Escape to the Cotswolds. Natalie Kleinman
for such bullish behaviour. And then to follow it up by ignoring her at the party. What am I – a child? Adam too had been bowled over that day by the river, though in quite a different way from Holly.
He was normally impervious to the lures that women extended to him, completely unaware of his own charm and air of unavailability and indeed vulnerability. There are few women who can resist that. He still carried around with him the scar of a failed relationship when his fiancée had abandoned him only weeks before the wedding. It was all he’d needed to confirm that with animals, unlike people, you know exactly where you stand. If they don’t like you they let you know but if they love you there is no doubting their sincerity. So animals, already a major part of his life, became his everything. The place where he felt safe.
When Adam had bumped into Holly his reaction, instead of leaning forward to help her up, had been to step back, just a physical manifestation of what he’d been doing metaphorically for the last five years. He was ashamed of himself for such a lack of manners.
While Holly was still in Scotland Adam had met up with Emma when he went to give a talk about family pets at her school, a twice-yearly project that he enjoyed immensely. He’d taken a rabbit with him and there had been a handling session where the pupils had learned to show respect to another living breathing creature. Fits of laughter too when Adam had asked for a volunteer and, with permission, had turned the child upside down and flung him over his shoulder. ‘This is how NOT to do it.’ The volunteer had laughed loudest of all.
During Emma’s break over a cup of coffee they’d talked about Holly.
‘I know she’s beginning to feel uncomfortable being with us so long but actually I can’t wait for her to get back tomorrow. It’s like being back at uni, and school before that, when we’re together.’
‘You go back a long way?’
‘For ever. That’s why it hurt so much watching her marriage disintegrate and not being able to do anything to help – well, except listen on the phone from what felt like a million miles away.’
Adam tried not to appear too curious but Holly had piqued his interest, no doubt about that.
‘That bad?’
‘Frankly he was a bit of a bastard. Handsome. Charming. I’ve no doubt he loved Holly, still does probably, and she him, but one woman is never enough for his sort. In the end she couldn’t take it any more and to be honest I’m not sure she’ll ever trust anyone ever again.’
Adam had all the confirmation he needed that any approach to Holly would be rebuffed, even if he could have gotten past the disaster of their first two meetings.
***
When Holly returned to Cuffingham she resumed her voluntary work at the local old folks’ home, something she’d started doing quite soon after moving in with Emma and Tom. She’d spent a couple of weeks unsuccessfully looking for temporary work but this was more because she wanted something constructive to do rather than that she needed an income. Aside from her work at the gallery, helping at a nearby centre was one of the ways she’d filled her time while living in London. She had a gift for it. And it made her feel fulfilled.
There was an arts and crafts room at the home and Holly did what she did best. With a couple of the residents she used modelling clay, warming it in her hands before placing it in theirs and helping them move stiff fingers to form recognisable shapes.
‘I could hardly move my fingers before you came,’ one had said. ‘Now I can’t wait to get in here every day and see what else I can make.’
With others she demonstrated some of the techniques of using watercolours and with those unable to hold a brush she, and they, had a hilarious time using finger paints. There was also a supply of coloured felt for those who could hold a pair of scissors – albeit not very sharp and with rounded ends – together with pompoms, feathers, and coloured paper for pasting onto heavy-duty card. Some rather spectacular collages were created and the walls of the craft room were rapidly becoming covered.
‘Oh but just look at all these trees,’ Holly had gasped on her return after the holidays. ‘You’ve all done so well.’ Before going away she’d cut out Christmas trees in varying sizes. Some of them had holes in. Those with holes had been interwoven with decorations and hung from the ceiling. Others that had been painted or covered in gummed stickers vied for wall space with the collages. Corner to corner across the large room paper chains had been hung, made with care and sometimes with a little pain by the residents. It must have taken them ages and had been finished while she’d been away.
‘We couldn’t wait to see your face when you came back again,’ said one.
‘No, and it was definitely worth waiting for,’ said another.
They were so proud of themselves, as was Holly, and it was unlikely that these particularly seasonal decorations would be taken down any time soon. Her one day a week at the home was the only time, other than when the Carters were at home, that she was able to forget about the loneliness that seemed to creep into bed with her every night in the dark hours. Two weeks after she returned to Cuffingham from Scotland she picked up the keys to her new home.
***
Moving Day! Not most people’s idea of a good time no matter how much the end may justify the means. Holly wasn’t having a great time. Okay, the level of excitement was way off the scale. But though in her mind she’d left almost everything behind – and as far as furniture was concerned she had – the actuality was that there were a lot of things she needed to find places for and for the most part she had no idea where she was going to put them. Most important was her mother’s old pine table. She’d hovered as the removal men lifted it off the van and manoeuvred it into the house.
‘Don’t worry, luv, a few more scratches and dents won’t make any difference. Lovely old piece, it is, but seen better days.’
‘It was my mother’s,’ she’d said, which she’d thought would explain her anxiety while it was being moved, and it did.
‘Know what you mean, Mrs Hunter. My wife’s still got her mum’s old work basket. Means more to her than anything.’
The table went into the extension. There had never been any doubt where it would go because there definitely wasn’t enough room for it in the tiny dining room. Instead all her paintings, and they were many, and all her art materials had been stacked in that otherwise empty room. Her clothes were put in the smaller of the two bedrooms for the time being, the main one comfortably accommodating the new king-sized bed without looking silly. Surprisingly for a cottage it was a decently sized room.
After the removal men had gone Holly went from room to room before twirling around ballerina-style, but with slightly less grace, and shouting ‘Wheeeee!’ into the silence. Then she took a closer look at the furniture that Mrs Foster had left. It would have to do for the time being, and maybe even for ever. Much like her mother’s table it had seen better days but it went well with the old cottage and the artist in her could see the beauty in its lines. She was very happy with it. By the time she’d made up the bed the day was well advanced and she was just wondering what to do next when Emma arrived.
‘Tom said he’d pick up the twins from school so I could come round to see if you needed any help.’
‘Well, the floors need scrubbing. I remember you offering that to me as a high treat when I came to stay with you.’
‘As if. Seriously, is there anything? I really came over to drag you back with me for something to eat. I knew you wouldn’t have even thought about food.’
‘You’re not kidding anyone. What you actually came over for was to have a good nose.’
‘You know me so well.’
‘Pity you weren’t here a bit earlier. You could have helped me make the bed. I know it’s big for one, particularly a little one like me, but it’s a luxury I promised myself after Harry and I split up.’
Holly looked