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