The Secret of Orchard Cottage: The feel-good number one bestseller. Alex Brown
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.
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,