House of Echoes. Barbara Erskine
shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I expect there’s a village school – I don’t even know that yet – but I shouldn’t think there’s any scope locally for the kind of teaching I do. Anyway, I think I’ve had it with teaching, David, to be honest.’
‘You weren’t sorry when you handed in your resignation before Tom was born. Even I could see that.’
‘And you were probably relieved to see the back of me.’ She looked down at her glass.
‘You know that’s not true.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re a good teacher, Joss. I was desperately sorry to lose you.’ He paused. ‘In more ways than one.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. Pulling himself together with a visible effort he went on. ‘You care about the kids, and you inspire them. Something not all history teachers manage by any means. I know we sometimes rowed about your methods, but I was only worried about your ability to stick to the curriculum.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I’m making a mess of this. What I’m trying to say is, that I’ve a suggestion to make and I don’t want you to get hold of the wrong end of the stick. This is not an insult or a sinister plot to undermine your intellectual integrity. And above all I am not criticising your knowledge or interpretation of history, but I think you should give some serious consideration to the idea of turning your hand to writing. Fiction.’
He waited, his eyes fixed on her face.
‘Which is more my line than serious history, you mean.’ Joss hid a smile.
‘I knew you would say that!’ He smacked the table with the palm of his hand. ‘No, it is not what I mean. All right. You told the kids stories. They loved it. I don’t think it was good history but it was good teaching. They wanted more and they missed you like hell when you left. Joss, what I’m saying is that you are a born story teller. You could make money out of it. I’m sure you could. I’ve read some of your short stories. You even won that competition. I’m being serious. I have a feeling that you could do it. I know one or two people in the publishing business, and if you like, I will show them some of your writing. I don’t want to get your hopes up too much because it’s a chancy business, but I have a feeling about you.’ He smiled at her again. ‘A good feeling, Joss.’
She returned his smile. ‘You’re a nice man, David.’ She reached out her hand to his.
‘I know.’ He left his fingers lying there beneath hers on the table for just a moment too long then reluctantly he withdrew them. ‘So, I have your permission to show some stories around?’
‘You have my permission. Thanks.’
‘And I can come and see you as soon as you’re settled?’
‘Of course you can. I shall miss you, David.’
He picked up his glass. ‘And I you, Joss. And I you.’
Joss was kneeling on the floor packing china when she told Luke of David’s idea that evening.
He considered it for a minute, his head on one side, then thoughtfully he nodded. ‘You can write and you did win that competition. Joss, it’s a brilliant scheme!’
‘Winning a competition with a short story is not the same as making a living out of writing, Luke.’
‘No, but you could give it a go. And we are going to need money, Joss. Make no mistake about it.’
She frowned, wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat on the floor. ‘It’s going to be tough at Belheddon, isn’t it.’
He nodded. ‘Just pray the roof doesn’t leak. Your mother and father meant well, leaving the place to you, I’m sure they did, but it’s going to take some looking after.’
‘We’ll manage though. Or you will. I’m glad I married a practical man! And who knows, once we’re settled, maybe I’ll even write a best seller, too.’ She glanced up at him through the dark fringe of her hair. ‘It’s a dream come true, Luke.’
He slid from his chair and sat down next to her amongst the debris of boxes and partly packed cups and plates. ‘I know it is, Joss.’ Putting his arm round her shoulders he pulled her to him and kissed her. ‘Just remember, we have to keep a tight grip on reality. We are going to have to work our socks off to keep that place going, and it’s not going to be easy.’
As the removal van drove slowly out of the drive and turned out of sight Joss turned to Luke. She caught his hand. ‘That’s it. Bridges burned. No going back. No regrets?’ She looked up at him.
He smiled. ‘No Joss, no regrets. This is the start of a big adventure.’
Slowly they walked back into the kitchen. The room had in many ways not changed at all since the first day they had seen it. The range was still there, and to their joy had been found to be fully functional after an overhaul; the plates and cups on the dresser had been washed and were sparkling. The heavy table, decorated now with a scarlet poinsettia, a gift from John Cornish, had been scrubbed almost white by Joss’s mother, Alice. The crates of their own china and glass stood piled along the wall. Tom’s high chair was pulled up at the head of the table.
Alice was bending over the pan on the stove, stirring something which smelled extremely appetising as they walked in.
‘Removal men gone?’ Her husband, Joe, was unwrapping saucepans with his small grandson’s help, making a huge pile of newspaper in the middle of the room.
‘Gone at last, thank God.’ Luke threw himself down in one of the chairs. ‘That smells wonderful, Alice.’
His mother-in-law smiled. ‘You know, I’m really enjoying cooking on this range. I think I’m getting the hang of it at last. This is real cooking!’ The range had been one of the urgent things they had had repaired before the move. She glanced at Joss. ‘Why don’t we all have a glass of wine, while I finish this. Let Lyn take Tom, Joe. She can give him his tea.’ Comfortably she stood away from the stove, wiping her hands on the front of her apron.
There were two bottles of wine in a Sainsbury’s carrier on the table and a six pack of beer. ‘Corkscrew?’ Joss extricated the bottles and stood them in line with the poinsettia. After the weeks of worry and packing and organising the move she was so exhausted she could hardly stand.
‘On my boy scout knife.’ Luke grinned at her. ‘Do you remember the removal foreman telling us: “Leave out the kettle and the corkscrew or you’ll never find them again after.”’ He fished around in the pocket of his jacket and produced a corkscrew which had obviously been nowhere near a boy scout in its life. ‘Beer for you, Joe? And I think I’ll join you. It’s thirsty work, moving house!’
Sitting at the table, watching her sister cut up an apple and put the pieces in front of Tom Joss felt a sudden wave of total contentment. It would probably take them years to sort out the house; months to unpack, but at least they were here properly now. No more London; no more office for Luke as he tried to sort out the last-minute details of his former life. And here they had enough room to put up Joe and Alice and Lyn and anyone else who wanted to come and stay for as long as they wanted.
Helping herself to a glass Alice sat down next to her. ‘I’ll leave that to simmer for a couple of hours. Then we can eat. You look done in, love.’ She put her hand over Joss’s.
‘Done in, but happy.’ Joss smiled. ‘It’s going to work. I know it is.’
‘Course it is.’ Joe had gone back to pushing the crumpled newspaper into a black plastic sack, considerably hampered by Tom who was pulling out the pieces as fast as Joe was putting them in, and tossing them around the room. ‘You’re all going to be very happy here.’ He reached for his beer. ‘So, let’s drink a toast. To Belheddon Hall and all who sail in her!’