The Pets at Primrose Cottage

by Sheila Norton

  Billie glanced at Carl and they both smiled. ‘Wouldn’t your great aunt have loved that?’ she said. ‘The irony of it – after all this time, getting her story in the paper again!’

  ‘She would have,’ he agreed. ‘Of course you can bring your friend round, Emma. And he can write whatever he likes. A lot of people around here still remember Great Aunt Maud and they’ll think it’s wonderful to see her story in print again. I’ll hang onto these original papers, though. I’d quite like to have them framed! Your friend can make copies.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he explains that it’s all made up, this time,’ I said.

  When I finally said goodbye to them, and to JoJo, Carl gave me some extra money on top of my payment.

  ‘A little of my great aunt’s money,’ he said. ‘Share it with your friend. It’s made my day, coming home from holiday to find all these things. We’d never have known they were down there if it hadn’t been for you.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s really kind. But really it was all because of JoJo,’ I reminded him. ‘Perhaps it’s hamsters that have supernatural powers, not cats!’

  I’d arranged to meet up with Matt the next day in The Star to tell him what had happened, and his eyebrows shot up with surprise when I gave him his half of the money Carl had shared with us. I expected him to be a bit disappointed that there weren’t any genuine reports of hauntings to write about, but he was quite philosophical about it.

  ‘It’ll make quite a nice little story,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Not my big break, exactly, but I can describe how we found the box, and write about the great aunt’s mischievous childhood, as well as telling the story of her ghost hoax.’

  He picked up his drink and took a big gulp, suddenly looking away and sighing.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I said. ‘It sounds really good. I bet the Chronicle readers will lap it up.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ He was silent for a moment, looking down at his beer glass, then he suddenly looked up at me again and said, quietly: ‘It’s just – what you told me about that family, how they inherited the house from his great aunt – it’s a little bit like my own situation.’

  I waited, silently. He’d told me so little about himself so far, and I sensed that I was finally going to get a revelation about his family or his childhood. Something that seemed to be upsetting him to think about.

  ‘I’ve recently inherited a house, too,’ he said. ‘From my grandparents. Well, it’s a cottage, actually.’ He looked up at me then, and immediately I saw it in his eyes. I understood.

  ‘Bilberry Cottage,’ I said, letting out a long breath. ‘That’s why I’ve seen you there. It’s yours, isn’t it? Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I … just didn’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Oh.’ I swallowed back my irritation. So he’d lied to me – said he just ‘liked’ the cottage. The day he took me to hospital, he’d told me that he’d just happened to be passing – when in fact he had been inside the cottage at the time. It hadn’t been Shane, obviously, but it wasn’t a hallucination either – it was Matt. He wasn’t only doing the place up, he actually owned it! ‘Don’t you like it, then?’ I couldn’t help saying. ‘Are you doing it up to put it on the market? I saw you taking photos of it.’

  ‘No, I’m not selling it. Well, probably not. The photos were just for me to keep, for sentimental reasons. So that I can remember how it looked when my grandparents lived there. I suppose I’ll move in, one day. When I’ve finished renovating it.’

  ‘You don’t sound too excited about it. If I owned a beautiful cottage like that, I’d be—’

  ‘Well, there you go,’ he cut me short. ‘I’m sorry for not telling you. I just … don’t like talking about it.’

  I looked back at him in surprise. His face was a picture of misery.

  ‘Did your grandparents only pass away recently?’ I asked gently, reaching out to take his hand across the table.

  He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. Can we change the subject?’

  ‘Of course.’

  We sat like that, in silence, holding hands across the table, for a few minutes while he managed to compose himself. I was sorry for his loss, of course, although I hoped he wasn’t making things worse by bottling up his feelings. And how could I blame him now, for not telling me the truth about Bilberry Cottage? Not only was he battling his own grief, but I still hadn’t told him a single iota of truth about myself or my background. I liked Matt, a lot. I’d been harbouring the hope it might develop into something between us, somehow, eventually, if I could ever get over my fear of journalists. But if he couldn’t confide in me about things like this, and I couldn’t confide in him about, well, anything, really – what was the point of it? There was no future for us.

  And no future for me in my dream cottage, either, I thought to myself sadly as I eventually walked back home. There was no point taking any more little strolls down Moor View Lane to stand outside and daydream about living there. It belonged to Matt, even though he didn’t seem very happy about it. Was he really going to move in there? It would make sense; at present he rented a one-bedroom flat above the Chinese takeaway. Or would he finish smartening the cottage up and then put it on the market at a massively inflated price, as people tended to do after a renovation? Either way, it was going to be out of my reach. Not that it was ever seriously within my reach, but at least I’d been able to dream, and now I couldn’t.

  I sighed. The day had somehow gone sour. Matt had remained quiet and sad for the rest of our time together, and although he’d given me a little kiss on the cheek when we parted, I’d been aching to be kissed again the way we’d kissed in the car the previous day. It was my own fault, of course – it had been me who’d asked to take things slowly. Now I was wondering if it would be better if we didn’t even see each other. I might be making a success of my little business here in Crickleford, but if I thought I could make a success of a relationship with a man, I was surely fooling myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  For the rest of the day I moped around at home, unable even to make the effort to play with Holly. I listened to Lauren and Jon chatting and laughing together in the kitchen as they cooked the Sunday dinner, and instead of the happy glow it normally gave me to be included in this nice little family, it gave me an ache in my chest that made me want to cry.

  More than ever, I missed my family. I missed my sister. I wanted my mum to hug me, my dad to call me his little girl. Why had I messed everything up so badly with them? Would I ever be able to go back home? Would I ever have a life like Kate’s, a proper life with my own home, a man who loved me, children of my own? It seemed so unlikely, all I could envisage was a future of being an eternal lodger in other people’s homes, growing old and embittered, talking to myself and resenting other people’s happiness.

  ‘Snap out of it, girl!’ I told myself crossly. Skulking around feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to change anything. Juliet was dozing on my bed, and I lifted her onto my lap, immediately feeling the wave of contentment that comes with stroking a cat, the warmth of her fur and the pleasant rumble of her purrs. ‘You still love me, don’t you, sweetie?’ I said. ‘You might not, though, if you really knew me.’

  I pulled the photo of Albert out from under my pillow. It was already creased and dog-eared from so much handling.

  ‘This is my own cat, my lovely Albert,’ I told Juliet, showing her the picture. She looked at it and meowed, finally making me smile. ‘You might have been friends if you could have met him,’ I said. ‘But I … I left him behind. I did something very bad, you see, and I had to run away and leave poor Albert behind.’ I wiped a tear from my eye. No use crying about it. It was all my own fault, after all.

  Juliet yawned and stretched, and jumped down from my lap.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘It’s time to stop moping around and go and help with the dinner.’

  She meowed again and padded to the bedroom door, looking back
at me to make sure I was following. I’d always known cats were empathetic. It felt like she’d understood every word I was saying.

  The next day I felt better. I was back with Sugar, the pedigree Burmese, for the week. She’d become one of my favourites and I always enjoyed spending time with her. It was a pity I couldn’t say the same for her owner’s husband. Because of the occasion when he’d let Sugar outside and failed to close the door of her run, Vanya now wanted me to stay overnight at the house. And the fact that I was sleeping just along the hall from him seemed to give Rob the incentive to pester me as much as he possibly could.

  ‘Please don’t do that, Rob,’ I told him as he leant over my shoulder, breathing into my ear, while I was dishing up Sugar’s food.

  ‘I thought you liked it,’ he responded huskily. ‘How about this?’ He snaked his arm around my waist, giving me a squeeze that made me jump and spill some of Sugar’s food on the worktop.

  ‘I’ve already told you: if you keep on like this, I’ll have to tell Vanya,’ I said. I was trying to sound firm, but his nearness, his physicality and overt masculinity, were getting to me. Of course, it wasn’t him I wanted, but the memory of being in the car with Matt, his fingers caressing my neck, his lips against mine, was still achingly fresh in my mind and my loneliness were intensifying the need for someone to hold me.

  ‘Just leave me alone,’ I said shakily, pushing him away.

  But of course, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. For the next couple of days it was exhausting trying to keep him at arm’s length. I found myself thinking that if he hadn’t been married, and more particularly if his wife hadn’t been my best client, I’d probably have given in by now, just to stave off the feeling of emptiness. But as it was, he was strictly off limits.

  I tried to make sure I never ventured outside of my guest bedroom in my pyjamas, and took to carrying Sugar around the house as much as possible. He couldn’t do much to me while she was in my arms – if he’d made me drop her, Vanya would never have forgiven him. It would probably have been a far worse crime, in her eyes, than any kind of infidelity on his part.

  ‘Us girls have to stick together, don’t we,’ I whispered to Sugar, and she looked back at me adoringly, answering me with her usual loud meow, as if to say that being carried around like royalty was exactly what she deserved and expected.

  But on the last day, needing the bathroom early in the morning, I opened my bedroom door to find Rob waiting outside, blocking my way.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said quietly, but instead of moving away, he jostled me back into the room.

  ‘Come on, Emma,’ he said, holding my arm firmly as I stumbled backwards towards the bed. ‘You know you want to.’

  The reality of the situation banished any lingering temptation from my mind.

  ‘No!’ I said firmly. ‘I don’t. Let me go!’

  He was holding me close to him, fumbling with my dressing gown, one hand already finding its way inside. I was losing my balance and knew that if I fell onto the bed he’d take it as a green light.

  ‘Stop it!’ I shouted, stumbling and putting my hand behind me on the bed to stop myself from falling – but he completely ignored me, using his strength to force me backwards while his hands continued to pull my dressing gown open. As I struggled frantically, turning my face away from him to stop him slobbering over me, I caught sight of the jewellery box on the dressing table. Instantly the memories came rushing back to me. That last day in New York. The shock, the violence, the angry words. The heavy jewellery box being thrown across the bedroom, finding its target. The screams. The hasty escape from the apartment, never to return.

  ‘Get off me!’ I gasped now. Rob was laughing at me, and he seemed to have no intention of stopping. I pushed at his chest as hard as I could. How could this be happening? How was it that men seemed to end up treating me so badly? He was on the point of overpowering me now and I knew there was no alternative. I slapped him, hard, across the face. He reared back in surprise, and I pushed him again, making him lose his balance just enough for me to get away from him. I grabbed my clothes off the end of the bed and ran to the bathroom to get dressed, locking myself in.

  When I came back out, the house was in silence. His car was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I was still badly shaken. Despite my anger with Rob, I found myself wondering if it was partly my own fault, whether it had been too obvious to him, despite how often I’d rejected his advances, that I was longing to be held and loved by someone. I would never actually have given in to his demands – he was a nasty piece of work, after all, who treated his beautiful wife with complete indifference. And not only was he married, he was about twice my age. He wasn’t even my type, I thought miserably, thinking of Shane’s dark good looks, Matt’s beautiful brown eyes.

  I fed Sugar, and was just about to take her out for some exercise in her outdoor run when I heard Rob’s car pull up on the drive again. I stood in the kitchen, holding Sugar, breathing hard. I couldn’t face him – I’d slapped him, hard, and although he’d deserved it, I had no idea how to handle being in his company for the rest of the day. Putting Sugar back down, I closed the door to keep her safely in the kitchen, and made a bolt for it out of the back door, and round the side of the house, where I waited until I heard Rob closing the front door behind him, and then ran down the road as fast as I could. Vanya would be home later, and I’d have to tell her what had happened. She might not want to use me any more – after all, she couldn’t trust her husband around me now. I’d lose my best client, thanks to him, but it was only right that she knew what he’d done.

  I wandered the streets for a while, trying to calm down, and this time when I found myself facing Moor View Lane, I decided that, despite what I now knew about Bilberry Cottage belonging to Matt, I still really wanted to have another look at it. I stood, sighing, outside the gate as usual, staring up at the windows. I half expected to see Matt inside; if I had done, I would have waved to him this time and perhaps he’d even have invited me in to look around. Don’t be stupid, Emma, I chastised myself for the thought. How would that help? It was bad enough being in love with the outside of the cottage and knowing it was already taken, without giving myself the chance to fall in love with the interior too! Wasn’t it enough of a problem, knowing that I’d fallen in love with Matt himself?

  The thought made me actually gasp out loud. Love? Was that what it was? Had it really taken a run-in with that dirty old man Rob to make me realise how strongly I felt about Matt? I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be feeling the same way about me. Wanting a relationship with someone was one thing, but love … I doubted that had been part of the plan! I leant against the cottage gate and took a few deep breaths. I’d promised myself never to get into this kind of situation again, after Shane, and yet here I was only – what, six, seven months later? – in danger of making the same mistake all over again.

  But it’s not the same, is it, a little voice inside me pointed out. He’s nothing like Shane.

  ‘Maybe not, but he’s a bloody journalist!’ I said out loud to the little voice, and a lady walking past on the other side of the road turned to stare at me. Talking to myself now – they’d be locking me up soon if I wasn’t careful.

  Anyway there was no sign of Matt in the cottage, which perhaps was just as well. So I strolled back into town, feeling no better, worrying about Matt and whether we could ever be more than friends, worrying about Rob and whether Sugar was safe with him for another hour or so until Vanya arrived home. Should I go back and check, or would he just pounce on me again, despite the slapped face? I didn’t feel like going home, so I just kept walking, back and forth beside the river, up and down Fore Street, up Castle Hill and back down again, trying desperately, but failing, to take my mind off the situation. As I approached The Star pub, I realised it was past their opening time, and I suddenly decided that what I really needed was a drink. I pushed open the door and stumbled, blinking, in the darkness of the bar after the bright sunshin
e outside. There were one or two men sitting on stools at the bar, but I ignored them as I ordered my glass of white wine and waited while the barmaid poured it.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t our little pet sitter,’ a voice close to me said. A very unpleasant voice. I turned to look at him. He was a huge man, too large to sit properly on a bar stool so he was just balancing his backside against it and leaning on the bar. He looked around the bar, appearing to make sure he had everyone’s attention, before giving a nasty, sneering laugh and going on, loudly: ‘What have you been up to, then, as if I didn’t know?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I stammered, thinking immediately of Rob. Not that it was me who should feel any shame about the incident, I reminded myself. Even if I had given him the wrong impression, even if he had mistakenly thought I’d be up for more than a cup of tea with him – it was still his fault, his shameful behaviour. ‘I’ve been looking after pets, of course,’ I said more firmly, ‘like I’ve always done.’

  ‘That’s not what I’ve heard,’ he said. ‘Not what I’ve heard from my friend and fellow parish councillor, Mr Rob Montgomery.’ He leered at me again. ‘He tells a very interesting story about you, miss. Very interesting indeed!’

  ‘Well, he’s lying,’ I said, my face on fire. ‘So please stop embarrassing me in front of all these people—’ I turned to see how many people were, in fact, sitting at tables in the darkness of the shabby little bar, their ears no doubt flapping in anticipation of some tasty morsels of gossip. I knew only too well that just the fact that I’d stayed at the house overnight while Vanya was away, would be enough to make people’s tongues wag around here. Fortunately the pub wasn’t too busy, but …

  And then I saw him. Already getting to his feet, coming over to join me, a puzzled expression on his face. I knew he’d been listening. I guessed he was going to tell this rude, fat man to leave me alone – but he’d be too late. The councillor’s mouth was already open, he’d already begun to speak and I knew what he was going to say.