A Cornish Cottage by the Sea. Jane Linfoot
paint would never stick.
He pulls a face. ‘Forget yellow, in summer this lane has virtual double reds. You’ve no idea how much time we waste towing trippers’ cars into the yard so they don’t get demolished out here.’ His eyes narrow again. ‘How about I help you into the house with those cases?’
I’d rather expire than accept his help after how aggressively he came on just before. ‘Thanks all the same, where I’m from women carry their own bags.’ And are red lines even a thing? That’s the trouble with mind blanks; they make it harder to sort the truth from bullshit. ‘Are we done here – can we get down now?’
He finally shifts, springs to the ground with one jump, gives a whistle, and the dog’s legs start to scrabble in the dirt. As I ease my own way down the ladder and step off the bottom rung into the mud I grin at the child, but all I get back is the barest flicker of an eyebrow. I’m ransacking the filing cabinets in my brain for the best way to say ‘goodbye and get lost’ to someone who accused me of robbing my relative. But he isn’t leaving at all. He’s off up the ladder again.
‘Excuse me, what the eff are you doing now?’
He gives a shrug as he heaves the sash back down. ‘Just closing the window so we don’t get any more random intruders making opportunist raids.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘It was NOT random. I was actually trying to put the kettle on.’
He’s down again and swinging the ladder back onto the ground. ‘You’ll need to lock that from inside. And next time you’re at the door and desperate for tea, I suggest you take a look around the back first.’ Patronising doesn’t begin to cover it. ‘If you’re here to stay, no doubt we’ll be seeing you.’
On balance, I’m thinking totally not. The words ‘over my dead body’ just popped into my head, and I’m liking the way that sounds. But my mouth is moving all by itself. Lately it has this Tourette’s tendency and, even though I try to stop it, I come out with the kind of things that are at best a surprise and at worst downright embarrassing, with no input on my part.
‘Love you, bye then.’ There you go! I swear that had nothing to do with me. It’s a catch phrase from a phone-in I used to listen to in the car driving between building sites. They used it to get the callers off the line. Totally indiscriminate, moderately cringey, but it was worth saying if only for the shock in his eyes as he turns to leave. But if it got rid of him I’ll take that as my first result! I’d rather not have an audience as I stagger off dragging Day-Glo bags as big as ponies.
Day 133: Wednesday, 14th March
Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: Finding the kettle.
‘This way, Edie.’
I’m following Aunty Josie as she pushes through a picket gate at the far end of the house, trundling my biggest case behind me. Round the back of the cottage there are weeds between the stone setts and the pale tangle of last year’s grass, but at least we’re sheltered from the worst of the wind. I pause to take in the pale grey stone of the cottage wrapping around a pretty courtyard, a walled garden beyond, small paned window frames crying out for paint. As we head past a painted conservatory to a door in the far corner, it’s easy to see that the ship’s bell is so far away from here I might as well have rung it out at sea. I follow her into the back porch, let go of my bags, then dip in for a hug.
‘Well, Aunty Josie, it’s great to be here at last.’ As I go in to rub my cheek against hers I wonder if she still smells of Nina Ricci.
L’Air du Temps. In pale lemon packages. With the prettiest frosted flying doves on the bottle tops. When we were kids Tash and I used to fight to sit at her dressing table. It was so exotic compared to our mum’s, and always rammed with fancy fragrances. That happens when your husband travels for work and heads for the shop in every airport he passes through, and never forgets a birthday or an anniversary. Unlike our dad, who rarely flies and doesn’t know what day it is, even though he’s great in other ways. Which was a good thing, because I can’t ever imagine Aunty Josie buying perfume for herself. As I squeeze her into a hug I can feel every rib through what I’d swear are striped pyjamas.
I smile at her. ‘It’s a lovely place you’ve got here.’ Or it could be, with some TLC, which is where I come in. I’m looking at the outbuildings beyond the garden wall. ‘Are they yours too?’
‘Yes, all ours. Or rather, all mine.’ She gives a sigh. ‘Harry had such big plans.’ His whole working life Harry dreamed of living by the sea. Him dying within weeks of them getting here was tragic. For both of them.
I pull her in for another hug. ‘You were lucky to find it.’ In this corner of the world where the coastline wiggles around the harbours and villages, everyone wants outbuildings and a view of the sea.
‘There’s so much to do, I’m holed up in one room.’ Which probably explains all those closed blinds and blank windows too.
‘Don’t worry.’ As I squeeze her arm I realise it’s a change to be the one doing the comforting. As I drag my bags and follow her inside, the sight of the kitchen makes my mouth drop open.
‘Let’s have some tea.’ As she fills the kettle she disappears against the riot of hydrangeas on the wallpaper. Only her feet, in first position in silver pumps, give away where she’s standing.
‘Someone liked flowers.’ It’s what’s known in the trade as migraine wallpaper.
She shakes her head. ‘The wallpaper was how we managed to buy it – most viewers didn’t get past the hall.’
‘I’ll get the milk.’ I’d make a grab for my tinted glasses but I don’t want to upset her, so I head for the soothing white of the fridge, hoping to find a sugar hit too. As I swing open the door I realise my double whammy mistake. Not only is there no milk; unless you go for colourless smoothies, nothing in there actually looks edible.
‘Will green tea be okay? It’s great for your yin and yang.’ The set of her mouth tells me this isn’t up for discussion. My mum does the same thing, but she’ll throw in a smile too. When I think about it, the joking around always came from Harry, but it’s a bit late to remember that now.
‘Have you gone low-fat?’
‘There’s a milkman. I’ll get him to call again now you’re here.’ She brushes an invisible crumb off her knee. ‘I’m actually eliminating this week.’
Which explains why the milkman lost the will to live. ‘That wrecks my plan to cheer us up with a fish supper.’
She pushes a steaming cup towards me. ‘I could take off the batter and you could have my chips.’
Chips. Of course. That’s what they’re called. So far I’ve reconnected with the words ‘chocolate’, ‘cake’ and ‘custard’ without difficulty. Now she’s reminded me, I’m feeling the gap where my stomach should be.
‘You’ve still got your car?’ Mum already checked. I know I’m here for the peace and quiet, but this would be a nightmare place to be stranded without one. If we zoom we could be down to the fish shop in no time.
‘It hasn’t been out for a while.’ The corners of her mouth dip even further. ‘But when we do get it started, you will do the driving?’
Shit. ‘Sorry, Aunty – Aunty …’
‘Josie.’
‘I’m not driving. That’s why I came in the Uber.’ Aunty Josie. I need to get that in my head. As for my licence, we’re all hoping I’ll get that back in a few months. Or maybe a bit longer. Which reminds me. ‘Does the man from down the lane bother you?’
Her