae – they’d had those snowballs over thirty years ago! ‘I’ll have to make you one before you go home. You loved them as a teenager. We could make a night of it just like we used to – play a few hands of rummy while we are at it too – if I can find the blasted pack of cards that is.’ Edie shook her head and turned to Deedee. ‘I’ve searched high and low and they’ve disappeared. April had a look too but no luck …’
‘Ooh, I’m so sorry, I should have said – I have them in my handbag in the bus for you. I picked them up by accident after last week’s tea dance. Do you remember, Edie? I helped you into your sitting room and plonked my pashmina on the sideboard only to scoop up the pack of cards with it when I left.’
‘Ahh, well that solves that mystery – thank heavens you did, dear!’ Edie smiled kindly at Deedee. ‘For a moment there I thought I was losing my marbles.’ And both women chuckled to themselves before proceeding down the garden path to the waiting bus, leaving April wondering why she had ever worried about her aunt. Clearly her memory wasn’t that bad, and she was having the time of her life, whooping it up at the weekly tea dance with her ‘date’, the general. And in a strange moment of role reversal, April felt quite eager to meet the general, if only to assure herself that he was indeed a suitable suitor for her dear old great aunt Edie.
As she waved the two ladies off, April couldn’t resist grinning. Deedee was certainly a bon vivant, a breath of fresh air, and April admired her zest for life and the ease with which she had brought ‘Old Edie’ to life, practically transforming her into a much younger woman in the blink of an eye. It was infectious. And April felt spurred on by it, in addition to the wave of confidence she now had after reconnecting with her past last night, and so in a rare, but quite welcome moment of spontaneity, she decided to get in her Beetle and go to the High Street.
But first, she would pick a selection of pretty wild flowers from Edie’s back garden as a little thank-you gift for Molly. (April was quite sure her aunt wouldn’t mind; there were hundreds to choose from in any case so April wondered if she would even notice.) April could ask about a gardener too while she returned the pie dish, and it would be a chance to have a look around Tindledale and see if it had changed much since her last visit. She might even treat herself to a nice slice of Battenberg in The Spotted Pig café. Yes, April thought this sounded like a very nice thing to do.
And for the first time in a very long time, April didn’t feel wobbly at the prospect of going out alone, without at least having someone she knew by her side, supporting her as they had for the last eighteen months – Nancy, Freddie, her friends from the knitting club or the girls from the gym … the ones that had stuck around, that is, the ones who, despite April’s lack of desire to socialise, had still visited and taken her out for the occasional coffee. Well, now she’d have something to talk to them about, something other than how she was coping, or how she felt, or if she’d had a good day …
(#ulink_76f4d95c-37cb-56ee-b5e3-c7f47fe8deb1)
On arriving in Tindledale, April parked the Beetle right outside the village store, pleased to have found a space – well, on closer inspection there were several in fact. The heart of Tindledale with its cobbled High Street lined on either side with tiny Tudor-framed shops with even tinier mullioned windows wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, April noticed as she closed the car door behind her and went to walk off. Smiling, she looked around and saw that the village hadn’t changed at all since her last visit, indeed it was almost the same as when she used to visit as a child in the school holidays. The only difference now was a jaunty polka-dotted length of bunting bobbing in the breeze linking the lampposts, and on the corner opposite the village green was an extremely exotic-looking Indian restaurant. Wow! Double-fronted with a selection of brightly painted tables outside with gold and white parasols. Gray would have loved it – he was very partial to a chicken balti with all the trimmings.
April swallowed hard and adjusted her thoughts; now was not the time. Focus, this was supposed to be fun, not maudlin! Something else caught April’s eye. A bench. She made a beeline towards it, grateful to have a focal point to concentrate on, and remembered sitting on it with her mum and dad to enjoy a bag of chips from Moby Dick’s, the mobile fish and chip van that came to Tindledale every Friday evening. April wondered if the van still came, and made a mental note to ask her aunt later. But the bench was no longer made of boring wood, no, it had been transformed into a yarnbombed extravaganza of loveliness – a myriad of colours made up of hundreds of granny patches all stitched together by hand – it was amazing. A real labour of love – she ran a finger over the knitting and wondered if she might be ready to pick up her needles some time soon, but the thought was immediately followed by a pang of panic and April knew it was too soon. Another day hopefully. April thought about sitting on the bench instead and allowing herself ten minutes just to think about Gray, but a shrill voice filled the air and the moment vanished.
‘Excuse me!’ A woman wearing a dowdy beige mac and a flowery headscarf, with an old-fashioned wicker basket looped over her arm and a determined look on her face, came beetling towards her from the door of the bookshop opposite. April stopped moving and smiled at the older woman.
‘Hello,’ April said, shifting the flowers into her free hand so she could swing her handbag over her shoulder and tuck Molly’s pie dish under her arm, wondering what the woman wanted. Maybe she was a friend of her aunt’s, on the way to the tea dance, and had heard that April was visiting too and wanted to welcome her.
‘We like to keep this space clear for the disabled villagers!’ the woman announced, emphasising the ‘we’ as if verbally holding a placard above April’s head with ‘outsider’ emblazoned on it to make her feel unwelcome. Circumventing any pleasantries, the woman then pointed a disdainful finger to the blue Beetle with its jaunty plastic sunflower in the air vent on the dashboard.
‘Oh!’ April replied, taken aback. ‘I didn’t know … I, um, didn’t see a disabled sign anywhere or even on the road,’ she added, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl all of a sudden as she did a quick scan to check a nearby lamppost too. The woman continued to glare at the Beetle. And then April twigged. This woman, aka the village parking warden, surely, was clearly waiting for April to move her car to one of the other numerous patches of free parking space. But April felt ruffled and not in the least bit inclined to move her car. She hadn’t broken any laws as far as she could fathom, but it was just as well that Mark, the policeman from yesterday, happened to cycle past at this precise moment. He gave April a pleasant wave before bringing his bike to a halt at the kerb.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/alex-brown/the-secret-of-orchard-cottage-the-feel-good-number-one-bestsell/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Alex Brown
Warm and wise bestselling fiction from the hugely popular Alex Brown, the author of The Great Christmas Knit Off and The Great Village Show.April Wilson is wondering what to do next – her life has been turned upside down after the loss of her husband so she’s hoping to piece herself together again with a visit to her elderly great aunt, Edith. Arriving in the rural idyll of Tindledale, she’s dismayed to find Edith’s cottage and the orchards surrounding it in a sorry state of disrepair. Edith seems to have lost interest completely, instead she’s become desperate to find out what happened to her sister, Winnie, who disappeared during WWII.April gets to work immediately, discovering that the orchard still delivers a bumper crop each year, and with the help of some of the villagers – including Matt, the enigmatic Farrier – begins to unravel the mystery of the missing Winnie. Slowly,April can feel things coming to life again – but can Orchard Cottage work its magic on her too?
Copyright (#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016
Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2016
Cover design by Alexandra Allden © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover images © Ivary / Getty Images (orchard scene); Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com) (all other images).
Alexandra Brown asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007597420
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780007597444
Version 2017-10-20
Dedication (#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
For all the ordinary women everywhere,
doing extraordinary things
‘Treasure this book always, for it will stand the test of time’
– Winnie Lovell, 1941
Table of Contents
Cover (#u1796a1da-2665-5179-9ac6-b6c79110bc1d)
Title Page (#u064e953f-50d2-5540-86e7-4a58ef0a0f9d)
Copyright (#u0419ec32-671e-5f08-8465-d8359fdb41f9)
Dedication (#u2c2453d0-47a8-57e3-b190-c83abac69f78)
Epigraph (#u3b3c3196-9eb0-575c-aaf5-07288a51e368)
Prologue (#ua6d1ef14-4c2d-5039-ae93-3010bb36bc25)
Chapter 1 (#udd09e0d4-758b-5405-af01-4e371110e2a1)
Chapter 2 (#u9871934f-91a9-524d-a50a-c24647bb6e76)
Chapter 3 (#u479bd070-a79d-5b0e-bec1-d250d4c620b7)
Chapter 4 (#ude9ef9b9-0dc1-5ea6-9517-9d5ec7761639)
Chapter 5 (#ubadbf3f4-3742-5f83-b0bf-8abe692d26c6)
Chapter 6 (#u8fd13730-0ac7-50d3-8187-39b6460fdb83)
Chapter 7 (#u10622a99-39fb-5b27-b8b9-60d1ec3efeb3)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Alex Brown (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Tindledale, June 1941 …
As the early morning sun sauntered over the apple trees in the orchard next to the cottage, bathing her bedroom in strands of glorious spun gold, Winnie Lovell tucked the last letter into an envelope and stowed it inside her handbag along with the others for posting later. Then, after replacing the lid of her fountain pen, she crouched down and swept the rug aside to lift a wonky floorboard to the left of the wardrobe and reached in between the rafters to retrieve an old wooden apple box containing her diaries dating back to when she was a little girl. Winnie placed the pen inside the box and took out the pressed purple violet one last time and held it up to her cheek, allowing herself a brief moment of contemplation before hurriedly secreting it all away back under the floor. She stood up and straightened her stockings in silence, reminding herself that this wasn’t the time for sentiment. No, absolutely not. Her mind was made up. Resolute. And there really was no going back now.
Winnie buttoned up her new khaki uniform jacket and straightened the collar, proud to be a part of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, or FANY as everyone said, and cast one last glance around the rose-print-papered bedroom in the eaves of the honey-stoned cottage that had been her home for all of her twenty years. She really would miss this old place, Orchard Cottage, a special place on the outskirts of Tindledale, the village where she had grown up. With its tiny school with the clock tower on the roof and the cobbled High Street, flanked either side with black timber-framed, white wattle-walled shops with mullioned windows, surrounded by lush, undulating fields full of hops, hay, lambs, cows, strawberries, buttercups and delicate pink cherry blossom in springtime that swirled all around like confetti in a breeze. All the familiarity, and there was a certain beauty, comfort even in the predictable, seasonal routine of a life lived in a rural village. But constraint too, and as much as she loved Tindledale, Winnie knew there was a whole new world waiting for her beyond the bus stop in the village square. Adventure. That’s what this was. She had waited her whole life, or so it seemed, for this very moment. She had already fulfilled her duties in the Women’s Land Army, teaching the city girls how to work the land. Luckily the base hadn’t been that far away so she had been able to hop on the bus home when she had leave, but this time it was different. As soon as the next part of her training was completed, she would go into the field and then who knew when she might next come home? But Winnie was determined to give it her all. Do her bit for the war effort. Her patriotic duty. And her parents had been so proud when Bill the postman had cycled up to the apple barn door to deliver the letter requesting her to report to the special FANY training centre located over two hundred miles away. Before war had been declared, the furthest Winnie had been was to Market Briar, the market town on the other side of the valley, and she had certainly never travelled on a train, which reminded her – she looked at the alarm clock on the cabinet beside the bed – it really wouldn’t do to be late! The next bus, on the hour every hour, left the village square at ten sharpish, and it was already nearly nine o’clock.
Winnie folded her new hand-knitted cardy into her suitcase – made especially for today with some wool unravelled from an old blanket. Make do and mend! That’s what all the women in the village were chatting about, along with ‘beauty is your duty’. So she checked her hair and make-up then applied a little more lipstick in Scarlet Pimpernel – having swapped a stick of liquorice and a book for a selection of tester sticks and a block of mascara with a couple of younger girls in the village. (Hettie and Marigold; one had an aunt who worked on the Yardley make-up counter in a department store.) She then gathered up her hat, gloves, handbag, suitcase and, lastly, the ugly gas mask in its square cardboard box with a length of string for a handle, and closed the bedroom door behind her. Winnie made her way down the rickety old staircase and into the kitchen where the homely aroma of a traditional fry-up greeted her.
‘Eggs and bacon for you, Winifred?’ her mother Delphine asked, with the hint of a French accent, lifting the edge of her apron to wipe her hands as Winnie slipped into the chair next to Edith, whose cheeks were flushed red like a pair of plum tomatoes from having been outside in the fields since the crack of dawn. As little sisters went, Edith – or Edie, as she liked to be called – wasn’t too bad. And Edie loved working in the orchards, crating up the apples and pears and tending to the horses, which was just as well now that it all came down to their father, George, and their neighbour, seventy-year-old Albert from three fields over, to keep things going, since both of their brothers had left the farm at the start of the war, having enlisted right away. Which was even more reason why Winnie was determined to do her bit. Yes, the Land Army had been fun, hard work too, but she was quite used to that, having grown up helping her father in the orchards. But now she wanted to do more; properly support the war effort like her brothers and saw no reason not to just because she was a woman. So after using every shilling she had, and with some help from her parents, she had managed to buy her uniform and was now ready to show what she could really do to help stop the Nazis in their tracks.
‘Ooh, yes please Mum,’ Winnie said, knowing better than to refuse, given that the rationing of bacon had come into force last year. Nerves and anticipation had seen to her appetite, but Winnie knew that her mother had saved the rashers, cut as generously as could be afforded during war time by Bessie up in Cooper’s the butchers’ shop in the High Street, especially for her farewell breakfast, just as she had for each of her brothers. So it would be churlish to turn it down and risk the wrath of her father who was a stickler for citing that old adage of ‘waste not want not’ and gratitude really was next to godliness, as far as he was concerned.
Winnie poured herself some tea from the knitted tea-cosied pot before smoothing a starched white linen napkin into her lap – her mother always liked to look her best and to keep an immaculate home too, and certainly saw ‘no reason to let standards slip just because Hitler has seen fit to turn our lives upside down’, as she frequently reminded them all. Their father begged to differ, and said that it was Delphine’s chic French ancestry that made her a perfect petal amidst the ‘ruddy-cheeked horrors’ that he had grown up with toiling the fields surrounding Tindledale. Talking of which, both parts of the kitchen stable back door burst open and George appeared, stamping the mud from his boots on to the mat before pulling Delphine towards him for a hearty morning kiss.
‘Ew! Enough of that,’ Delphine shooed him away, pretending to chastise. ‘You’ll make my face all mucky and that really won’t do when we venture up to the village square later on.’
‘Don’t worry about that – handsome woman like you. You’re the best looker in Tindledale!’ George puffed out his chest as he reluctantly let go of his wife. Delphine patted her neatly prepared pin curls back into place.
‘You always were a charmer, George.’ Delphine pecked his cheek, before bringing proceedings back to the importance of the day. ‘Now, there’s a fresh shirt hanging in the wardrobe next to your good suit. But first …’ Delphine delivered two perfectly poached eggs on to a plate, ‘eat your breakfast up!’ And she smiled contentedly. Delphine was in her element and at her happiest when feeding and fussing over her family.
‘Right you are,’ George replied, doing as he was told. He sat at the kitchen table and popped the filmy yolk of an egg with the corner of a hunk of home-baked crusty bread. ‘Want to look my best too for waving off our Winnie,’ he added, winking at his eldest daughter. ‘It’s been smashing having you home again for a bit love, and so grown up you are now.’
Winnie smiled; she wasn’t the naïve girl she used to be. Not like she was when she first went off to the Land Army at the start of the war. But so much had changed since then … courting for starters, that had come as a pleasant surprise. And quite unexpected too. She smiled at the memory of that morning when she first met him – she’d just finished showing the girls how to crate the apples correctly, when someone from the nearby army base at Market Briar had requested a volunteer who could drive.
‘And it’s not every day one of our own gets chosen for driving duties,’ George went on. ‘For the top brass no less. I knew my showing you how to drive would come in handy one day.’ He punctuated the air with the prongs of his fork. ‘You didn’t even know how to switch on the apple lorry’s engine before I showed you.’ He took another big bite of his bread.
‘Daaad.’ Winnie gave him a pretend exasperated look. ‘It’s hardly the same – an open-back truck crammed full of apples bobbing all over the place every time the tyres hit a pothole. No, the “top brass”, as you call them, enjoy a very smooth ride in a proper car, thank you very much.’ Winnie took a sip of her tea and pondered again on her good fortune in having spent the last couple of months in and out of the army base where she had been noticed, something that never would have happened if she’d stayed milking cows and digging for victory in the fields with the other girls.
‘You’ll be driving ambulances now though!’ Edie blithely chipped in, before turning her attentions back to the infinitely more interesting dollop of homemade blackberry jam that she had just let plop from a knife on to her toast. Winnie turned to study her little sister, half wishing that she still possessed Edie’s innocent view of the world. But there was a war on, and already Winnie had seen first hand the real effect it was having on the country. What her parents didn’t know was that one of Winnie’s driving duties had taken her to Brighton – she hadn’t wanted to alarm them with accounts of what she saw there, preferring they enjoy their still near-idyllic lives out here in the countryside – but the devastation that the German bomb had caused when it landed on the cinema in Kemp Town would stay with Winnie for always, especially the four children amongst the fifty-five people who were killed.
‘And doesn’t she look a picture in her uniform?’ Delphine joined in, smoothing a proud hand over Winnie’s right shoulder with a formidable look on her face, as if warning the tiniest speck of fluff to so much as dare go near her daughter’s immaculate jacket.
‘Indeed she does,’ George nodded, equally proud.
*
As the emerald green and cream split-window Bedford bus chugged away from the village square, Edie dashed after it, along with several other girls from the village, all waving white cotton hankies with stoic smiles fixed firmly in place as they treasured last glimpses, potentially, of their soldier sweethearts. But it was different for Edie: she loved her big sister, of course she did, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a tiny bit gleeful that Winnie had signed up to join the FANY, driving ambulances and doing first aid, and it wasn’t as if she was going somewhere really dangerous like her brothers. No, Winnie would be having the time of her life at the training centre, and it wasn’t for ever. Winnie would be back before they knew it, which was why Edie didn’t feel quite so bad for having already boxed up all her belongings ready to move into her big sister’s bedroom for the duration. After their parents’ room, which was set at the front of the cottage overlooking the single-track lane, Winnie’s attic bedroom, with its very own pastel-pink vanity unit and dual-aspect windows with views of the surrounding fields, really was the perfect place to be in Orchard Cottage.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Present day …
In the bedroom of a 1930s bungalow in Basingstoke, April Wilson slipped off her pink hand-knitted cardy and placed it back on the padded hanger before putting it away inside the wardrobe – managing, as she had become accustomed to doing, to avoid making eye contact with her late husband’s shirts still hanging neatly on his half of the hanging rail.
Graham had died eighteen months ago. Motor neurone disease. Ten years her senior, but with a zest for life befitting a far younger man, Gray had been the proverbial life and soul of the party until the cruel disease had taken hold, and then when his breathing muscles had degenerated so severely, he had slipped away one night in his sleep. And April would always be grateful for that. Having given up her nursing career to care for Gray, it had been his wish right from the start, on that sad, drizzly autumn day in the consultant’s room at the hospital when the diagnosis had first been given, to be at home in his own bed when the end came.
‘Only me,’ the effervescent voice of April’s stepdaughter, Nancy, cut through her reverie as the door opened slowly. ‘Sorry, am I disturbing you? Only these arrived a few minutes ago addressed to Mrs Wilson.’ And a gorgeous array of vibrant red and orange roses appeared in the gap between the door and the frame.
April quickly closed the wardrobe doors and pulled on a polka-dot towelling robe, before smoothing down her curly brown hair, which had got mussed up from tugging the dress off over her head.
Gray used to help her with the zip.
April stopped moving.
Instinctively, she inhaled sharply and squeezed her right hand, pressing the fingernails hard into her palm to stop herself from going there. It was the best way. And it was always the little things that still managed to catch her off guard. But she’d get out her sewing machine and alter the zip, build in a small ruched panel on either side of the waist to create a looser fit and the problem would be solved. No more tugging at the dress and her heartstrings while yearning for Gray to be there beside her. Of course, that feeling would never completely disappear, but for now, April needed at least some of her waking hours to feel normal, to be free from the near-physical pain of her battered heart.
‘No, I was just getting changed, come on in sweetheart.’ April smiled, tying the belt as she walked across the room to take the roses from Nancy. ‘Oh they’re absolutely lovely, thank you so much.’ She pressed her nose into the highly scented flowers, figuring they must have cost quite a bit by the looks of the gorgeous white wicker trug and elaborate puff of scarlet tulle ribbon wrapped all around it.
‘Oh, don’t thank me,’ Nancy grinned. ‘The cookery book and that melt-in-the-mouth steak were your birthday treats from me – flowers are a waste of money in my opinion,’ she added in her usual matter-of-fact way before bouncing down on to the end of April’s bed. Just like her dad, thought April; Gray had been a pragmatist too. ‘Here, see who they’re from,’ and Nancy plucked an envelope from a wire stem and handed it to April.
After placing the trug on top of the chest of drawers, April opened the envelope and pulled out a gold-embossed cream card.
To my amazing and beautiful wife on her birthday. Seize the day my darling, wherever or however that may be, as life really is too short.
Bye for now.
Love always.
Gray xxx
April pressed the card to her chest and gasped. Trust him to have remembered, even from beyond the grave, but then Gray always was so thoughtful, and they had joked about this bonkers idea years ago – it was over Sunday lunch in the local pub, shortly after the diagnosis, when they’d all been keen to keep spirits up and put on brave faces. Gray had said he was going to pay his sister, Jen, a florist, up front, to send roses every year on April’s birthday. Gray had then teased April, telling her, ‘But just don’t be living until you’re a hundred years old or the money will have run out by then and you’ll end up getting a measly bunch of dandelions.’ They had all laughed, and then later Jen had taken April aside and explained that she intended on honouring Gray’s wishes no matter what. April would have roses on her birthday. It was the least she could do after all the love and care she had already shown her brother. And April had smiled and shrugged, for she liked taking care of people, loved it in fact; it gave her a purpose and made her feel like she was making a difference. It was the reason she had trained to become a nurse in the first place.
And then so much had happened since to keep her busy: there had been the funeral to arrange, sorting out his financial affairs and the memorial service – Gray had been a renowned research scientist, involved in pioneering work developing cures for a number of life-limiting illnesses, which Gray had often said was actually very ironic really, given the fate of his own health. And of course there was the grieving process to work through. That had hit April hard and somehow all the brave facing and wry jokes while Gray had still been alive had made it even harder once he’d gone. Back then it had been easy for April to occupy her thoughts and time by caring for Gray as he deteriorated: making sure all his needs were met; showing him she was strong and would be OK without him. It had been important for April to give Gray that, to ease the burden of worry for him, as she knew his biggest fear after the diagnosis was for those he loved and was used to looking after, and would ultimately leave behind – his family. Twenty-two-year-old twins, Freddie and Nancy, how would they cope? Their mother lived on the other side of the world in New Zealand, having emigrated there with her new husband when they were teenagers. But the twins had coped remarkably well, in that robust, resilient way that many young people seemed able to do. Of course, there had been ups and downs, but April admired them, their strength, and having spent some time with their mother they now seemed OK and were starting to normalise … which was more than could be said for her.
Gray had worried so much about April; often confiding in Jen, asking her to look out for his wife and to support her through his demise and when he was no longer here. Because, although Gray and April had been together for a while, they had only been married for a year when the diagnosis came, and Gray had said he would completely understand if April wanted to end things with him then and move on. Make a life for herself with somebody new. Somebody fit and vibrant. Instead of ‘saddling herself with a sickly, older, and quite often grumpy git like me’ (Gray could be quite self-deprecating at times). It was a lot to expect of her to stick by him, but April was having none of it. In sickness and health. That’s what she had vowed, and gladly so. She wasn’t a quitter, never had been.
And caring for Gray had given April a purpose, something to live for, and God knows she had needed it, because if the truth be told, her world had fallen apart that day in the consultant’s office. April had hidden it well of course, put on a brave face, stoic, and she was good at that, having trained at Great Ormond Street hospital where nursing seriously ill children required an ability to protect one’s self, close off emotions when required – maintain an emotional distance, if you like. It really wouldn’t do for a nurse to cry. No, that was for other people. April’s job was to be strong so that everyone else around her could cope. Hence, she hadn’t cried once in front of Gray or the twins. Or burdened any of her friends from the knitting group or gym classes that she used to do in the local leisure centre before Gray became seriously incapacitated. And April used to love knitting: sitting next to Gray on the sofa of an evening, they would watch TV together and he’d tease her about the chunkiness of her size 12 needles for a cosy Aran jumper that had been her last project. It was the simple, everyday ‘doing nothing’ stuff that April missed most. But now, well … it just wasn’t the same on her own. The happy association of knit one purl one and laughing along to Gogglebox wasn’t there any more.
‘Are you OK?’ Nancy asked, leaning forward to stroke April’s arm.
‘Yes, sure. Sorry darling, I was miles away.’
April shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, and then smiled at Nancy.
‘Don’t apologise,’ Nancy smiled back. ‘We all knew today would be extra tough for you. Another birthday without Dad.’ She shuffled her bottom backwards over the duvet and then patted the bed, indicating for April to sit beside her.
‘Actually, today has been better than I anticipated,’ April replied, conscious that underneath the veneer of being OK, Nancy was still grieving too, and she didn’t want to upset her stepdaughter by appearing to be ‘getting over her father’s death’ too quickly. But deep down April knew that she most likely would never really ‘get over’ Gray. Yes she’d learn to live without him, be happy again perhaps, a different kind of happiness, she hoped, one day, but still …
‘Good,’ Nancy stated. ‘You know, Dad would never have wanted you to be “moping” all over the place.’ She paused to do quote signs in the air and April winced. ‘Especially on your birthday.’ A short silence followed. ‘Um, sorry, not that you are,’ Nancy added. ‘Gosh, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, you aren’t … um, haven’t been “moping” at all, in fact you’ve been amazingly strong and kind and lovely as always to me and Freddie, putting everyone else before yourself. Sorry, me and my big mouth. I really must engage my brain before opening my gob and just letting words blurt out.’ Nancy pulled a face and shook her head, making her fiery red hair swish around her shoulders. ‘I just meant that … well, you know how practical Dad was about stuff, being a scientist and all. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive, God no, but somehow it always comes out that way.’
‘It’s OK,’ April replied. ‘Like father like daughter, eh?’ and she nudged Nancy with her elbow, before both women exchanged glances and a smile.
‘Hmm, I guess so.’ Nancy pressed her hands together as if to break the moment and lift the mood, buoy them both back up. ‘I know! How about we watch an old film together? Mamma Mia, you love that one.’ April’s smile widened. ‘Whaaaat? What’s so funny?’ Nancy lifted her shoulders and pulled a face.
‘Mamma Mia!’ April laughed. ‘It’s hardly an old film …’
‘Hmm, weeeeell … it is to me. Or would you prefer to watch something really ancient, like Dirty Dancing perhaps?’
‘Or how about Some Like It Hot?’ April couldn’t resist, and Nancy creased her forehead.
‘Sounds like filth to me.’ Nancy folded her arms. ‘April, you fox! Never had you down as a porn fan,’ she teased.
‘Noooooo!’ April protested, her cheeks flushing. ‘Oh gosh no, nothing like that. It’s a classic, starring Marilyn Monroe. With Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon – they dress up as women and—’
‘Cross-dressing! Hmm, guess that could be cool.’ Nancy raised her eyebrows.
‘Hmm, it’s a bit more than that,’ April said.
‘Well, I’ve never heard of it!’
‘Ha! Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ April gave her stepdaughter’s thigh an affectionate pat. ‘You know, I feel reeeeeally old now.’ She shook her head and let out a long sigh.
‘Oh don’t be daft! You’re still young. A million miles away from the menopause.’ April shook her head; trust Nancy to be so blunt. ‘Tell you what … why don’t I do your hair and make-up this afternoon? I could do your nails too; we could have a girly makeover party. I’ll get us some chocolate and maybe a cheeky bottle of bubbles … what do you say?’
‘That sounds lovely, are you sure though?’ April said, surprised, as it wasn’t really Nancy’s thing.
‘Yep. It’s your birthday and I want to make it nice for you. And you love all that beauty and pampering stuff.’ A short silence followed. April swallowed, hard. And then Nancy added, ‘Weell,’ she hesitated, ‘you used to before Dad died, and I know it’s hard, I really still miss him too, but he’d want us to make an effort on your birthday and you made an effort on mine, even though I bet you didn’t really feel up to it.’ She pulled herself off the bed and went in search of April’s beauty paraphernalia. She opened the top drawer of a chest. It was full of underwear. ‘Sorry,’ she said, closing it again. ‘Nail polish?’
‘No problem,’ April replied, ‘it’s in the basket on the shelf in the ensuite.’ She paused and fiddled with the belt of her dressing gown. ‘And I say that a pamper afternoon is a very lovely idea, thank you sweetheart.’
‘Great!’ Nancy chimed. ‘But I’m sensing a big but!’ She stopped moving and turned to look at April.
‘It’s just that I thought my hair looked OK! Why didn’t you tell me before we went out for lunch?’ April pretended to admonish, but knew seriously that she hadn’t really bothered with all of that since Gray went, often wondering what was the point. Of course, she always made sure her hair was brushed and that she looked presentable and had clean clothes on, that sort of thing (well … underwear at least), but she had found it hard to muster up much enthusiasm for applying make-up or painting her nails. To be honest, the last eighteen months had seen her operating as if on autopilot, going through the motions really.
‘April, your hair looks lovely. Honestly. I just thought it would be something nice to do for the rest of your birthday.’
‘Ahh, OK. Then thank you, and sorry, ignore me, I’m just being oversensitive. Come on, you grab the chocolate and champagne and I’ll sort out what we need up here,’ April chivvied, seizing the opportunity to busy herself and be in her preferred state.
‘Perfect.’ Nancy walked towards the door. ‘Ooh, before I forget – this came too. It’s addressed to “Miss W. Lovell”, no idea who that is, but it looks like a birthday card and Lovell was your surname before you married Dad so I’m guessing it’s for you.’ She pulled out a crumpled lilac envelope from the back pocket of her jeans and gave it to April. ‘Sorry for squashing it.’
‘Thank you. Ooh, it’s from Edie,’ April said, taking the envelope and recognising the old-lady spidery writing on the front.
‘Your great aunt?’
‘That’s right.’ April opened the envelope and slipped out the card, drawing in the faint, but evocatively familiar scent of her childhood summer holidays spent in the quaint little village of Tindledale with her grandfather’s sister. This was before her parents had died in a car crash shortly before her sixteenth birthday and her life had changed for ever. April, an only child, had gone to live with her mum’s parents at the other end of the country and the strong connection with her great aunt Edie faded until she was able to visit more frequently as an adult. And then her grandparents died, leaving Edie as April’s last living relative.
April wafted the card in front of her nose. ‘Ahh, lavender mingled with mothballs. Takes me right back – I used to get told off for fiddling with the mothballs hanging in the little muslin bag in the back of her wardrobe whilst playing The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe game, thinking I was on my way to Narnia.’
‘Really? I can’t imagine you getting told off for anything, April,’ Nancy grinned. ‘I always imagined you as a polite, well-behaved child … much like you are now.’
‘Trust me, I had my moments.’ April rolled her eyes before opening the card. ‘Ooops!’ She bent down to retrieve a five-pound note that had fluttered from it, while simultaneously reading.
Happy birthday Winnie
Treat yourself to a nice dinner somewhere fancy.
Lots of love
Your Edie xxx
April frowned.
‘What is it?’ Nancy asked, sounding concerned. April sighed as she realised what this meant, showing the card to Nancy. Her great aunt Edie must be getting forgetful and somewhat confused. And a fancy dinner for a fiver? Oh dear.
‘Ahh! Well, it’s nice that your aunt remembered your birthday, eh? Probably just got into a muddle with names, that’s all, no need to worry. How old is she?’ Nancy asked, folding her arms.
‘You know, I’m not sure exactly,’ April said, feeling a twinge of guilt as she racked her brains trying to recall when she had last visited her great aunt Edie or indeed sent her a birthday card. ‘I reckon she must be ninety at least.’
‘Wow! And did she come to Dad’s funeral? I don’t remember seeing her there, but then it was all such a blur …’
‘No, she wasn’t up to it – was getting over a fall, I think she said, I can’t really remember either, as it was, like you said … all a bit of a blur for me too. But I do know that I promised to—’ April stopped talking.
‘What’s the matter?’ Nancy asked gently. ‘You look like you’re about to cry. What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ April dipped her head and busied herself with putting the card and the money back inside the envelope.
‘Something clearly is.’ Silence followed. ‘Come on, out with it,’ Nancy cajoled.
‘I feel dreadful,’ April eventually said.
‘Why?’
‘OK.’ April inhaled and let out a long breath. ‘When Great Aunt Edie wrote to apologise for not coming to Gray’s funeral, I said I’d visit her soon, and well, that was over a year and a half ago …’ April’s voice dwindled, knowing that it was eighteen months, two weeks and three days to be precise. She crossed off the days in her diary. At first, it had been a comfort, well, more of a life-raft, something to cling on to, because every day ticked off was a day closer to shedding the cocoon of numbness in favour of feeling something again – she had hoped. But now it was just a habit, because April had learnt over the months that grief really wasn’t as kind as all that. It came in peaks and troughs like a giant rollercoaster with no predictability; it was not a set process to be worked through at all, despite what people had assured her.
‘Oh April, come here.’ Nancy pulled her in for a big hug. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand – your husband had just died! I’d say that’s extenuating circumstances, wouldn’t you?’
April knew that Nancy was trying to make her feel better, but it had to be at least a couple of years since she had visited her great aunt in Tindledale. The last time had been with Gray, when he was still fairly mobile. They had driven down one sunny Saturday afternoon, stopping on the way at a quaint old black and white Tudor-framed pub with a lovely garden full of pink hollyhocks and a couple of goats in a pen for children to pet. Gray had surreptitiously fed them his salad – never having been a fan of ‘rabbit food’, as he called it. They’d had a wonderful time relaxing, and for a few precious hours it had seemed like the old days, carefree and fun, before the diagnosis changed everything.
‘I guess so. But I’ve still neglected her,’ April said.
‘Then do something about it. Go and see her.’ Nancy stepped back from April and put her hands on her hips. ‘Go on! It’ll do you good – get away from here for a few days, give yourself some space, and you know what they say, a change of scenery and all that.’ Nancy looked April in the eyes. ‘A mini break is exactly what you need.’ She nodded.
‘Hmm! Are you trying to get rid of me?’ April asked, instantly wishing she didn’t sound quite so needy. It really was unlike her, but it was something she had noticed creeping upon her more and more since Gray had died. She felt exposed, vulnerable even, and she wasn’t really sure why, preferring not to think too much about it, hoping the feeling would go away if she ignored it.
April coughed to clear her throat. ‘But I can’t go and leave you here on your own.’ She wasn’t sure it was right, certainly not so soon after the memorial service – the twins might need her.
‘Of course you can.’
‘But what about Freddie?’ April knew how hopeless he was at getting himself up for his job as a car mechanic every morning. And hadn’t she promised Gray that she’d be here for the twins no matter what?
‘What about him?’ Nancy shook her head. ‘No. It’ll do Freddie good to look after himself for a day or two. He’s a lazy arse and relies on you too much. And you really must stop doing his washing!’ She wagged a finger in the air.
‘But it’s no trouble to put it in with my stuff, I quite like doing it in fact,’ April said, always happy to help out.
‘Oh April, pleeeeease, go and visit your great aunt. If only to remind her that your name isn’t Winnie! And you never know, you might even solve the mystery!’
‘Mystery?’ April raised her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know … find out who this Winnie woman is,’ Nancy joked.
‘Ahh, yes, indeed. And I could very well have her fiver here,’ April smiled, waving the note.
‘Exactly! And Freddie is perfectly capable of seeing to his own washing and I’ll be here to make sure he pulls his weight around the house,’ she laughed.
‘Hmm. But joking aside, the name Winnie does seem to ring a bell. I’m sure I’ve heard it before … a relative perhaps. I think there was an old black and white picture of her on my aunt’s sideboard in the sitting room … in a uniform during the war … It used to fascinate me as you don’t often see that, it’s mostly men, the soldiers.’ April creased her forehead, casting her mind back trying to remember more.
‘Sounds intriguing, what happened to her?’
‘I’m not sure – you know how family history gets lost in the mists of time – but I’d like to see if I can find out before it’s too late. My aunt is getting on now and once she’s gone that’ll be it, I suppose, for my family, my flesh and blood. It’ll just be me left.’
‘Then you must go right away, before, as you say … it’s too late.’
‘Yes, I should do that. And I am concerned about Aunt Edie.’ A short silence followed, leaving April deep in thought.
‘And it can’t be easy for her on her own at that age. Has she got a husband? Any children? I can’t remember … ,’ Nancy asked.
‘No. She never married,’ April replied, then pondered, casting her mind back. ‘She used to joke that there was a shortage of men around after the war, and the only eligible ones in the village were either daft, or already spoken for … And that she much preferred the company of horses in any case.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Indeed. She always had a good circle of friends though, but I guess most of them have probably died by now.’ April shook her head.
‘I guess so. Ninety is a ripe old age. And definitely more reason why you should go and see her.’
‘But are you sure?’ April checked, but now that all the practicalities following Gray’s death had been completed, she was actually starting to feel a tiny bit brighter each morning. Gone was the dreadful split-second gear change on waking, that glorious moment before the synapses of her brain kicked in and it was as if Gray was still alive and still well, only for the grief to come hurtling back all over again when her memory was restored. Yes, April was definitely on the way to feeling a little bit more like her old self, less wobbly, and it would certainly keep her busy for a couple of days. All this sitting around doing nothing very much really wouldn’t do. And hadn’t Gray said on his card for her to seize the day?
So, April made a decision. Nancy was right: she could do with a break, time to gather her thoughts, dust herself down and figure out what next. And it was a pleasant, pretty drive through the countryside to get there, which would give her plenty of time to do just that. Yes, first thing tomorrow morning April would go to Tindledale and visit her great aunt Edith in Orchard Cottage.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
April’s blue Beetle bounced around the corner of the pot-holed country lane, the top of her head very nearly making contact with the little lever that opened the sunroof. She slammed her right foot on the brake, just in time! Gripping the steering wheel, April held her breath as a resplendent gingery-brown feathered hen dawdled across in front of the car followed by a row of fluffy yellow chicks.
‘Awww, so sweet,’ April said to herself, before picking up the concertinaed paper map nestled next to Gray’s trug of roses on the passenger seat beside her. Nancy had said it would be a shame for April not to bring the flowers with her, as she was on nights for the rest of the week so would most likely forget to water them and they’d end up dying from dehydration. So April had loaded them into the car along with a lovely bunch of late blooming pastel-pink peonies picked earlier this morning from the back garden, and a tin containing a magnificent cherry madeira cake, with the perfect crack running across the top, for Great Aunt Edie. April had remembered that madeira cake was Edie’s favourite so had baked one last night especially, using a recipe from The Great British Bake Off book that Nancy had kindly surprised her with for her birthday. And everyone loved peonies.
April unfolded the map, thankful to the man in the petrol station situated just outside Market Briar, the nearest big town. After asking where she was heading, he had reminded her that most of the country lanes in and around Tindledale were simply single-track ‘unnamed’ roads so April really needed to ‘do herself a favour and take a good old-fashioned map’. And he had been right. April had done this journey more than once with Gray, but it all looked so different now. Although Great Aunt Edie’s postcode was on the sat nav, it covered such a vast rural area that April had reached her destination point supposedly fifteen minutes ago so was now reliant on reading the map to make her way down to the valley and right through the middle of fields, or so it seemed. At one point, after taking a wrong turn, the Beetle had to go along little more than a dirt track with enormous black-and-white-splodged cows on either side chewing and staring at April, before arriving at a tiny derelict church in the middle of nowhere, which was a bit eerie if she was honest. April had then had to do at least a ten-point turn, being careful not to topple the crumbling gravestones, before making her way back along the dirt track and on to what constituted a proper road around these parts.
Once the last of the chicks had safely made it to the other side of the lane, April tentatively continued on her way, turning another corner, but still not entirely sure that she was going in the right direction as there weren’t any signposts to guide her. A few metres later and she was facing a five-bar gate with an empty field behind it. Although on second glance, April saw a very large black bull eyeing her from under a tree in the far corner. Wasting no time, and remembering as a child the very close encounter she and a friend had experienced when a similarly intimidating bull had charged at them whilst they were picking blackberries on the other side of Tindledale, April quickly and quietly reversed back on to the lane. She had seen first hand how a raging bull could trample a wooden gate, given enough ground to gather enough speed. Even now, the sight of a blackberry brought back that moment when she had hurled her Tupperware box into a bush and legged it over a stile to safety – a well-placed farmer had then grabbed her and her friend and hurled them up on to his hay tractor before dealing with the bull.
After finding a layby, April pulled over, switched off the engine and sat for a while to weigh up her options, wondering if she should head back to the main road and start again in her quest to find Orchard Cottage. It all looked so different somehow, or perhaps it was because she hadn’t really paid attention on any of the previous trips over the years, when her parents had brought her here in the school summer holidays, or Edie had arranged for a taxi to pick her up from the station located down the bottom of the hill, or Gray had driven and she would have been busy chatting and laughing along with him.
Ahh, April spotted a van in the distance. She’d flag it down and ask for directions. Stepping out of the car, she waved an arm and the green van slowed down until it was stationary in front of her. The diesel engine was still chugging away as the window was rolled down. April glanced at the side and saw ‘Only Shoes and Horses. Matt Carter & Daughter – Farrier’ written in white signage. Nice touch mentioning his daughter. And then she saw the man. With curls the colour of treacle, prominent cheekbones, full lips and the greenest eyes that April had ever seen. Wearing a chocolate-brown leather waistcoat over a checked shirt, he had the look of a Romany gypsy about him, or as if he had just stepped out of a Catherine Cookson saga – all windswept and mysterious, moody, brooding angst. And he was definitely ‘hot for an older guy’ as Nancy would say, while most likely elbowing April in the ribs and nodding her head slowly with a cheeky smile set firmly in place like she used to when they went out shopping together, in the carefree, fun days, before Gray got ill. And on second thoughts, was there something vaguely familiar about this man? April wasn’t sure. Had she seen him somewhere before? Hmmm. Maybe in the village on a previous visit. That’ll be it! He is very striking so it’s entirely possible that our paths have crossed and his face and those green eyes have just stuck in my mind. And he’s not that old, but then Nancy is only twenty-two – anyone over thirty-five is practically ancient as far as she is concerned.
‘Um, hello …’ April ventured a few seconds later, after Matt (she assumed) still hadn’t spoken, having busied himself with pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing part of a sleeve tattoo, before taking an enormous swig of water from a plastic bottle which, now empty, he had thrown into the footwell of the passenger seat beside him. ‘Er, sorry to bother you … but, er …’ April was feeling self-conscious; his eyes really were quite mesmerising and they were fixed on her. She hesitated and then managed a somewhat meagre, ‘I’m lost!’
Still silence.
Then Matt gave April an up-and-down glance as if mulling over whether to help her or not, although it was difficult to tell for sure what exactly he was thinking as his face hadn’t moved at all except to drink the water. He stared intently, making April feel a little hot as she wondered what was going on. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was as if he was in some sort of trance. And then, as if someone had found the cord in the back of his body and given it a good yank, Matt started talking.
‘Where you heading?’
‘Oh, um thanks. I’m trying to find Orchard Cottage, it’s—’
‘I know it. Get in your car and follow me. I’m going past the top of the lane.’ And before April could get another word in, if only to say thank you, Matt wound up the window and drove off, but then waited in front of the Beetle while April raced over to it, leapt in and started the engine up as fast as she could. Ten minutes later, Matt stuck his right arm out of the van window and pointed to a gap in the hedgerow before disappearing around a bend further on. April assumed this meant she should turn right … so she did.
*
Matt watched her go. Glancing again in his wing mirror as the blue Beetle disappeared out of sight, he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter before pulling into a layby and switching off the engine. He couldn’t believe it. Of course, he had recognised her right away. But she had no idea who he was. And why would she? He looked very different now. Unrecognisable, it seemed. April Lovell. Even her name was lovely. And she really had been so lovely back then. When he had first spotted her, cycling along the stream down near the Blackwood Farm Estate, it had been the school holidays and he had been fishing on the other side of the water with Jack, his brother, who had teased him for gawping at the girl down from London. Everyone in the village knew who she was; she came every year in the school holidays to stay with her aunt.
Matt must have been about twelve – bottle-top glasses and crooked teeth – and with typical pre-pubescent boy hormones racing through him, but still, he had never seen a girl like her. A vision she was. With her long curly brown hair flaring out behind her as she sped along, her white cotton skirt puffing up in the breeze, allowing him a glimpse of her suntanned thighs. And to cap it all, she had turned her freckled face and actually grinned at him as she had gone by. He thought he had died and gone to heaven. And he had never forgotten that moment.
It had been a few summers later when he had seen her again, part of the group that met on the village green every morning with their bikes, bags of sweets and clingfilmed sandwiches and instructions to be home by sunset for their tea. More confident by now, thanks to the braces straightening his teeth and the new, decent glasses, he hadn’t wanted to miss his chance a second time around and had plucked up the courage to talk to her. He had made her laugh and in turn she had made him feel on top of the world. They had spent the whole week of her holiday together that summer. Cycling, fishing, swimming in the stream, they had even made a den in the woods together. And that was where it had happened. April Lovell was the first girl Matt kissed. Properly kissed. Pulling her into him, pressing his body against hers in the buttercup field. Soft and curvy, he had been nervous of crushing her. Later, they had lain on the grass in the sunshine together. Him with his arms wrapped around her, his fingers entwined in her hair as she rested her head on his chest and twirled a buttercup underneath his chin, making jokes about liking butter or something. He couldn’t remember the words for sure, but he’d never forgotten the scent of her, like a bunch of lovely fresh flowers it was.
Matt pushed a hand through his hair, shocked at the effect the sudden memory of that intense summer was having on him all these years later. Even though he had never seen her again until today in the lane. He rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin and glanced in the rear-view mirror, knowing he needed to pull himself together. And fast. Everything was different now. He was a dad with responsibilities for starters, so there was no point mooning over the past like some lovestruck teenager. He switched the engine back on and carried on driving.
*
Orchard Cottage was at the end of a private, single-track lane, April remembered that much, and last time she’d been here the lane was pristine with beautifully manicured herbaceous borders running the length on either side. But now, there was just a mass of higgledy-piggledy brambles and nettles, some so long they were practically meeting in the middle like an arch covering the lane and tapping the top of the Beetle as April nudged gently on. And she didn’t dare risk going over five miles an hour for fear of driving into one of the gigantic craters (and that really wasn’t an exaggeration) littering the tarmac. Or worse still, the hen and her chicks that were dandering along, weaving in and out of the undergrowth and bringing a whole new meaning to the term ‘free-range’. From what April could see, these chickens had the run of the whole place, and there were at least six hens now – she’d lost count of the number of chicks – all pecking away and squabbling with one another.
April came to the end of the lane. Ahh, this looked more like it. With rolling green fields all around her, there was a patch of dandelion-covered tarmac that she reckoned constituted a turning point. And what was that? A tiny opening in between two giant bun-shaped blue hydrangea bushes.
April got out of the car and looked around, drawing in the sweet honeysuckle mingled with wood-smoke scent that filled the air, feeling baffled that Aunt Edie’s cottage looked so overgrown. It hadn’t been like this at all the last time she had visited. April walked over to the opening and saw a narrow, winding footpath to the left leading up to the cottage’s front door that was barely visible now, given the glorious red, yellow, pink and green rainbow assortment of geraniums tumbling down from two hanging baskets, almost touching the red tiles surrounding the porch.
After retrieving her handbag, the cake tin and the bunch of peonies – figuring she could pop back to the car for the rest of her stuff in a bit – April made her way along the footpath, flanked either side by tons of tall buttery-yellow hollyhocks, and up to the front door. Placing the bunch of peonies and the cake tin on the tiles, she found the rope attached to the brass bell hanging from the wall and gave it a good jangle. Nothing happened. April waited for what felt like a respectable length of time before giving it another good jangle, a little louder and longer this time. Perhaps Great Aunt Edie was having a nap. April checked her watch. It was nearly two o’clock and she knew that her great aunt liked a little lie-down in the afternoon after her lunch, which was always at one p.m. sharpish; but then she was in her nineties so it only seemed right for her to be taking it easy at her time of life.
April took a step back and looked up at the two upstairs windows nestling in the eaves of the thatched roof, with their black paint surround and criss-cross ironwork, and saw that the curtains were still closed. She opened the white picket fence side gate and stepped tentatively through the thigh-high grass – trying not to imagine what the soft, sluggy-like feeling was that had just squelched along the side of her right Birkenstock sandal – and across to the sitting room window.
Taking in the flowery wallpaper, the mahogany sideboard with dusty bottles of alcohol on a silver tray for guests – Cinzano, Vermouth, Campari and of course the creamy yellow Advocaat – ahh, April smiled, fondly remembering the potent snowballs with a glacé cherry on a cocktail stick that her great aunt used to mix into a big highball glass tumbler for her as a young teenager, telling her in a naughty whisper-voice not to tell her mum. On the other side of the room was a Dralon settee with white lace covers protecting the arms. There was a rosewood display cabinet in the alcove next to the log burner, crammed with various keepsakes gathered over the years – lots of black and white framed photos, a sprig of lavender wrapped in silver foil, a lucky rabbit’s foot, a collection of china thimbles and postcards sent from her soldier brothers during the Second World War – April remembered being allowed to look at these when she was a child. And, still there, was the picture of the woman in the uniform. Winnie perhaps.
But where was Great Aunt Edie?
Wading through the grass, across the footpath and around to the back of the cottage, April wondered what was going on. When she had phoned her aunt to thank her for the birthday card and to ask if she could visit, Edie had sounded delighted.
‘Oh yes, dear! I had been wondering when you would come back. It’ll be very lovely to see you. And I’ll bake your favourite cinnamon apple crumble and custard for your tea. I’ll use the Carnation evaporated milk, just the way you like it,’ she had said – getting a little confused after mistaking her for Winnie again, April had assumed, as she couldn’t stomach evaporated milk. But once she had gently informed Edie that it was April, her brother Robert’s granddaughter, who would be visiting today … well, April was surprised that her father’s aunt wasn’t in. It was very unlike her, Edie was always quite fastidious when it came to receiving guests. April remembered one time as a child, she had been staying for the weekend while her parents went to a wedding, and the Tindledale village vicar had been due to pop by, just to collect some jars for the church fete (Great Aunt Edie was famous for her homemade apple sauce, using sweet Braeburns from the orchards) – Edie had spent the morning dusting the cottage and had changed into her best dress at least an hour before the vicar arrived. So how come she wasn’t at home now?
Admittedly, it was a little later than April had predicted arriving, damn sat nav, but Aunt Edie wouldn’t have just gone out, surely? And where would she go in any case? The last time she had visited, April had got the impression her aunt never went very far at all; being a home bird, she preferred pottering around her country cottage.
April made her way around to the back of the cottage where the grass was just as tall – and what was that? As she ventured nearer to the back door, she felt her Birkenstocks sinking into something slippery and wet. A bog of some kind, or a blocked drain overflowing, perhaps. April went to lift her bare foot, to no avail. It was sinking into the foul-smelling puddle that seemed to be seeping from a mildew-covered mound, the septic tank. Oh God. With her hand over her face, April shook her head when a shot of guilt darted right through her. Clearly her aunt was struggling, had let things go and if April had visited more often then she would have known about this before now! The once tidy lawn was now almost a meadow, left to nature and full of wild flowers, which she was sure would be eyed with envy in some of the trendier London suburbs, but knowing her great aunt, April was certain the rustic charm was not intentional.
Gingerly, April tried to lift her left foot, but nothing happened. She tried again, but it was well and truly submerged in the quagmire. Instead, she shoved her other foot forward, but lost her balance and skidded backwards, and ended up planting both palms in the mess to stop her whole body from getting covered. Ugh. She wiped the worst of it off down the front of her jeans, but then without thinking, touched her cheek so she now had a streak of the stinky stuff on her face. There was nobody around, so April quickly lifted the front of her top to use as a cloth to clean her face as best she could. She was a muddy mess, and the sooner she got into Orchard Cottage to clean up properly, the better. Although it was highly likely that her aunt might mistake her for some kind of vagabond living off the land in the depths of the woods, given the now disgusting state of her. Even her hair was a sight, the curls conspiring to form an unruly big bale of hay, having been buffeted about in the summer breeze.
April persevered, making a conscious effort to breathe in through her mouth in an attempt to avoid the smell wafting all around her, as she waded towards the cottage. Then, after batting away a tangle of blackberry bushes, she made it to the kitchen window and with her filthy hands up to the side of her head, but not quite touching her skin, she used the sleeve-covered part of her forearm to push her bushy hair back and pressed her nose up close to the window.
And gasped.
Oh God!
How on earth had things got so bad that it had come to this?
Aunt Edie was slumped on the quarry-tiled kitchen floor with her snow-white curly-haired head inside the big oven part of the sunshine-yellow Aga. And her left arm was draped in the top of the two small adjacent ovens.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
April’s pulse raced as she took in the scene. Not one to normally panic, she pushed up the sleeves of her top as a call to action, dumped her handbag in the long grass (not giving the gunk a second thought) and hammered hard on the window.
‘AUNT EDIEEEEEEE!’ April hollered as loud as she could, her voice slicing through the silence of the rolling green fields all around the cottage. ‘ARE YOU OK?’ She banged again and inwardly berated herself – clearly her great aunt was not OK, far from it, so why had she asked such a daft question? But with no time to ponder on the nuances of everyday niceties, April yelled some more before crouching down to rummage inside her handbag in search of her mobile phone.
She’d call an ambulance.
No signal.
April waggled her phone around in the air hoping to magic up at least one bar, but no luck. Oh well, she dialled anyway in the hope of getting through on another network. Still nothing. Ahh, one bar, she tried again, but as soon as she pressed on the nine key, ‘No Service’ flicked up on to the screen. Damn. So April went to plan B and shoved the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She had a Swiss Army knife in her bag somewhere. It had been Gray’s and for some reason April had taken to carrying it around with her, sort of like a comforter, a talisman that made it seem like Gray was still with her, by her side. And thank goodness she had, as it was just the thing to prise open a rickety old wooden window frame. In haste, April turfed out the contents of her bag – purse, book, three opened packets of tissues, a ripped yarn label, a variety of lip balms, a diary, a ridiculous assortment of pens and half a packet of wine gums.
A-ha! Found it.
April flicked open the knife and pushed the sharp end into the side of the frame just underneath the catch and tried to yank open the window, but it was no use, it seemed to be painted shut. She tried again, pulling harder this time with her fingertips, but the window definitely wasn’t budging.
‘AUNT EDIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?’ April shouted again, but still no response. Well, there was nothing for it; she’d have to smash the window. There was no other way. The front door was solid oak and about six inches thick so April was never going to be able to force it open, even if she pressed her shoulder against it or attempted to karate kick it in as she had seen people do in films.
After desperately scanning the garden looking for a suitably heavy object – there was nothing – April pulled off her bog-caked right Birkenstock and lifted it in the air and, after swinging it back behind her as far she could, she was just about to throw it hard into the window when a man’s voice bellowed right behind her, nearly making her jump right out of her skin.
‘WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?’
April swivelled on her heel, the Birkenstock, like a brick at first glance, still high up in the air, the other hand pressed to her chest in shock, and saw a tall, well-built man wearing a tweed deerstalker hat over wavy blond hair with a furious look on his suntanned face. And a shotgun hanging from a leather strap over his shoulder.
April gulped, and then quickly pulled herself together. There really was no time to waste. Aunt Edie could be dead for all she knew. Oh please no. April wasn’t sure if she could cope with any more loss right now.
‘Um. Thank God you’re here. Come on, you can smash the window! Hurry!’ she ordered, before hopping forward to hand him the Birkenstock brick.
‘Er, I don’t think so!’ The man’s eyes flicked towards the sandal, before he gave her an up-and-down look, practically recoiling in horror at the state of her. His nose even wrinkled when the stench hit. ‘I’m calling the Old Bill. Stay right where you are.’ And he actually clasped a hand around the end of the shotgun and tilted it upwards as if to apprehend her in case she tried to abscond before the police arrived.
‘Well good luck with that,’ April quipped, stepping back as he lowered the gun and pulled out a big black phone that looked like it should be on display in a museum; it must be at least twenty years old. ‘There’s no signal in this place.’ She nodded, folding her arms around her body as if to protect herself.
‘Don’t need one.’ The man flashed her a look. April narrowed her eyes and held his stare, masking the panic that was mounting inside her. She needed to get to Edie, and quickly. This really wasn’t the time to be dealing with the local eccentric (must be – who went around tilting shotguns at people?) busybody, gamekeeper, rambler, or whatever he was. ‘Walkie-talkie,’ the man retorted, going to lift the handset to his ear. ‘This’ll go straight through to my pal, Mark, in the police house up in the village,’ he informed her, before doing a supercilious smile that made his conker-brown eyes crinkle at the corners in satisfaction.
April had heard enough, and with no time to waste she didn’t bother explaining – seemed the busybody had already drawn his own conclusions about her – so she turned back to smash the window and get to her aunt.
‘Yep! Mark? Is that you?’ A short crackly silence filtered into the quiet, rural, countryside air. ‘Got a nutter down here trying to burgle old Edith’s place …’
SMAAAAASH!
Glass went everywhere.
Using the sole of her Birkenstock, April carefully cleared the glass debris away as safely as she could and then reached her hand through the remaining shards to deftly lift the latch on the window.
‘Okaaaayyyy … got a live one here, she’s going in!’ The man with the shotgun continued commentating with a mounting urgency in his voice. ‘Bold as brass she is, right in front of my eyes. And covered in crap too by the looks of her.’ Another silence. ‘Whaaaat? Mark, you’re cracking up. Just get down here sharpish or I’ll have to execute a citizen’s arrest. She’s clearly a pro. And armed with a brick. Probably on drugs looking for a way to fund her next fix.’ And April felt the man’s hand on the top of her arm. ‘I’m arresting you for breaking and entering, you do not, um, er … well, you probably know the rest. A seasoned crook like you,’ he bellowed at the back of her head.
April managed to wrench her arm free.
‘Get off me, you idiot,’ she yelled back over her shoulder whilst attempting to pull herself up and over the windowsill. ‘It’s a sandal. See!’ April deftly attempted to wipe the Birkenstock as best she could with her sleeve, before waving it in his direction. ‘And Old Edith, as you call her, is my great aunt, and if you had bothered to investigate first … Sherlock Holmes,’ April flashed a disparaging glare at the silly deerstalker hat, ‘then you would know that she’s currently on the kitchen floor with her head inside the oven! Now get back on your walkie-talkie and tell Mark to send an ambulance,’ April instructed in the best staff-nurse voice that she could muster before pausing to catch her breath and adding, ‘SHARPISH!’
The man fell silent momentarily, his jaw dropped, he stared with a fleeting glimmer of admiration in his eyes, he closed his mouth, and then it registered.
‘Then why the bloody hell didn’t you say so?’ And he jumped into action. April instantly felt two large hands cupping her bottom, propelling her forward like a bowling ball hurtling towards a row of skittles, and she was immediately able to fling her right knee up on to the window-sill. Balancing carefully, she gripped the window frame with both hands and managed to hoist herself through the gap and on to the top of the tall, old-fashioned boiler directly in front of her. Crouching in the confined space – the beamed cottage ceiling was so low she could barely lift her head, let alone stand up – April contemplated just letting herself tumble on to the quarry tiles, but her great aunt’s surgical stocking-clad legs were right there in front of her on the tiny patch of empty kitchen floor, so she couldn’t risk doing that. What if she misjudged and landed splat on top of Edie and hurt her?
April managed to shuffle sideways on to the draining board and was just about to crawl on all fours towards the end of the counter, where she could see a tiny gap next to the pantry door that she could easily slip her body down on to, when the man with the shotgun appeared in the kitchen doorway with the cake tin in his arms and the peonies perched on top. He dumped his load on the table and after taking one long stride towards Great Aunt Edie, he bent down to place two fingers at the side of her neck to check her pulse.
‘Still going!’ he pronounced, as if checking on a snared rabbit in the woods. ‘And the oven isn’t even on, not that it matters, no gas around here if that’s what you were panicking about! Plus you can’t even gas yourself in an oven these days anyway – we might be out in the sticks in Tindledale, but this isn’t the 1920s.’
April’s mouth fell open as she sagged a little in relief at this news – thank God her aunt was still alive and hadn’t deliberately tried to kill herself. But that still didn’t explain why she was sprawled like this in her kitchen in the middle of the afternoon.
‘Um, well … I knew that!’ April said, her cheeks flaming.
‘No you didn’t.’
‘Yes I did.’
‘Why did you panic then?’
‘I didn’t panic! Anyway, I don’t have time for an interrogation; I need to see to my aunt. How did you even get in here?’ April asked as she scanned the scene and tried to work it all out. To the left of Edie was a dustpan and brush on the floor alongside a cloth.
‘Through the front door!’ he replied, glancing up at her and casually raising an eyebrow. April could see the corners of his mouth resisting the urge to smirk.
‘But how?’ she asked as he swiftly sprang up and swung her from the draining board before plonking her into a standing position on the tiles next to him.
‘Er, the usual way. You know, I pushed it open with my hand.’ And he actually laughed and waggled his hand in air as if to demonstrate the action before giving April a big wink. Cheeky.
‘So it was open all along?’ April shook her head as she bent down to tend to her aunt.
‘Of course! Old Edith never locks her front door … nor do I, come to think of it. Not sure anyone does here in the valley. Apart from the ones moved down from London.’ He paused to shake his head, clearly not enamoured by newcomers. ‘No need. This is Tindledale,’ he explained, as if the village was some kind of crime-free oasis leftover from bygone times.
‘Hmm, well, you could have mentioned it before I broke the glass and hauled myself in through the window,’ April bristled, carefully unbuttoning Edie’s crocheted waistcoat so she could push it back over her shoulders and loosen the collar of her blouse.
‘You never asked! You were too busy breaking in.’
April opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it. He was clearly enjoying winding her up, and besides, Edie let out an extremely loud snore at that precise moment. The old lady then fluttered her eyelids and tried to move, seemingly having forgotten that part of her body was still inside the Aga, so she ended up nudging the top of her head on the roof of the oven.
‘Ewwwwwwww,’ Aunt Edie groaned.
‘It’s OK. I’m here,’ April started in a soothing voice, and the busybody coughed. ‘Um, we are here,’ she corrected, flashing him a look. ‘What happened, Aunty?’ She stroked Edie’s forehead as she contemplated the best way to get her aunt out of the oven and up and on to a chair.
‘Oh hello dear. There you are. No need to fuss, I was just having a lovely little nap.’ Aunt Edie smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world to have forty winks while cleaning the oven.
‘A nap? Inside the oven?’ April stuttered, her mind boggling. And then saw her aunt had a tea towel folded up like a little makeshift pillow underneath her cheek, but still … and how on earth had she got down on to the floor in the first place?
‘I’m very nimble,’ Edie stated as if reading April’s mind. ‘I keep my joints well oiled. It’s the dancing. And the stout, dear – a bottle a day! But the cleaning takes it out of me sometimes, although it’s important to keep the Aga nice. My mother was a stickler for it and I see no reason to let standards slip. Will you help me up please? I usually use the chair but someone has moved it,’ she said, giving the man a disparaging glance.
‘Um, yes, of course,’ April replied, quickly trying to get her head around all that her aunt was telling her, and regretting all over again that she hadn’t made more of an effort to visit more frequently. A ninety-year-old lady really shouldn’t be cleaning the oven, even if she did think she was nimble! ‘Here, lean on me.’ April swiftly manoeuvred herself into position to properly lift her aunt, as she had first been trained to do back when she was a fledging nurse, and placed her hands around the old lady’s body. And then up and under her armpits so she could clasp them together to form a sturdy support.
‘No need for all that carry on, my love.’ Edie shook her head and April smiled. Her great aunt always had been a fiercely independent woman, which might explain the state of the garden – she couldn’t imagine Edie would willingly ask for help even when it was so obviously needed. ‘Just give me your arm,’ Edie said, and gently lifted April’s hands away from her chest. ‘There we go. Bob’s your uncle!’ April tried not to look concerned as her elderly great aunt deftly pulled herself up into a standing position with a very determined look on her face. But then her papery skin crumpled into a frown.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Edie pointed a bony finger towards the guy with the shotgun. April turned to look at him.
‘Hello Edie,’ the man said pleasantly enough, but the old lady looked confused, so he swiftly added, ‘It’s me, Harvey from the fruit farm. Your neighbour. You remember me.’ But Edie still looked blank, and April wondered what on earth was going on.
‘He, um … Harvey.’ April glanced at the man and he nodded and shrugged as if he was quite used to Edie being forgetful. ‘He helped me get into the kitchen, Aunty. I was worried about you—’
‘What for? I’m fine,’ Edie immediately admonished, looking even more puzzled now. April spotted a dart of fear flicker in her aunt’s eyes. ‘And you better get going before my father returns from the orchards! He’ll have your guts for garters coming in here with flowers before you’ve been introduced.’ The old lady looked at the bunch of peonies and then lifted a gnarled index finger and remonstrated in Harvey’s direction. But before April or Harvey could say any more, a police officer burst into the tiny cottage kitchen with a baton at the ready, followed by an exuberantly plump woman muscling her way to the front with, April was astonished to see, a ferret wearing a little high-visibility vest nestled in the crook of her elbow. And April felt as though she had been plunged into a parallel universe where nobody really knew what was going on.
(#u4bc9d230-2740-5a5b-9247-1d523d6743bc)
Later – it having taken almost an hour for Harvey, whose fruit farm was a few fields over and was actually very charming once he knew that April wasn’t a drug-fuelled, crap-covered burglar, to fix a wooden board at the broken window as a temporary repair – April persuaded Edie to put her feet up on the Dralon settee with a nice cup of Earl Grey tea and a generous slice of April’s exceedingly good madeira cake (according to Mark, the policeman, who enjoyed a quick slice too). It seemed that the old lady had indeed nodded off while attempting to clean the Aga, so April, who’d had a good wash and changed into a clean top and jeans, having also made a note to get the blockage by the back door seen to right away, was finishing the job while Aunt Edie pottered around in the sitting room looking for a pack of playing cards that she swore were just there on the sideboard. But after searching everywhere, even looking under the settee in case Edie had dropped them and then shuffled them underneath it with her slipper-clad foot, April still hadn’t been able to find them.
She had figured it best to leave her aunt to it, because Edie had been delighted by the offer of having her Aga cleaned, even though April wasn’t convinced it needed doing as it already looked immaculate to her. But it was a small thing to do to make an old lady happy, and if the truth be told, April still felt guilty for not having visited her aunt in over three years. Edie clearly wasn’t keeping on top of things and was finding it difficult to ask for help, not to mention her memory loss, and April felt as her only living relative that it was her responsibility to rectify that. And pronto. She may only be here for a couple of days but at least she could get the garden into some sort of tidy state, and perhaps tackle the hedgerow in the lane, before her great aunt got completely blocked in when the road became impassable. She’d see about getting a cleaner to come in and help out too, if Edie would agree to it – April was under no illusion that her aunt might take some persuading to allow a stranger into the cottage, especially to keep the place nice; Aunt Edie was old school and might very well take issue with having a cleaner. What if people thought she was lazy?
There was a brief knock on the front door and the woman from earlier appeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘Just thought I’d pop in and see how you’re getting on? I’m Molly by the way, don’t think we were properly introduced, what with all the commotion that was going on.’ The woman chuckled and pushed out a hand towards April. ‘You must be Winnie. Old Edie often mentions you. We always have a little chat when she calls up with her meat order – I’m Cooper’s wife, we own the butchers’ shop in Tindledale High Street,’ Molly finished explaining.
‘Oh, um pleased to meet you again!’ April smiled and pushed her hair off her face with the top of her forearm. ‘But no, I’m not Winnie. I’m April. Edie is my great aunt.’
‘Ahh, that’s nice and a turn up for the books – I didn’t think Old Edie had any relatives left … apart from Winnie of course and from what I gather she looks just like you – dark curly hair, handsome and petite, is what Edie says. Well there you go, just goes to show.’ Molly lifted her eyebrows. ‘And it’s very nice to meet you, April.’ She nodded resolutely. ‘You gave us quite a scare before … when we thought you were a burglar.’ Molly chuckled heartily, making her shoulders bob up and down and her ample bosoms jiggle around.
‘Um, yes!’ April grinned as she stood up. ‘And I really am so very sorry to be the cause of such a drama in the village … it’s unlike me, I’m usually quite calm in a crisis but I guess, well, I panicked and …’ April paused to shrug. ‘I certainly shouldn’t have smashed the window, not when the door was open all along and my aunt was only sleeping, even if it was inside her oven … I feel like a prize fool now.’ She peeled the rubber gloves off her hands to reciprocate Molly’s handshake, pleased to see that the ferret wasn’t in attendance this time. It did have quite an acquired scent, which April was still being treated to a whiff of from time to time. But, thankfully, in the ferret’s place was a large white enamel pie dish covered with a navy striped tea towel from which a deliciously cosy aroma wafted.
‘Oh, don’t be daft, no need to apologise, love. Honestly, you did me a favour to be fair …’ Molly smiled as she took a place mat from the pile next to a fruit bowl and carefully set the pie dish down on the kitchen table.
‘I did?’ April asked, keenly eyeing the dish.
‘Steak and ale, just warm it through for your tea, and it’ll be lovely with some runners and mash,’ and Molly rummaged inside a reusable shopping bag looped over her left arm before producing a handful of super-sized runner beans followed by two large Maris Pipers which she placed on the table next to the pie. ‘Freshly pulled from my patch in the garden – thought you could do with a decent meal after your long journey, and then what with all that broken window shenanigans …’ She shook her head as she lifted the towel before instantly getting back to the conversation – leaving April with not even a second to acknowledge the kind gesture (instead she made a mental note to call into the butchers’ to return the dish and say a proper thank you, before she went back to Basingstoke). ‘Oh yes. Mark, he’s the policeman,’ Molly continued, ‘well, he came into the shop to pick up some pork and leek sausages for his tea …’ she paused to catch her breath. April nodded, liking Molly right away. ‘Anyway, I was up to my elbows in chicken giblets when the call came through to Mark on his radio and then, well, I just couldn’t help myself.’ Molly’s cheeks flushed. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had a bona fide emergency in Tindledale and it’s not every day that you get to see a crime unfolding right in front of your eyes so I hot-footed it down here …’ Her voice petered out and silence followed. ‘Blimey, I sound dreadful don’t I?’ Molly added a few seconds later. ‘What must you think of me?’
‘Not at all,’ April replied graciously to spare Molly’s obvious embarrassment – her neck was now covered in a myriad of red blotches. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’ve come back to the cottage.’
‘You are?’ Molly looked relieved and the redness immediately started to diminish.
‘Sure. Because I can’t remember the last time someone brought me a homemade pie, so thank you.’ April beamed. ‘And I’m curious to know more about Winnie … what else has Edie told you about her?’
‘Oh, it’s my pleasure, I love baking,’ Molly said. ‘It’s so satisfying, and you can’t beat a good pie, don’t you think?’ April nodded. ‘And as for Winnie, um, well I don’t know very much, not in terms of where she lives and stuff. Only that Edie is very fond of her … I get the impression she’s a much younger relative, a niece or daughter perhaps. That’s why I assumed you were Winnie – Edie always says stuff like, “Our Winnie loves a nice rasher of bacon for her breakfast”, you know, when I bring down her order. I always pop in an extra few slices for Old Edie.’ Molly paused and lowered her voice. ‘Poor dear doesn’t have many pleasures in life, and I guess I feel a bit sorry for her … think she gets lonely, probably why she likes to go for a wander,’ she mouthed, indicating with her head towards the sitting room next door, ‘and that’s no way for a lovely old lady to end her days.’
‘A wander?’
‘Yes, you know, it’s happened a few times … I found her once in her slippers at the top of the lane. Driving past I was when I spotted her, and thank God I did as she only had a cotton sundress on and it was perishing outside.’ Molly shook her head. ‘Soon got her warmed up though after I popped her in the car and brought her back home, so disaster averted.’ And Molly chuckled like it really was no big deal … or, and April’s heart sank at the thought … maybe Molly, like Harvey, was just used to Old Edie’s muddled ways and impromptu jaunts around the village in her slippers!
‘Thank you,’ April said quietly.
And now it was her turn to feel embarrassed. It really was no excuse not to have visited her great aunt – since the funeral was fair enough, but that was over eighteen months ago as it was. April felt that she should have mustered up more effort and made herself come to Tindledale before now. Whilst it was wonderfully community-spirited of Harvey and Molly to be looking out for her aunt, it shouldn’t be that way. April flicked her eyes away and then pretended to busy herself by putting the rubber gloves back in the cupboard under the sink. When she had finished, she grabbed her bag from the counter and found a tube of hand cream. She squirted a dollop on to the back of her right hand while Molly continued talking, moving on to another topic.
‘So I see you’re married?’ She gestured to April’s left hand where her wedding band was. ‘Is your husband visiting too?’
April froze.
Silence shrouded in awkwardness hung in the air between the two women.
After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was probably only a few seconds, April managed to shake her head, initially taken aback at the directness of the question, but then quickly came to the realisation that, actually, she felt OK. A bit wobbly, she hadn’t been prepared, that was all, but …
She took a deep breath and replied.
‘Um, no. No he won’t be doing that,’ April started, wondering how to explain … as so far she hadn’t had to. Everyone she had spoken to since Gray died – friends, his colleagues, utility companies, people at his squash club (Gray had loved playing squash before he was no longer able to swing a racket), the library, bank, etc. – already knew. April was suddenly conscious that this would be her first time explaining from scratch to a person who didn’t know Gray and she had no idea where to begin – in fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to share this information about her husband with someone she had just met. It might seem strange, but by keeping the motor neurone disease and Gray’s death to herself while she was here in Tindledale, April felt as though his memory, indeed his life, could be just hers, and hers alone, and therefore protected. Whole. And not diluted by having to share him. At home, she had no choice but to share him with Nancy and Freddie and, whilst April knew that he was never hers alone, today and tomorrow he could be – selfishly so, and right now, she really wanted that.
So she added, ‘It’s just me,’ and pulled her bottom lip in over her teeth and bit down hard as she worked the cream into her hands, masking the sudden tremble that had engulfed them. Molly studied April momentarily before continuing.
‘Don’t worry, love. Happens to the best of us! My Cooper, and the boys – I’ve got four of the wee bastards, God love them – but they drive me bonkers sometimes and I have to take off to a spa for a day or so just to gather my thoughts and gear up for round two hundred trillion.’ Molly puffed in sheer exasperation. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place for some R&R, fresh rural air and hearty country food, and you’ll have made up in no time … give him a few days to miss you and see how he likes lying next to a cold section of the bed—’
‘He died!’ April blurted involuntarily, despite her earlier decision to not mention Gray, and then instinctively pressed a hand to the top of her chest. ‘Sorry, I um … er, I shouldn’t have shouted it out like that.’ The hand moved to her earlobe to twiddle a silver stud as she wondered what on earth to say next. Molly was staring at her, her mouth still open in an O shape and her eyebrows furrowing underneath her fringe.
But then, quite unexpectedly, Molly had her arms around April.
‘Oh God love you,’ she said, patting April’s back before letting her go and taking a couple of steps backwards into her own personal space. ‘I am so bloody sorry. Me and my massive mouth … and don’t you dare apologise,’ Molly admonished harshly, although her eyes were soft and full of warmth.
‘It’s OK. It was a year and a half ago now … don’t know why it still gets me like this,’ April fidgeted.
‘Crikey. That’s no time at all. And who said there was a time limit on your feelings in any case? If it gets you, it gets you, and that’s the end of it!’ Molly shook her head and then looked as if she was trying to work out what to do next for the best. April waited, wondering if she should explain, indeed could explain … without breaking down. She had become so accustomed to keeping all her feelings stashed away inside her and was getting pretty good at it to be fair. But then this was big, a first, having to tell someone what had happened to Gray – her wonderful, witty, vibrant husband, best friend and lover – and would Molly really get it? Could April do Gray justice? Convey exactly how amazing he was to someone who had never known him, or even met him? And somehow it made it all seem so raw again. But April was saved from having to fathom out how she felt exactly in this precise moment in time, because Molly came right out with it and asked a very direct question. A question so direct that many other people may have avoided it for fear of upsetting the bereaved person.
‘How did he die?’
And April surprised herself by suddenly feeling relieved, relaxed even, especially when Molly bustled across the kitchen to where the kettle was on the Aga and, after lifting it up, added, ‘If you’ve got time, I’d love to hear all about him. Shall I make us a brew?’
April nodded and smiled, before glancing through the little serving hatch in the wall into the sitting room to check on Edie. Ahh, her great aunt had given up on her search for the playing cards and was having her afternoon snooze now, so was unlikely to need her for a little while. Feeling unusually calm and, dare she say it … a little uplifted at the prospect of talking about Gray, April pulled out two chairs, took a deep breath and thought what a wonderful thing the kindness of strangers could be.
(#ulink_e3b55c2c-d0de-53d0-a3c1-5789e0299287)
An hour or so later, as April said goodbye to Molly, she closed the front door behind her new friend and smiled to herself. She felt as though she’d known Molly her whole life, which it turned out was pretty near true, as Molly remembered cycling around Tindledale one summer as a child with the ‘girl down from London’. April couldn’t remember this exactly, it seemed so long ago, but she did have fond memories of those carefree days in the school holidays with a big group of children from the village, so it had been lovely to reminisce with Molly. A rare treat for April, as apart from Aunt Edie, there wasn’t anyone else in her life who shared those memories from years back. When she had gone to live with her grandparents, after her parents died, April had lost contact with her school friends. It was as if the rug had been pulled from under her, and she’d been left dealing with a massive thing when she should have been concentrating on exams and filling her time with reading Jackie magazine and such like. But instead the grief took over and since then she had always found it hard to connect with that period before her parents died. It was often too painful to remember the happy, good times, only for the reality of not having them in her life to then come crashing back all over again. And later, when April had finished her nurse training, she had immersed herself into working as many shifts as she could in the hospital, until she met Gray. It had been easier that way, especially after her grandparents died and she had felt so very alone.
Yes, she had friends now, but was conscious that she had retreated into her shell again after losing Gray, and even though her friends had made such a tremendous effort to re-engage her in life since his death – taking it in turns to visit on a Saturday night with a bottle of wine and ideas for fun nights out, bowling, ice skating, cinema, etc. – she just hadn’t felt up to it. Preferring instead to curl up on the sofa in her pyjamas staring at her wedding video, and then the honeymoon weekend in Venice on the flatscreen TV. No lights on, no volume, just silence and Gray waving and pulling a silly face at the camera. It had been a comfort. But April knew it wasn’t right, she couldn’t carry on like that for ever. Even Nancy, when she returned from her nights out, wouldn’t come into the lounge, probably couldn’t bear to; instead she had crept upstairs to bed and left April alone with her memories.
This had made April very self-conscious, often feeling whenever she left the house for essential trips, such as the bank, supermarket and such like, that everyone was looking at her, as if she had a big sign hanging around her neck that said, ‘My husband died and now I’m turning into a very sad and lonely recluse’. It was an utterly awful way to be. But slowly, it had subsided and her confidence was starting to return – just driving to Tindledale had already given her a boost, something she wouldn’t have even contemplated doing a while ago. Although, she reflected, some of those friends had drifted away … maybe it was too late and they had run out of patience already, moved on. After all, they had their own life ups and downs to deal with, so she couldn’t blame them for that. April chewed the inside of her cheek, and resolved to make more of an effort when she got back home. She’d neglected her aunt, and it wouldn’t do to neglect the few friends that she had left as well. Yes, a change of scenery sure had given her a different perspective on things. And maybe she’d go back to work, find a nursing job again – she’d thought about it on and off since Gray had died, but somehow hadn’t managed to actually put herself forward, get a plan in place and be proactive about it. It had felt, somehow, in that time, that going back to work meant the part of her life with Gray was properly over, and she hadn’t been sure she was ready for that …
April went back into the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised to see that her aunt was laying the table for dinner. Humming to herself, Edie seemed perfectly sprightly as she nipped around the table making sure everything was just so. Knives, forks, pudding spoons, napkins and even a jug of iced water with two glasses. It was nice to see, and gave April a warm glow, a sense of having come home, belonging, just like she had felt as a child during those trips to Tindledale …
‘You’re just in time. Dinner won’t be long, dear. Sit down and I’ll dish up.’ Edie smiled, reaching for a very faded, holey tea towel with which to open the Aga to check on the pie. April hesitated, unsure whether to intervene or not as the tea towel really wasn’t up to the job of protecting an old lady’s hand from getting burnt. But April was conscious that she was in her aunt’s home and didn’t want to be seen as interfering – and, besides, her aunt seemed to be managing just fine, as she then flung the tea towel over her shoulder and pushed a masher into the saucepan of potatoes and started mashing, so April sat down. On second thoughts, maybe not! Hot water was splashing everywhere. April jumped up and gently took the masher from Edie as she winced when a droplet landed on her bare arm.
‘Oh dear. I forgot to drain the potatoes,’ Edie said, wiping her arm on her apron before clasping her hands together.
‘It’s OK. Easy mistake to make,’ April consoled, carefully lifting her aunt’s arm to check that she wasn’t hurt. Thankfully, she was fine. ‘How about you sit down and let me wait on you for a change? Think of me as your waitress for this evening. Dinner will be served in five minutes, Madame.’ April did a little bow and laughed, remembering the game they always played in the past when she had visited as a child. Aunt Edie would let her carefully bring the plates to the table, reminding her to use two hands, and April had felt so grown up. Sometimes, the game had started earlier with April pulling out a piece of paper from her letter-writing set on which to write a menu, and then Aunt Edie would pretend to choose her favourite dish – naturally it was always the meal that they were actually having. April wondered if her aunt would remember – probably not, it was such a long time ago – but to her delight Edie’s face broke into a smile of recollection.
‘Well, that would be marvellous, my dear. But aren’t you forgetting something?’ April raised an eyebrow, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘The menu? We must have a menu.’ And as if by magic, April instantly felt transported back in time. Just like the old days, before her parents died and her whole world changed, to a simpler section of her life, halcyon, where nothing bad ever happened, or so it had seemed back then. And it really was rather lovely to relive the memory … if only for a few minutes. And Aunt Edie looked calm and relaxed too, her eyes had come alive and gone all sparkly, but then there was a certain safety in the past, a comfort. April had seen it with Gray, especially towards the end when she knew he had been feeling frightened, and Aunt Edie had seemed fearful earlier too when she couldn’t remember who Harvey was. Gray had coped by cosying up with a blanket and watching all the old Monty Python shows with Nancy – something they had done together when she was a child – the pair of them nodding along to that upbeat ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ song. Gray, with a very content smile on his face, cocooned almost in a bubble of familiarity and happy memories that this simple pastime recreated.
‘Coming right up!’ Keen to see if reconnecting with the past would have a positive effect on Aunt Edie, April darted off to the sitting room to retrieve her handbag – there was a notepad inside, but she needed something to write with. She popped her head through the hatch. ‘Do you have a pen, Aunty?’
‘Look in the sideboard, dear.’
‘Thanks.’ April pulled open the door and immediately inhaled. Mothballs and lavender. Ahh, she really was ten years old all over again. She selected a pencil from an old, washed-out Del Monte peach tin, then went to close the door, but paused to run her finger over the red felt lining inside the sideboard, just as she’d loved to do as a child. Then, after closing the door, she stood up and quickly glanced again at the framed photos: her parents – Dad with his arm around Mum, her long hair blowing out in the breeze – and April in her Brownie uniform with a big gappy smile after losing two front teeth. There were also photos of various people she didn’t recognise – although on closer inspection, the one of a teenage girl standing under an apple tree looked just like Edie, only much, much younger, with lovely long dark plaits (it was hard to be sure with the picture being black and white) and a gorgeous smile that lit up her whole face. Next to this was a picture of the woman in the uniform, only this time she was wearing a lovely, floral tea dress and had a beautiful, sunny smile, and there was definitely a family resemblance. Molly was right, because if this was Winnie, she did look a bit like April with her dark curly hair and petite frame.
Having polished off Molly’s scrumptious pie, runners and mash, April went to clear the plates away, but Aunt Edie stopped her by placing a hand on April’s forearm.
‘What is it, dear?’
‘Um, what do you mean?’ April, her hand still clasped around a plate, hesitated.
‘Well, you’ve been awfully quiet, and that’s not like you.’ Edie’s voice softened. ‘What is it, Winnie?’ April blinked. And sighed inwardly, as she had already corrected her aunt three times over dinner, but to no avail. So, deciding on another approach, April tackled the issue head on.
‘Aunty, I’m not Winnie. But I’d love to know who she is. Can you tell me about her?’ April smiled and waited, eager to hear more about Winnie, the relative she had never known.
Silence followed.
Edith stared at April. She blinked a few times, frowned and then glanced away with a doubtful look on her face. Suspicious almost. And then attempted to cover up her muddle by saying, ‘Oh, now you’re just teasing me. Shall I put the kettle on?’ And she stood up and turned her back.
April’s heart sank with disappointment; she was so keen to know more about her family, but she decided to leave it for now. She didn’t want to put pressure on her aunt, make her feel alarmed by bringing attention to her failing faculties, and maybe there was a valid reason why Aunt Edie was being evasive, confused, or whatever it was that was going on for her.
‘Yes please, that would be lovely. And there’s some cherry madeira cake left if you fancy another slice?’ April offered.
‘Ooh, don’t mind if I do.’ But then Edie hesitated, and changed her mind. ‘But I really shouldn’t, don’t want to ruin my figure.’ And she patted her perfectly tiny tummy with both hands, while a disappointed look darted across her face.
‘I’m sure a second slice won’t hurt.’ April busied herself with opening the tin, and after pulling a knife from the block on the side, she cut a couple of very generous slices, figuring it a crying shame if an elderly lady couldn’t have two slices of cake in one day if she really wanted to, and served them on to plates. ‘There, I’ll finish the tea while you tuck in.’ April put the plates on the table.
‘Well, if you insist, my dear.’ Edie wasted no time in breaking off a corner of cake and popping it into her mouth.
‘I most certainly do,’ April grinned, preparing the tea in a china tea pot, with cups on saucers, just the way she knew her aunt liked it.
‘You always were a persuasive child,’ Edie chuckled, licking crumbs from the tips of her fingers, thoroughly enjoying the treat.
‘Was I, Aunty?’ April asked, seizing the moment to talk about the past.
‘Oh, yes, very much so. Spirited! That’s what we used to say … your parents and I.’ April placed the pot of tea on the table and sat down, allowing herself a moment of contemplation while she remembered her parents. Their smiles. Her mum’s perfume – one whiff of Rive Gauche and April was in her childhood bedroom being kissed goodnight. She swallowed, hard, and rearranged her thoughts, not wanting to go there right now. It was at least twenty years ago and she had only happy, albeit faded, memories of her mum and dad, but she knew from experience that train of thought inevitably led to Gray. But his death was different. Raw. And he had suffered, been forced to be brave and face up to his end of life. At least her parents had gone quickly, most likely went out with a bang – literally, if the newspaper reports at the time were anything to go by with their unnecessarily graphic details about the crash. She had read them online, several years later, out of curiosity mainly, but had regretted doing so ever since.
‘And what did they say about you when you were a child?’ April asked, pouring her aunt some tea.
‘Cheeky!’ Edie shook her head. ‘But I got away with it you know.’
‘Oh, why was that then?’
‘I was the youngest. The apple of my father’s eye. Spoilt, my brothers and sister would say …’
‘Your sister? What was her name?’
‘Winnie.’
Bingo! April leant forward and the faded memory of her dad chatting to Aunt Edie in the sitting room, years ago, flooded into her head. She had been playing with her Tiny Tears doll on the carpet and Dad had picked up the photo of the woman in the uniform. April suddenly felt overwhelmed with joy, figuring it was very lovely indeed to be piecing her family history together – precious memories returning – bringing her long-gone relatives alive and making them immortal. And one day perhaps, she’d reach a point where memories of Gray would create the same feeling within her.
‘What happened to your sister, Aunty?’
‘I don’t know,’ Edie said quite abruptly, before finishing her cake. ‘Mmm, that was delicious. We must bake some more cakes, dear, you used to love helping me cook, do you remember?’ And April’s heart sank all over again on realising that the topic of Winnie seemed well and truly closed … for now.
(#ulink_bdb2d349-ad11-54cf-bcb1-4d99b5c6111c)
The following day, having enjoyed her best night’s sleep in ages, up in the sunny rose-print-papered attic bedroom that she remembered sleeping in as a child, April was standing by the white picket fence surveying the front garden and wondering if she really would have enough time to tackle it before she went home. On closer inspection, it was a veritable jungle and there was no way April was going to make a deep enough dent in just one day. Maybe she could come back another weekend, bring Nancy and Freddie with her. Freddie might be inclined to be lazy around the house, but he was always up for doing outdoorsy stuff, and Nancy would be happy to get stuck in, April was sure of it.
Deep in thought, April had just taken a mouthful of her post-lunch mint tea when Aunt Edie appeared on the footpath wearing a floor-length, russet-red organza ballgown and a big sprig of cherry blossom in her hair. April nearly snorted tea from her nose, but managed to refrain from doing so in the nick of time. She then opened her mouth. And closed it. Utterly unsure of how she should react. Edie looked resplendent, like a shiny big Quality Street as she rustled down the path. But she was dressed quite inappropriately for another afternoon of pottering around her rural country cottage, or indeed cleaning her Aga … again, as she had mooted earlier this morning over their scrumptious breakfast of freshly laid eggs. Edie had asked April to check the hen house, and amazingly there were ten feathery, mud-splattered eggs waiting in the straw for them, which they enjoyed boiled with soldiers slathered in salted butter, made from bread from the baker in the village, whose sister lived in the cottage at the top of the lane, so ‘it’s no trouble for him to drop a loaf in when he’s passing by’, apparently. April had heard all about it from Edie over breakfast.
‘There you are, Winnie, my dear! I looked all over for you,’ Edie said in a very chirpy, singsong voice. April went to correct her, but didn’t get the chance before the old lady carried on talking, and besides, April wondered if it really mattered. Especially as she had lost count of the times now that she had reminded her great aunt that her name wasn’t Winnie. And when April had taken the opportunity again over breakfast to find out more about the elusive Winnie, her aunt had given April a baffled look, just as she had last night, before swiftly changing the subject. Not to mention the fact that Edie still hadn’t said a word about Gray; it was as if she really had forgotten he had died, and that in itself was worrying as April knew that her aunt had been very fond of him. Until his death she’d always asked after him when they spoke on the phone and she had never missed his birthday. In fact, when they last visited Edie together, it had been Gray that her aunt had seemed most keen to chat to, even taking him around the orchard and regaling him with stories of how she had enjoyed many summers playing in the fields, running in between the apple and pear trees with her brothers, paying special attention to Robert, April’s grandfather. Gray had said she was very lucid for a woman of her age – she had remembered the tiniest of details, such as the time Robert had found a baby starling with a broken wing and nursed it back to full health before setting it free.
‘That’ll be where your compassion comes from, April,’ Gray had said later in the car on the way home, and April had liked the thought of having inherited something of her grandfather. It was comforting, knowing that a genetic part of him lived on in her. It seemed important to April, with her not having any living relatives left apart from Edie. And April and Gray hadn’t been blessed with babies, despite them both wanting a family – they had tried at the start, soon after the wedding, but then when Gray became ill … it hadn’t seemed important any more. Although still young enough to have a baby, April doubted now that she’d ever be a mother, but she felt very lucky to have Nancy and Freddie in her life. Being their stepmum was a wonderful next-best thing …
‘Now, I shan’t be gone for very long – will you be all right without me for a bit?’ Edie smiled sweetly as she patted the sprig of cherry blossom.
‘Er, um …’ April managed before nodding her head, curious to know what this was all about. ‘You look amazing, Aunty. May I ask where you’re off to?’ she ventured, making a mental note to see if she could have a chat to her aunt’s GP before she went back home – just to see if she, or he, had any concerns too about Edie’s mental health. But her aunt didn’t answer. Instead, she did a blank stare before busying herself by plucking dead leaves from a nearby rhododendron bush. Perhaps she hadn’t heard – maybe Edie’s hearing was diminishing, and April could ask the GP about that too.
April had a little bit of experience of caring for elderly patients, having worked a summer, many years ago, on a geriatric ward as part of her training, but no real first-hand knowledge of dementia. Or memory loss. Perhaps that’s all this was – with the obsessive Aga-cleaning thing, and wandering out and about in her slippers, forgetting to put on her shoes, and of course continually forgetting April’s name – and Edith was in her nineties so it was to be expected … she guessed, hoped. Full-blown dementia could be a very cruel thing. Debilitating, just like Grey’s motor neurone disease was, which had progressively robbed him of the man he used to be. He had kept his independence for as long as was possible though – going to work in a wheelchair with oxygen piped directly into his nostrils, wearing an elastic strap around his head to keep the plastic tube in place. April had admired him for that as he had always hated wearing stuff on his head, ever since childhood when his mum had said she could never get him to keep a hat on even in winter. April hadn’t known this until later in their relationship when she had knitted him a lovely red wool hat as a stocking filler for their first Christmas together. And, to give him his due, Gray had worn the hat a couple of times before stuffing it into his coat pocket, later admitting that hats just drove him mad. She could still see his face now – apologetic but exasperated too, followed by silliness when he had made light of it all by suggesting several ludicrous alternative uses for the hat, culminating in April crying with laughter at the ‘cut in two leg holes to turn it into a pair of woolly pants’ option.
April smiled at the sudden memory before focusing her attentions back to her aunt who was still busy inspecting the rhododendron.
‘Aunty, is everything OK?’ April started.
‘Of course my dear, why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Well, I …’ April paused to take a breath, and changed tack. ‘You look marvellous, where are you off to this afternoon?’
‘To the tea dance of course! My escort will be here soon, and a very dashing chap he is too,’ Edie smiled, making herself look much younger as she pulled a powder compact from a sparkly evening bag that was swinging on a delicate silver chain from her elbow.
‘Oh! I see,’ April said, watching her aunt pat powder across the bridge of her nose. ‘Well, perhaps I can drive you there, where is it?’ she asked, thinking on her feet, for she didn’t want to alarm her aunt by going in gung ho and telling her that a dance on a Tuesday afternoon was very unlikely and perhaps she should go inside and take the ballgown off. What if it just added to her confusion? There had been no mention of her going to a dance over breakfast so it was obviously a spur of the moment thing. Or what if Edie got upset or cried with disappointment? It could happen – April vaguely recalled watching a documentary about Alzheimer’s where an elderly lady had sobbed like a little girl and it was heartbreaking, distressing, pitiful and poignant and there was no way she was going to put her aunt through that unnecessarily. Right now, Edie could very well be thinking she was young again, waiting for a suitor to arrive to escort her to the ball, so to burst that bubble of joy was the last thing April wanted to do. But how long should she let her aunt stand on the path waiting for the imaginary man to not show up? April had no idea, and ordinarily would have rung Gray and said, ‘Guess what …’ and they would have chatted about it and worked out the best course of action between them, but …
April pressed her fingertips into her palm and was just about to put an arm around her aunt to gently guide her back into the cottage when a woman’s voice trilled out from the turning-point piece of tarmac where April’s Beetle was parked.
‘COO-EEEEEEEEE. Only me!’ April swivelled on her heel. ‘Ooh, Edie, you do look a picture!’ a vivacious, sixty-something woman chuckled as she swept a glittery pink pashmina around her shoulders and practically skipped on up the path towards them, her super-strong perfume permeating the air. ‘The general is going to be so very pleased to see you.’
April marvelled at the transformation in her aunt. She was absolutely glowing at the mention of the general, whoever he was, but there was something more. A sort of luminance radiating from within Edie now, as if she had suddenly come alive. And clearly wasn’t imagining there to be a suitor after all! April was now even more fascinated to see how things were going to unfold.
‘And I’m so looking forward to seeing him,’ Edie cooed, popping the powder compact back inside her bag. ‘But where’s the bus?’ she asked, leaning forward as if to scan the lane.
‘Oh, not to worry, the general had to park it a bit further back near the main road,’ the woman said brightly, and then turned to April with a saucy look on her face and added, ‘it’s getting very bushy down this end!’ before doing an extremely filthy laugh.
‘Yes, I really should—’
‘I’m Audrey by the way,’ the woman said, letting the pashmina slip down into the crooks of her elbows, revealing a tight, low-cut bodycon dress, before April could offer to get the hedgerow sorted out too before she returned home – maybe a local gardener? April made a mental note to ask Molly later if there was someone she could pay to keep on top of her aunt’s garden and the section of the single-track lane that was her responsibility, as she was quite sure Edie didn’t have the means to pay for help around the home. And April had some funds, a third of Gray’s modest life insurance money (she hadn’t thought it fair to keep it all, so had split it with Nancy and Freddie), not very much, but certainly enough to help her aunt get the garden straight. ‘I run the weekly speed-dating tea dance …’
‘Ooh, sounds intriguing,’ April said, fascinated that such things went on in rural villages where she had assumed the elderly residents spent their time making jam and watching Countdown.
‘Oh, it’s just a bit of fun. It’s not full-on dating, or looking for …’ Audrey paused, did furtive sideways eyes and after leaning into April she clutched her arm and mouthed, ‘seeeeex.’ April had to press a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘No, it’s more companionship for the …’ she paused again as if searching for the right words before settling on, ‘our more “young at heart” villagers.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘And just call me Deedee, everyone does,’ the woman continued. ‘My daughter, Meg, is the headteacher at the village school,’ she added proudly.
‘Lovely to meet you, Deedee,’ April replied, feeling a little foolish for doubting Edie. Seemed there was a tea dance here in Tindledale on a Tuesday afternoon after all. Weeeeell, fancy that!
‘You too. And I’ve heard all about you …’ Deedee made big eyes.
‘You have?’ April asked tentatively.
‘Yes, that’s right. You’re April. Molly mentioned that you were here visiting your aunt, our lovely Edie, and the star of the weekly tea dance in the village hall.’
‘Oh, yes, um … that’s right,’ April replied apprehensively, wondering if Molly had mentioned their conversation about Gray too. But then Deedee said, ‘Are you here on your own, or have you got a gorgeous husband hidden about the place?’ in a breezy voice, as she scanned around the garden as if searching for him. So Molly clearly hadn’t gossiped, and April was pleased that she had been discreet, remembering that news usually travelled fast in a small village like Tindledale. Whenever April had arrived to stay with her aunt in the school summer holidays, within an hour or so the local children would be down to the cottage to see if she was coming out to play in the fields after someone had spotted her parents’ green Morris Minor Traveller pulling into the village store on the way to get a box of chocolates to go with the flowers as a present for Edie. Everyone always knew everyone else’s business. Tindledale was just that kind of place.
April took a breath and felt much more prepared for the question this time.
‘No, just me – here to spend some time with my aunt …’ April said as cheerily as she could muster.
‘Lovely. Well, if you’re at a loose end this afternoon and fancy a bit of a booooogie,’ Deedee paused to do an enthusiastic shoulder shimmy, making her boobs wobble around like two jellies, and April laugh, ‘then you are more than welcome to join us. The more the merrier. Isn’t that right, my love?’ And Deedee tucked her arm through the crook of Edie’s elbow, giving the top of her hand a little pat.
‘Ooh, yes,’ Edie agreed. ‘And don’t be put off by it being called a tea dance. It’s not a load of old dears shuffling around the dance floor in pairs because all the men in the village have already popped their clogs. Certainly not. There’s the raffle to think about too. And the general does a veeeeery good quiz.’ Edie nodded her head several times as if to emphasise this fact. ‘And there will be sandwiches and cake. And champagne!’ she continued marvelling, all the while making big eyes.
‘Yes, that’s right. My Meg makes it – homemade fizzy elderflower champagne,’ Deedee confirmed. ‘Goes lovely with the buffet – a smashing spread of cold cuts and healthy salad options, courtesy of my Meg’s other half, Dan – he’s a famous chef you know, on the telly and everything … well, used to be, he’s retired now. Not that he’s old or anything, oh no, very fit and vibrant in fact. He just doesn’t need the pressure of the high life any more so he sold his Michelin restaurant in London for an absolute fortune and can afford to take it easy now.’ Deedee paused to take a quick breath and puff her hair up a little more, clearly captivated by her daughter’s partner. ‘And we always have a beautiful selection of pastries and fairy cakes from Kitty’s café. It’s called The Spotted Pig. Can’t miss it, it’s on the corner of the High Street. You must try it if you get a chance … the Battenberg is TO DIE FOR!’ Deedee shook her head and fluttered her eyes as if being transported to her very own personal nirvana, while April felt breathless on her behalf just taking it all in.
Then Edie smiled brightly and added, ‘And my niece loves a little tipple, don’t you April?’
April instantly flicked her attentions on to her aunt. Ahh, a moment of clarity! And suddenly, April felt very thrilled to have her aunt back again, even if she was making her sound like some kind of lush.
‘Weell, I’m not sure I’d put it quite like—’ April started.
‘Do you remember those snowballs, April?’ Edie interjected and April nodded, fascinated that her aunt now seemed able to remember this minutiae – they’d had those snowballs over thirty years ago! ‘I’ll have to make you one before you go home. You loved them as a teenager. We could make a night of it just like we used to – play a few hands of rummy while we are at it too – if I can find the blasted pack of cards that is.’ Edie shook her head and turned to Deedee. ‘I’ve searched high and low and they’ve disappeared. April had a look too but no luck …’
‘Ooh, I’m so sorry, I should have said – I have them in my handbag in the bus for you. I picked them up by accident after last week’s tea dance. Do you remember, Edie? I helped you into your sitting room and plonked my pashmina on the sideboard only to scoop up the pack of cards with it when I left.’
‘Ahh, well that solves that mystery – thank heavens you did, dear!’ Edie smiled kindly at Deedee. ‘For a moment there I thought I was losing my marbles.’ And both women chuckled to themselves before proceeding down the garden path to the waiting bus, leaving April wondering why she had ever worried about her aunt. Clearly her memory wasn’t that bad, and she was having the time of her life, whooping it up at the weekly tea dance with her ‘date’, the general. And in a strange moment of role reversal, April felt quite eager to meet the general, if only to assure herself that he was indeed a suitable suitor for her dear old great aunt Edie.
As she waved the two ladies off, April couldn’t resist grinning. Deedee was certainly a bon vivant, a breath of fresh air, and April admired her zest for life and the ease with which she had brought ‘Old Edie’ to life, practically transforming her into a much younger woman in the blink of an eye. It was infectious. And April felt spurred on by it, in addition to the wave of confidence she now had after reconnecting with her past last night, and so in a rare, but quite welcome moment of spontaneity, she decided to get in her Beetle and go to the High Street.
But first, she would pick a selection of pretty wild flowers from Edie’s back garden as a little thank-you gift for Molly. (April was quite sure her aunt wouldn’t mind; there were hundreds to choose from in any case so April wondered if she would even notice.) April could ask about a gardener too while she returned the pie dish, and it would be a chance to have a look around Tindledale and see if it had changed much since her last visit. She might even treat herself to a nice slice of Battenberg in The Spotted Pig café. Yes, April thought this sounded like a very nice thing to do.
And for the first time in a very long time, April didn’t feel wobbly at the prospect of going out alone, without at least having someone she knew by her side, supporting her as they had for the last eighteen months – Nancy, Freddie, her friends from the knitting club or the girls from the gym … the ones that had stuck around, that is, the ones who, despite April’s lack of desire to socialise, had still visited and taken her out for the occasional coffee. Well, now she’d have something to talk to them about, something other than how she was coping, or how she felt, or if she’d had a good day …
(#ulink_76f4d95c-37cb-56ee-b5e3-c7f47fe8deb1)
On arriving in Tindledale, April parked the Beetle right outside the village store, pleased to have found a space – well, on closer inspection there were several in fact. The heart of Tindledale with its cobbled High Street lined on either side with tiny Tudor-framed shops with even tinier mullioned windows wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, April noticed as she closed the car door behind her and went to walk off. Smiling, she looked around and saw that the village hadn’t changed at all since her last visit, indeed it was almost the same as when she used to visit as a child in the school holidays. The only difference now was a jaunty polka-dotted length of bunting bobbing in the breeze linking the lampposts, and on the corner opposite the village green was an extremely exotic-looking Indian restaurant. Wow! Double-fronted with a selection of brightly painted tables outside with gold and white parasols. Gray would have loved it – he was very partial to a chicken balti with all the trimmings.
April swallowed hard and adjusted her thoughts; now was not the time. Focus, this was supposed to be fun, not maudlin! Something else caught April’s eye. A bench. She made a beeline towards it, grateful to have a focal point to concentrate on, and remembered sitting on it with her mum and dad to enjoy a bag of chips from Moby Dick’s, the mobile fish and chip van that came to Tindledale every Friday evening. April wondered if the van still came, and made a mental note to ask her aunt later. But the bench was no longer made of boring wood, no, it had been transformed into a yarnbombed extravaganza of loveliness – a myriad of colours made up of hundreds of granny patches all stitched together by hand – it was amazing. A real labour of love – she ran a finger over the knitting and wondered if she might be ready to pick up her needles some time soon, but the thought was immediately followed by a pang of panic and April knew it was too soon. Another day hopefully. April thought about sitting on the bench instead and allowing herself ten minutes just to think about Gray, but a shrill voice filled the air and the moment vanished.
‘Excuse me!’ A woman wearing a dowdy beige mac and a flowery headscarf, with an old-fashioned wicker basket looped over her arm and a determined look on her face, came beetling towards her from the door of the bookshop opposite. April stopped moving and smiled at the older woman.
‘Hello,’ April said, shifting the flowers into her free hand so she could swing her handbag over her shoulder and tuck Molly’s pie dish under her arm, wondering what the woman wanted. Maybe she was a friend of her aunt’s, on the way to the tea dance, and had heard that April was visiting too and wanted to welcome her.
‘We like to keep this space clear for the disabled villagers!’ the woman announced, emphasising the ‘we’ as if verbally holding a placard above April’s head with ‘outsider’ emblazoned on it to make her feel unwelcome. Circumventing any pleasantries, the woman then pointed a disdainful finger to the blue Beetle with its jaunty plastic sunflower in the air vent on the dashboard.
‘Oh!’ April replied, taken aback. ‘I didn’t know … I, um, didn’t see a disabled sign anywhere or even on the road,’ she added, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl all of a sudden as she did a quick scan to check a nearby lamppost too. The woman continued to glare at the Beetle. And then April twigged. This woman, aka the village parking warden, surely, was clearly waiting for April to move her car to one of the other numerous patches of free parking space. But April felt ruffled and not in the least bit inclined to move her car. She hadn’t broken any laws as far as she could fathom, but it was just as well that Mark, the policeman from yesterday, happened to cycle past at this precise moment. He gave April a pleasant wave before bringing his bike to a halt at the kerb.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/alex-brown/the-secret-of-orchard-cottage-the-feel-good-number-one-bestsell/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Alex Brown
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Warm and wise bestselling fiction from the hugely popular Alex Brown, the author of The Great Christmas Knit Off and The Great Village Show.April Wilson is wondering what to do next – her life has been turned upside down after the loss of her husband so she’s hoping to piece herself together again with a visit to her elderly great aunt, Edith. Arriving in the rural idyll of Tindledale, she’s dismayed to find Edith’s cottage and the orchards surrounding it in a sorry state of disrepair. Edith seems to have lost interest completely, instead she’s become desperate to find out what happened to her sister, Winnie, who disappeared during WWII.April gets to work immediately, discovering that the orchard still delivers a bumper crop each year, and with the help of some of the villagers – including Matt, the enigmatic Farrier – begins to unravel the mystery of the missing Winnie. Slowly,April can feel things coming to life again – but can Orchard Cottage work its magic on her too?