by Penny Parkes
A sudden hammering on the front door spiked both her adrenaline and her heart rate, Chewie barking loudly and careering around the room, claws skittering on the polished oak boards. Frozen in the chair, Anna clung to the belief that without the Lyndells’ car outside, her visitor might yet give up and go away.
The hammering continued without pause. On and on, if anything building in intensity.
Tentatively getting to her feet, trying to shake off the bitter taste that filled her mouth, Anna peeked through the window, only catching a glimpse of a large imposing figure outside.
‘I can see you in there. Answer the door, for God’s sake!’ he shouted, his voice gravelled and urgent.
Anna breathed out slowly, wondering how the hell she managed to get into these situations. Once could be excused as a mistake; twice in one week should surely be taken as a sign.
‘If you think I’m opening the door to somebody yelling in the dark, you’re mistaken,’ Anna called back.
She watched as the figure outside seemed to slump, perching against one of the staddle stones outside. ‘Point taken. I’m sorry.’ He stared at a crumpled letter in his hands, no longer threatening, merely sad and frustrated. He was far younger than she had realised.
Against all her better judgement, Anna still found herself walking into the hall and pulling open the door. ‘I’m really not sure I can help you, but if you need me to call somebody for you, I can,’ she said.
He looked up, eyes tired and a day’s worth of stubble darkening his chin; he could barely be twenty-five. Despite herself Anna felt a quickening of intrigue.
He held up the letter, an official-looking crest at the top of the page. ‘This can’t go on, you know. It’s harassment. And you’re making my grandparents ill with the worry.’
‘I don’t live here; I’m just the house-sitter,’ Anna said apologetically.
‘Oh, right. Right, okay then,’ he said, making as though to stand up and leave, yet going nowhere. ‘My grandparents live in the bungalow down there. A blight on the Lyndells’ view apparently.’ He shook his head. ‘Forty-three years in their house, and suddenly they don’t feel safe in their own home. They’ve been pestered to sell up, threatened with all sorts of supposed building code violations – for God’s sake, when that place was built there were no building codes!’ He sighed. ‘I know, I know. You’re just the house-sitter. Not your problem.’
Anna shook her head. ‘I didn’t say that. Are they okay, your grandparents? You said they were unwell?’
He shrugged. ‘They’re old and they’re frightened – it’s not a winning combination.’
He finally garnered the impetus to stand up and turned, looking at Anna properly for the first time. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. I’m Henry. And I don’t make a habit of hammering down doors in the middle of the night, I promise you.’
‘Anna,’ she replied, holding out her hand, pleasantly surprised by the warmth and firmness of his handshake, finding that she actually believed him.
‘So, you’re just here looking after the house? Trying to rein in that spoiled dog?’ he hesitated. ‘They’re friends of yours? The Lyndells?’
Anna shook her head. ‘It’s my job, actually. House-sitting. Well, pet-sitting too, obviously.’ Somehow she felt the urge to share more with this tousled stranger on the doorstep, but sanity prevailed. ‘Goodnight, Henry,’ she said softly, closing the door and leaning back against it, deep in thought.
After a few moments, she walked through and lay down on the sofa, staring out over the sea, Chewie insinuating himself into the gap beside her.
How was it possible that Henry’s strength, to her at least, seemed to come from his very willingness to be vulnerable, and yet Andrew Fraser, for all his brutality, now seemed small and weak?
It was a question that circled in her mind, over and over, until the sky grew warm and orange and another day began.
Chapter 14
Dittisham, 2019
Anna sat cross-legged outside Leia’s birdcage the next morning, unable to pluck up the nerve to let her fly free. She’d checked the doors and windows, several times actually, but somehow the risk still felt too great, no matter what Oliver had said.
‘Smi-le,’ Leia chided her, hopping over to where the branch poked through the narrow silver bars. Tentatively, Anna opened the little door and held out her hand, trying not to be squeamish about the tiny talons that reached out and gripped her fingers. Glossy, black and fragile, but still sharp and strong in their own way. Leia bobbed her head and hummed a little tune to herself, stretching out and seemingly revelling in a different view.
‘You’re really very sweet, you know that?’ Anna said to the little yellow bird, fascinated up close by the eponymous ring of red feathers that circled her throat. Her simple innocence so endearing and reassuring; it was the perfect antidote to the chaos of the last few days.
‘Good baby,’ Leia agreed. Yet another flurry of increasingly insistent voicemails lit up Anna’s phone, startling them both. So much for her time here being her own.
The urgency of Liza’s predicament was in no doubt, but still the tone left a sour taste. ‘Just get the shoes from my study and get them couriered here. Today.’ Not a please or a thank you in sight.
Anna felt herself physically bristle with resentment, yet what could she do?
It was hardly her fault that Liza had been so wrapped up in packing her own wardrobe that she’d forgotten the bride’s shoes. Custom-made. Eye-wateringly expensive if the lacquered red sole was any guide. She laughed in disbelief for a moment, trying to imagine herself in that same situation, twisting herself like a pretzel in abject apology for any inconvenience, her speech littered with ‘just’s and general self-effacement.
And so, of course, her morning had become about packaging up the shoes and writing out labels and phoning around for the best avenue of delivery. Flustered by the incessant demands for an update, Anna reluctantly returned the little bird to her aviary and switched her phone to silent, begrudgingly putting aside her pyjamas and pulling on a pair of jeans and some Converse. Translatable clothes. And for all that Liza had scoffed at Anna’s limited luggage, Anna knew deep down that she herself could blend in anywhere.
Even without custom-made shoes.
Standing in the hallway, Chewie circling her legs and barking in frustration that his morning walk had been delayed, Leia calling over and over from her aviary, ‘What’ya doing? What’ya doing?’, Anna felt the lack of sleep begin to catch up with her – hands full, poised to leave, yet still she felt that old compulsion just to check, to be certain that every door and window was closed. Not just closed, but locked. Kettle unplugged, coffee machine ditto. Even the humming of the satellite TV box gave her pause. She clasped the front door keys so tightly in her hand that she flinched, clammy sweat prickling her hairline, a breath away from tears, even as she ran a slow-motion replay in her head of checking each and every door and window.
Breathing out forcefully, she muttered under her breath. ‘Trust yourself, Anna. The house is fine.’ Opening the front door and stepping outside, Chewie nearly pulled her off her feet. His exuberance and his sheer size made him a handful at the best of times, but he was in no mood for patience. ‘Post Office first, then beach,’ she told him, somewhat pointlessly. After all, she could hardly take the Louboutins for a seaside stroll when they were required in Florence so urgently.
Pulling the front door closed and testing it, then testing it once again, Anna tried hard to focus, to give herself the confidence, and indeed relief, of stepping away with a clear mind. A visual memory of the door safely closed. ‘The door is locked, I’ve locked the door, this door is locked.’ Anna turned and nearly tripped over a small basket on the doorstep.
Crouching down to pick it up, Chewie pulled her off balance in his single-minded desperation to be away.
‘Sit!’ she said firmly, brushing the gravel from her grazed palms and checking to see that the precious parcel was unharmed. ‘
Chewie, sit!’
He shuffled back onto his haunches on the gravel, mouthing off with a volley of whimpers and yelps. Yet Anna was intrigued by the basket, by the note inside and by the thought that had clearly gone into putting it together.
She glanced at the signature – Ruth – wondering who had seen fit to leave freshly baked scones and a jar of homemade jam with her name on it. Unfolding the note, it all made sense.
Anna – please forgive Henry disturbing you last night, he’s a good boy, and so protective of me and Arthur. We would love to see you for tea one day, if you feel like company.
P.S. Chewie will do almost anything for a little bit of cheese… (although maybe don’t mention that to her Ladyship.)
Ruth
She glanced down towards the bungalow and smiled. Such a genuine offer of kindness was rare in Anna’s world and, checking that the scones were safely packed away in their Tupperware container, she tucked the basket out of sight for her return, her morning dramatically improved by one thoughtful, generous gesture and the prospect of a cup of tea with a neighbour.
* * *
Having walked down the steep hill at the ridiculous pace dictated by Chewie, Anna could barely take in any of the beautiful pastel cottages and sea views, her hand almost raw from the lead pulling her forward. Seemingly everyone she passed had an eye out for Chewie, glaring at her as they skirted away out of his range. Waves of hostility threw her off balance once more, serving only to confuse, especially after the kindness of the gift basket.
‘You really have quite the reputation, Chewie,’ she grumbled, her arms beginning to ache and her temper to fray. Just once, she’d like a little equilibrium in the universe.
She apologised to a mother with two small children when Chewie surged towards them, making them squeal. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, quashing the urge to shout after them. ‘He’s not mine – I’m just looking after him!’
‘You are quite the piece of work,’ she cursed the dog under her breath, catching hold of a lamp post and wincing, as she attempted to anchor him and catch her breath.
She looked around where the lane levelled out, trying to get her bearings, and hesitating before approaching the doorway of what appeared to be a village shop, pub and Post Office all in one. Small groups were clustered on the terrace drinking coffee and chatting, their children and dogs milling around happily.
For a moment, watching them all, Anna felt that momentary give – a release of tension – from having landed somewhere welcoming, somewhere friendly. Even if the dog was a hell-hound and her clients were equally petulant and demanding, they were hundreds of miles away and, with the sun on her face and the prospect of a beach walk and then scones, Anna felt her day might be looking up. She turned and snapped a photo on her phone to send to Kate later, a harbour view to counter all those sickening palm trees and white sands.
Her stomach rumbled at the enticing aroma coming from within; hot, buttery, salty pasties calling her name.
‘You can’t bring that dog in here,’ a sharp voice cut through her reverie, making her jump.
Anna looked around, to see a florid-faced woman behind the Post Office counter glaring at Chewie.
‘But—’ Anna began, looking around at all the other dogs.
‘Oh, we allow dogs, before you start. We just don’t allow that dog.’
The sense of injustice hit Anna hard, before common sense reasserted itself. It wasn’t Anna herself being rejected, ejected, discriminated against, whatever her default setting may suggest. It was Chewie – larger than life and twice as disobedient.
‘I just need to send a parcel. An urgent parcel—’ Anna began, wondering if she dared tie the dog up outside for the few minutes it would take, trying to second-guess Liza’s exacting priorities: her dog or her sister’s wedding?
The woman behind the counter stepped around, hovering just out of reach, eyeing Chewie warily. ‘Friend of the Lyndells are you?’ she said coldly.
‘I’m just the house-sitter,’ Anna said, as she had last night, distancing herself and speculating at the reputation that clearly preceded owner and dog alike.
‘Right,’ said the woman, giving her the once-over, her gaze lingering on Anna’s battered tote bag and well-worn Converse. ‘You don’t look much like her, to be fair.’
‘Just the hired help,’ Anna said, shrugging. ‘But grateful to be in this beautiful village for a week, to be honest. I’d never heard of Dittisham before—’
The woman snorted with laughter and shook her head. ‘Yes, well, that’s obvious.’
Nothing about this exchange was obvious to Anna though, and she hesitated for a moment before responding. ‘Well, it’s nice to explore somewhere new.’ Chewie tugged at the lead again, skittering backwards in his quest to get going, to get to the beach and run free. ‘Oh for the love of God, would you Just – sit – down,’ Anna said firmly, brooking no nonsense, all her frustrations and confusion channelled into those three final, forceful words.
Chewie sat, nonplussed.
A round of applause echoed throughout the store and from out on the terrace, taking her by surprise.
‘Been a long time coming, that!’
‘Well done, my luver!’
To Anna’s immense surprise, the woman in front of her transformed from prickly to affable in a moment, chortling in delight at the downcast expression on the dog’s face as he sat beside Anna, almost reaching her shoulder. ‘Now that’s more like it. I wondered for a minute, a slip of a girl like you in charge of that brute. Runs amok around here he does, but do they care? I’m Molly, by the way.’ She walked over and held her hand out for the package, eyebrows lifting at the Florentine address. ‘This’ll be expensive.’
‘And overnight,’ Anna said, hoping there was enough money on her debit card. Praying that Liza would, as promised, reimburse her. ‘And I’m Anna.’
Molly weighed the package and eyed Anna’s proffered bank card thoughtfully. ‘We’ll just pop it on their tab shall we, my love? Sixty-two quid is just chump change to them folks.’
‘Sixty-two?’ Anna breathed in sharply, sickened, tucking her card away quickly, grateful for Molly’s intuition.
Every penny she had was accounted for. Not that she actually had a lot of monthly expenses, beyond her phone, her car and the storage locker. And she’d learned quickly that being thrifty with her daily stipend slowly inflated her savings account, because having a little money on hand would always, always give her more comfort than anything she could pos-sibly buy, and sixty-two pounds could buy a lot of peace of mind.
Sixty-two pounds on postage was obscene by any measure.
Yet presumably pocket change to Liza Lyndell.
Parcel duly dispatched, Molly’s demeanour softened by the minute.
‘I won’t come in,’ said Anna, still standing in the doorway, ‘but I don’t suppose I could buy some cheese? If you could find it for me?’
Molly hollered with laughter. ‘Ah, well then, you’ve been talking to Ruth? I’ll grab you some cheddar and you can put your purse away, Anna. Anyone who’s willing to take on that ridiculous dog just to get a week at the seaside earns my respect a little. And I’ll even make you a coffee to take to the beach – my apology for being so… Well, let’s just say that when it comes to the Lyndells you won’t find much love lost around here. But that doesn’t excuse my being rude to you.’
Taking the block of cheddar gratefully, Anna smiled. ‘Sometimes the owners are lovely, when I house-sit, sometimes – well, sometimes not so much. The whole job is a bit of a lottery to be honest.’ For a moment her thoughts flickered to Angus and Betty, the glorious spaniels she’d abandoned at Gravesend Manor. ‘Sometimes the pets make the whole job worthwhile and sometimes it’s just the view.’
Molly nodded. ‘Well, you’re welcome here any time, if you leave the hound at home.’
Anna smiled. ‘Thank you, Molly. I’m looking forward to exploring and I need to find a bookshop. Sooner rather than later.’
Molly sucked air through her teeth and shook her head. ‘Then you’ll be needing to head into Dartmouth for that, my love. Not much call for books around here, we’ve all got too much to do.’ She nodded towards a single shelf in the far corner. ‘Unless there’s something in our Book Exchange that catches your eye?’
Anna hesitated again, eyeing up a sulking Chewie versus the desire to have a literary companion for the night. ‘I’ll pop back later,’ she said, begrudging the dog his absence of manners that now stood between her and escapism. ‘Exploring has to be the plan for this morning. Find out all that Dittisham has to offer.’
Again, with the sniggering.
‘Anna, was it? Allow me to let you in on a little secret – only the grockles, the tourists, call it “Dit-i-sham”.’ She deliberately emphasised each syllable with a mocking posh accent. ‘Anyone who lives here, or comes regular, well then to us, it’s just Ditsum. Okay?’
‘Sure,’ Anna replied, hesitating, convinced that both Oliver and Liza had enunciated all three syllables, despite being residents.
Molly grinned. ‘And I see you’ve rumbled us. So maybe don’t correct Lady Muck, will you? It’s a small pleasure when she’s throwing her weight around, but we do have a laugh.’
Anna smiled despite herself; it was rare that she felt a part of something, even something as trivial as this.
‘Oh, and Anna? If you’re popping over to see Ruth and Arthur, snip some of them delphiniums from the garden at The Cove – nobody’ll miss ’em and it would make them both ever so happy. They planted that whole lower garden you know, before they sold it off to the Lyndells. Ruth and Arthur weren’t getting any younger and I think they just gave in in the end. Badgered them into it, they did, those Lyndells. Shame though – loved her garden, did Ruth.’
Anna nodded; she could understand why.
A garden was something she could only ever dream of, inspired by the books of her childhood; Secret Gardens, Midnight Gardens, Kipling’s Glory all had a lot to answer for in the gardens of Anna’s imagination.