by Kate Forster
Tassie nodded. ‘I agree, and that will come, but you have to show her you can be relied on, and small movements, no big gestures yet. She shies away easily.’
Clara wasn’t sure if Tassie was talking about Rachel or her old pet dog.
‘Tell me about the cottage,’ said Tassie. ‘I seem to remember there was a lovely climbing rose, pink, very fragrant. Shelia used to bring me bouquets when she came by the village.’
‘I don’t know much about gardening,’ admitted Clara. ‘I need to learn.’
‘You’ll learn by being in it,’ said Tassie. ‘The soil will be fine after all this time resting – it’s ready for love, it’s fertile. Put things in it, let them grow, create a little place where you don’t worry about anything but the shoots coming up from the earth, and the thrill of the new buds on a branch.’
Clara thought back to when she was a child and the book she had loved.
‘Like Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden,’ she said.
Tassie smiled. ‘Mary was a girl after my own heart. I would have slapped that terrible screaming Colin also.’
‘You know, I am so glad I met you, Tassie. You just might be the perfect person. I think I’m going to aspire to be like you in my life.’
Tassie laughed and banged the table with her hand. ‘Well, you might want to aim a little higher, love, but I will agree: I am a good place to start.’
Clara picked up a piece of gingerbread, took a bite and sighed. ‘It’s exquisite. That girl sure can cook.’
Tassie nodded. ‘She needs to be on one of those baking shows they have on the telly,’ she said to Clara.
‘But her mother would be trying to get on the camera instead. Claiming it was her recipe,’ Clara answered.
Clara chewed her delicious treat and sipped her tea. Tassie was absolutely right, but how could Clara protect this girl from the one person who was supposed to love her?
If she knew the answer to that, then her own life would have been very different.
As though reading her mind, Tassie spoke. ‘Sometimes the only thing we can do is survive. We can go through life showing people we are coping and functioning but inside us, we know we’re only pretending and we hope that no one else will ever find out.’
She paused before continuing. ‘Until there is something that changes us and we know we can’t go back to living like that anymore. We have to move forward. We make a huge change. We do something drastic. For some women the first sign is cutting their hair. For others it’s letting go of everything and by everything, I mean every cup and saucer, every shred of responsibility in life. They climb mountains or open an orphanage, or plant a garden. But they are changed and they know they can never go back to that life again.’
When Tassie finished speaking, Clara felt a tear fall from her eye but she didn’t brush it away. It was soothing in the warmth of Tassie’s kitchen.
‘I don’t want that life anymore,’ she heard herself say aloud.
‘Of course you don’t, pet, that’s why you’re here; it’s good to know what you don’t want, so then you’ll know what you do want when it comes.’
Clara wondered why such a strange sentence felt so right.
‘Shall we do a reading?’ asked Tassie as she spun her cup a few times and then turned it over on the saucer.
‘What do I do?’ Clara wondered why she felt like she was dipping her toes into a forbidden pool.
‘Leave a little tea in the cup, not too much more than a sip, and spin the cup three times and turn it upside down.’
Clara did as she instructed and stared at the cup for a minute.
‘Now, turn it over,’ said Tassie and they turned theirs over together.
Tassie looked inside her cup and shrugged. ‘Nothing interesting.’ Then she took Clara’s cup and peered inside.
‘A man and a goat,’ she said and shook her head slowly.
‘Is that good? Is Henry bringing a goat home?’ Clara laughed.
Tassie put the cup down. ‘A visitor who won’t be welcome is coming. I suggest you be ready.’
Clara frowned and peered into the cup. All she could see where a few leaves with no distinct shapes.
‘I’m not expecting any visitors, so I don’t think it will come true. What does yours show?’
Clara went to grab Tassie’s cup who moved it away.
‘Nothing to see, love,’ she said quickly and Clara wondered what Tassie had seen in her cup.
But she was more curious about who the visitor would be who wasn’t welcome. She couldn’t think of anyone, and dismissed it as quickly as she had entertained the idea. Tassie was an old superstitious lady who was clearly a worrier, and Clara decided to ignore her worries, lest they became hers.
15
Henry buttered the bread and then filled the sandwich with salami and cheese and cut it into triangles.
He used to ask Pansy if she preferred triangles or squares, but that was when Naomi was alive.
Now he put the sandwich on a plate in front of Pansy and sat down opposite her in the small booth in their van.
‘You must stop saying rude things to people, Pansy.’
Pansy shrugged and chewed on her salami and cheese sandwich, leaving the crusts on the plate. ‘It’s not rude if it’s true.’ She spoke almost to herself, as though chewing the idea over as she ate.
‘Sometimes saying the truth is rude, and it can hurt people’s feelings,’ said Henry as he glanced out the window at the cottage, wondering what Clara was doing.
‘But you tell me to always tell the truth. Make your mind up,’ Pansy muttered.
‘Eat your crusts – they makes your hair curly,’ said Henry.
‘My hair was curly when I was born.’
‘That’s because your mum ate her crusts and you then inherited those crusts so you got curly hair.’
Pansy looked at him suspiciously. ‘Sometimes I think a lot of what you say is not true. Sorry if it’s rude but I think you’re a fibber.’
Henry burst out laughing. ‘Oh, do you?’
‘Yes, this is why I have to go to school. So I can learn what is true and what isn’t.’
Henry swept some imaginary crumbs off the table onto his plate.
‘I am teaching you everything you need to know,’ he said, knowing he was being defensive. Pansy rolled her eyes and he thought she had never looked more like Naomi.
After lunch, Pansy went back to the cottage to be with her new best friend Rachel. If she was stating that a woman in her twenties who had a horrible mother was her best friend, then she did need to go to school and make friends her own age, he thought.
He had taught her the alphabet and she could count and they were doing simple word-recognition games. Naomi had said she would home-school Pansy when she was born and he wanted to honour her by ensuring he did educate his daughter but it was harder than he realised and he had to work.
Besides, school required a home address and they didn’t have one.
He looked at the house plans and mentally calculated how long the renovation would take. Probably close to four months, maybe a little longer, depending on the weather. They were in the summer now but the rain still came and storms that could stop all roof work.
School seemed problematic because once Pansy was in the system they would have to stay in the system and what would happen when they had to leave Merryknowe to a new job? She would have to change schools again and make new friends and this could continue while he chased jobs around the country.
If he was honest with himself, he was tired of travelling. He felt like he was on the run from something or someone and now he needed to rest. He wanted to sit in a garden and feel good about the work he had done that day. He wanted a room with doors and some adult company. He wanted a little house like Acorn Cottage.
Henry rubbed his temples, wondering what he should do, and he looked at the shelf where Naomi’s ashes sat patiently in a box she painted before she died. Tiny flowers and animals and colours like jewe
ls covered the box, and even though he had looked at it a thousand times and more, he saw for the first time a little white owl on the side of the box.
The owl was no bigger than his smallest fingernail yet there it was, showing itself for the first time since Naomi had died. Was that where Pansy had seen the owl? Had she been looking at the box?
‘Tell me what to do, babe,’ he said to the box. ‘Tell me what Pansy needs.’
A knock on the van door made him jump and he opened the door to see Clara.
‘I’m taking Rachel back to the bakery. She doesn’t want to see her mother, even though the hospital rang to say she went through surgery and is stable.’
‘Okay,’ said Henry. ‘That’s a good outcome for Mrs Brown but I can understand why Rachel doesn’t want to see her. I wouldn’t either.’
‘Me neither,’ said Clara. ‘It’s so awful. Also, Pansy wants to come to town with me. I said I would have to ask you. You might like an hour to yourself.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he said.
‘I know, but she wants to see Rachel’s bedroom. Can I use her booster seat for the car?’
‘I don’t think Rachel’s bedroom will be quite what Pansy thinks it will be.’
‘I know but hey, the company would be nice and she’s an excellent mood lifter for Rachel.’
Henry laughed. ‘You’re right about that. After Naomi died, she was just a light energy and sometimes I felt guilty for laughing at her antics and conversations but she really did get me through that time with her spirit.’
‘She’s pretty special, Henry; you and Naomi should be proud.’
Henry felt his eyes sting with tears and he lowered his face away from Clara’s.
‘Sure, go for it. I can make some orders while she’s out. And don’t let her con you into buying her anything.’
Henry tried to think of the last time he’d had time away from Pansy. He couldn’t remember; she was always there. He realised he was always making sure she was safe and out of harm’s way.
He helped put the car seat into Clara’s car and waved goodbye to them all, Pansy so excited to be in Clara’s red car.
Henry made his phone calls and put some orders in and then went into the cottage.
It needed a good clean. He went back to his van and found the industrial vacuum and sucked up the dust and the mess from the hole in the roof. He went upstairs and sucked up the mess on the stairs and the skirting as he went and then went into the bedroom.
Clara’s mattress was on the floor. He had seen the bed frame downstairs on the grass but hadn’t said a word as it wasn’t his place. The room looked grim, like somewhere a squatter would live.
He vacuumed the floor and then went downstairs and outside to the wooden bedframe. It was easy enough to pull apart though and four trips later he had all the pieces upstairs and had managed to put them back in order and set up her bed. It looked better but still dull.
Downstairs in the living room, he had seen a small three-legged witches’ table that would be perfect next to her bed. With three carved legs, it was actually a lovely piece of furniture, he thought as he wiped it down with a wet cloth and found, under the dust, some faint flowers painted on the top.
Naomi would have loved this, he thought as he carried it up to Clara’s bedroom. The room needed something else though. He went downstairs and out to the garden and saw what he wanted down the side of the house.
A pink wild rose, messy but still thriving. He used his knife to cut off a few blooms and inside he placed them into a teacup with water and put them by Clara’s bed.
Naomi had loved flowers by her bed when she was sick. God, she would have loved Acorn Cottage. He closed the door to Clara’s bedroom and went outside again.
But Naomi was gone, and he had never felt more alone since she had died. It was as though the world was taunting him with the cottage and the dream that he couldn’t have now. This was what they wanted and here he was, a widower with a van for a house and a child who he was holding back because of his own failings. He needed to step up but the problem was, he didn’t know how.
*
By the time Pansy and Clara returned, he had made all the orders and had a plan for the work to be done in sequence. And on top of it all, he had made a lovely chicken stew for dinner with rosemary potatoes and fresh beans.
Pansy came dancing into the van with a plastic tiara on her head and fairy wings.
Clara shrugged at him and threw her hands up in surrender. ‘I know you said don’t buy her anything, but they were at the pound shop in the next village. I went to get a few things for cleaning and she told me had to have them, as her life depended on it. And I didn’t want to return her on the cusp of death because she couldn’t get a tiara and wings.’
Henry laughed. ‘She seems to have a lot of things that her short life has depended on so far, so it’s lucky she is so aware of what her survival needs. How is Rachel?’ He gestured to the empty seat in the van, as Pansy danced about the small living area.
Clara shook her head. ‘I don’t know. She seemed relieved but guilty. She refused to see her mother and wanted to go home and make plans for the bakery for tomorrow. She seemed almost excited to be alone.’
Henry lifted the lid on the stew and stirred it. ‘You would be though, not having your abuser around – it would be like winning the lotto.’
Clara was silent, he noticed, staring into the distance, her mind far away. He noticed how pretty she was and wondered why she wanted to live so far away from people when she was so young. She should be out dating and dancing and having holidays with friends.
‘How old are you?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-nine, why?’ Clara frowned. ‘Do I look older since I’ve come here?’
‘I didn’t know you before here so I can’t say but no, I was just wondering why a person your age wants to live in a tiny village in a tiny cottage with no social life or even a boyfriend.’
Clara smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t know either but I’m here now and I will make it work. I make everything work with a few minor adjustments here and there.’
‘But shouldn’t you be out at clubs and bars, dancing and going to cool restaurants?’
‘I could do those things but it’s never really been me,’ Clara answered. ‘My whole life I wanted something like this. I want a slower life, one where I know what I’m eating and doing and making something instead of buying it. I guess I just want something that means something to me, and being here in Merryknowe, even after a few days, meeting Tassie and Rachel and you and Pansy, it’s the most exciting time I’ve had in a long time, which is either really sad or it’s really wonderful. I’m going with wonderful.’
Henry listened to her speak then nodded. ‘I get it, I really do.’
They smiled at each other and he felt the warmth of friendship and shared understanding between them.
‘Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing,’ Clara said as she stood up. ‘I should go and get organised for my dinner.’
‘Stay,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’ve cooked too much and I would love some adult company.’
Clara paused. ‘I really don’t want to put you out. I was planning on cooking tonight anyway.’
‘Oh? What? I don’t think the Aga works yet.’
‘Cheese on toast,’ she said. ‘The breakfast, lunch and dinner of champions and students across the world.’
‘I think I can do better than that. You can set the table if you like and I’ll pour us wine. Everything is in the drawers under the table.’
Clara opened the drawers and set out the placemats and cutlery. ‘The way you use the space in amazing. Did you buy it ready-built or make from scratch?’
Henry opened a bottle of red wine and sniffed the inside of the neck. ‘It’s not a prestige wine but it’s drinkable.’
‘I wouldn’t know the difference anyway,’ said Clara with a shrug.
‘We bought the van as a basic model but Naomi and I made it our own w
ith the bathroom, the extra cupboards and drawers and Pansy’s little space above ours. We tried to make it like a home.’
Clara accepted the wine that he handed her. ‘You both did an amazing job,’ she said. ‘It’s my dream space really, just not on wheels.’
‘Well, your little cottage is going to be amazing.’ He smiled. ‘I can see what it will look like when I stand back. It’s going to be something special.’
Clara sighed. ‘I hope so. I have no idea what I’m doing actually, so I’m hoping it works out.’
Henry sat opposite her. ‘So why this cottage and why Merryknowe?’
Clara turned the glass by the stem on the wooden table and then looked up at him.
‘I got drunk and bought the place as a massive F-you to my ex who was cheating with my ex-best-friend.’
Henry was shocked. ‘Oh God, that’s awful. What a huge betrayal by both of them.’
‘Yes, it was… is. And it was a week after my mum died when I found out, and that was also terrible because Mum and I had always hoped one day that one of us would get this dream of the country cottage. Mum had a tough life, and I really wanted this for her and for me. I wanted to share this with her.’
Clara’s face clouded with memories of her recent loss. Henry put his hand on hers as he saw a tear fall onto the table.
‘I am really sorry about both those awful events in your life, deeply sorry. Life certainly isn’t fair, is it?’
Clara looked up at him. ‘It is what it is. I don’t think there is such a thing as fair. I think people are just selfish and they don’t think about what they do to others. That’s what upsets me the most. My ex, my ex-friend, Rachel’s mother, my…’
She stopped speaking and Henry wondered who the other name was that she swallowed instead of saying aloud.
‘Do you speak to the ex or your friend now?’ he asked.
‘Nope.’
‘Then tell me about your mum,’ he said, trying to redirect the energy away from those who hurt her so badly.
Clara laughed. ‘My mum was the bravest woman I have ever known. And she was the most direct and straight up person I have known, which is where I get it from, I suppose. I’m not really one to hide from what I’m feeling.’