Starting Over at Acorn Cottage

by Kate Forster

  Rachel had said thank you and had given him the fancy with The World iced on the front, which he was very chuffed about. He seemed to turn red as he looked at it closely.

  ‘She’s naked,’ he said almost to himself.

  Rachel hadn’t meant anything by giving him the one with the naked woman on the front but she wondered if she should have given him The Fool instead but that would be taken the wrong way also.

  ‘I remember at school you were always good at art and things like that,’ he said, and she noticed a blush on his thick neck.

  ‘You remember me from school?’

  Joe had been kind to her but then it seemed Joe was kind to everyone. He always said ‘Hi’, and always opened the door if they arrived at the same time at school.

  ‘I do. I remember you very well.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘You’ve been coming here for years. Why didn’t you say anything before?’

  ‘Your mum didn’t make it much of a social visit,’ he said wryly.

  Rachel nodded slowly, thinking of all the times her mother scared people away from her and the bakery itself. Her customer service wasn’t a strong feature of the Merryknowe Bakery and Tearooms.

  ‘I actually have something of yours, from school,’ he said, not looking her in the eye.

  ‘What?’ Rachel felt nervous at what was to come.

  ‘My mum bought it from the art exhibition they had; you put in a drawing of a wedding cake. She loved it, said it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. We didn’t have much art at home but she loved that. Got a frame from Chippenham and had it on the wall of her bedroom. She said she could always see something new in it every time she looked at it.’

  Rachel gasped at the memory of the drawing. She had not thought about it since she left school. There were a few pieces bought by parents but Mother told her no one wanted her piece, and she had already left by the time the exhibition was on. She never knew what happened to it, but she remembered drawing it now.

  A painstaking drawing of a six-tiered wedding cake, each tier the theme of a love story. The couple meeting in a park with their dogs.

  Their first date at a movie, a dinner and a dance, then the proposal and finally topped with the wedding.

  She had hand-drawn it in ink and then filled it with watercolours. To know Joe still had it on his family home wall was astonishing.

  ‘That’s amazing your mum loved it so much,’ she said, feeling shy.

  ‘We all love it, me and Alice, my sister.’

  ‘I remember Alice,’ said Rachel. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Looking for a part-time job over the holidays, so if you need any help, she’s great with change and friendly with customers.’

  ‘That would be perfect. Can she come by tomorrow?’ asked Rachel.

  Imagining her mother having a pink fit at Rachel hiring someone made her smile. The phone rang just then. Rachel picked it up and cheerily answered.

  ‘Merryknowe Bakery and Tearooms, can I help you?’

  ‘Is this Rachel Brown?’ asked the person on the other end of phone. She could hear the sound of a tannoy announcing a Code Blue in Ward 3 South, and cold water ran through her veins.

  Rachel knew who it was as soon as they asked.

  ‘No, she’s busy in the bakery – I work with her. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Can you tell her that her mother is hoping she will come and see her soon and that she needs a few things from home?’

  ‘I will,’ lied Rachel and she hung up the phone.

  Joe looked at her, his brow furrowed. ‘Who were they after? I thought you were the only one here?’

  Rachel paused. ‘Someone for Mum, and I didn’t want to have to explain.’

  Joe nodded, seemingly in understanding.

  ‘See you tomorrow when I drop Alice off?’

  She nodded, waved goodbye to him and pushed her mother from her mind.

  It had been over a week since the accident and Rachel had never felt happier. The bakery had new cakes every day, and people in the village even asked her what she had planned for the day, so they could get in quick for the jam-filled sponges and hummingbird cakes.

  Joe had brought her rabbit and chicken and beef, which she had turned into wonderful pies. She had paid him on time, which he was very grateful for as apparently her mother had always quibbled over the bills and then paid late.

  But Rachel would never pay late. She would never do anything her mother had done. It was now her life purpose to not be anything like her mother.

  Instead she wanted to be like Clara. Clara with her chic haircut and easy laughter. Maybe she would get her hair cut today. She had the money and she could borrow Mother’s car. She hadn’t driven it often but she knew how and thought she would probably be more confident without Mother criticising her constantly from the passenger seat.

  Rachel looked up the name of a hairdresser in the next village. She didn’t want to go to one she knew Mother had visited. Instead she chose one with a European-sounding name that she knew would be too expensive for Mother to attend, and besides, she didn’t like anything that she couldn’t pronounce, which is why she refused to allow Rachel to make any French pastries.

  But today Rachel had made millefeuille with raspberries and a dusting of chocolate and they had sold faster than any of the other items on the shelf, and she had put up the price.

  Tomorrow she was planning on making nonnettes, a French gingerbread, to go with the coffee she had ordered, and she would make it a spiced combination for the coming of autumn in a few weeks.

  Rachel finished the afternoon and considered her transport options again. She had a driving licence but Mother rarely let her drive, insisting she was too stupid to understand the road rules. But it was too far to ride her bicycle, and besides, what was the point of having a driving licence and car and not using them?

  Rachel made her decision and carefully drove the car out of the garage, checking both ways before she turned onto the road. She had the day’s takings in her purse and she was ready for a new-look Rachel.

  Driving carefully and exactly on the speed limit to Chippenham, she even managed to parallel park outside the salon, something Mother told her she wouldn’t be able to do successfully. But she had done it easily for her driving test; she just couldn’t seem to do it when she was in the car with her. Mother made her nervous whenever she tried anything, from driving to baking new cake recipes, to wearing brightly coloured jumpers.

  Rachel stood outside and looked at the salon, all white and crisp with elegant writing on the window reading Belle de Coiffeur.

  She was ready for the new Rachel and she took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the shop.

  The salon was warm and busy with a girl at the phone at the front desk, who tapped away at a computer with nails that seemed far too long for the task at hand.

  She looked at Rachel. ‘Can I help you?’ But she was friendly and didn’t make Rachel feel small, which seemed to be very easy for some.

  ‘I’m Rachel Brown. I’m here for a four o’clock?’

  Every part of Rachel wanted to run away but she stood still, determined to follow through. She had never been to a hair salon before. Her mother had always cut her hair before.

  ‘Come through, Rachel,’ said the girl, and she stopped by a series of hooks and held out some sort of Kimono wrap. ‘Pop this on.’ Rachel put her bag between her knees and slipped her arms in the jacket and the girl tied it firmly at Rachel’s waist.

  It was such a simple gesture but it made Rachel feel secure as she was led to a comfortable-looking chair.

  She sat down and the girl left briefly and returned with a stack of magazines, all with bright colours and celebrities on the front.

  ‘Coffee? Tea? Champagne? Water?’ the girl asked.

  Rachel tried to think. ‘Water?’

  The girl brought her back sparkling water in a green bottle with a label in Italian and in it was a red and white paper straw that reminded her of h
er dad.

  She hadn’t seen one like this since they used to go to the cafe before he died and she would order her a lime spider and himself a malted milkshake.

  She touched the straw and sipped the cold water that tingled her tongue.

  ‘Rachel?’ A man stood behind her and smiled and he was so handsome she was lost for words – so she merely nodded instead. He was tall and swarthy and slim-hipped like pirate turned musician.

  ‘I’m Sean. Now what did you want me to do today?’

  He picked up her limp hair and let it run through his fingers and she thought she might die of pleasure.

  ‘I don’t know, I just don’t want to look like me anymore,’ she heard herself saying.

  ‘Who do you want to look like then?’ He laughed but not unkindly.

  ‘I don’t know, I just don’t think I like this and want to look like a better version of me.’

  Sean nodded and beckoned to another girl.

  ‘Take Rachel for a wash and head massage and use the volume treatment.’

  Rachel was directed to the basin where she lay down on the recliner and looked up and saw a television on the roof, playing videos of models walking the catwalk in heels and then behind the scenes of hair and makeup.

  It was fascinating, she thought as she watched a woman have tiny diamond stickers placed along her cheekbones.

  The girl had tucked a towel around her neck and soon warm water ran over her head. The touch was gentle and Rachel felt her eyes closing. She wanted to watch the models but the girl was now massaging her head and it was better than anything she had ever felt.

  She felt tears fall from her eyes and slide down into her ears, which tickled, but her hands were trapped under her kimono and cape, so she let them be.

  She couldn’t remember if she had been touched tenderly since her dad had died. He used to hug her when she was small but that was all she could remember.

  It was as though the girl now running her hands through her wet hair had unblocked her need for touch.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked the girl very softly in her ear.

  ‘I am,’ choked Rachel.

  She wasn’t sure what happened after but somehow she was in her comfortable chair and the girl was combing out her wet hair very gently and then Sean was behind her and the girl whispered something to him. Sean smiled at her in the mirror.

  ‘Are you ready, Rachel?’ he asked.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To become yourself.’

  22

  The radio played as Clara pushed the roller in time to the music, and back and forth in the tray, just as Henry had showed her. She had to get enough paint on it but not too much and then she lifted it to the wall.

  The interior paint was called Frangipane, which she thought Rachel would like, and as she started to paint the wall in the hallway, she felt incredibly pleased with the new fresh look. She worked happily, not thinking about anything as she covered the old walls of the cottage.

  I wonder what this cottage has seen, thought Clara as she worked. Two hundred years of births and deaths and marriages and fights and love and hate and everything in between. Life came down to these moments, and this was a beautiful moment.

  She could hear Henry on the roof, putting up the new reeds, while Pansy was sitting at the kitchen table playing with play dough that Henry had made in the microwave and had coloured a very bright red.

  In one of the kitchen drawers, the previous tenant had left scone cutters and some shapes for gingerbread people, which was what Pansy was making now, while she sang little songs to herself about the red people and how they liked to only eat cakes and red wine.

  It was a sense of peace Clara hadn’t felt before. She wasn’t trying to keep Giles happy, or Judy, or the people at the bank, or even her mum, she was just painting a wall.

  Henry walked in through the front door. ‘Looks nice – don’t forget to cut in at the edges with the brush.’

  Clara poked her tongue out at him. ‘Don’t forget to wear your bossy boots.’

  ‘But I’m always wearing them.’

  Clara made a face at him and went back to the painting task.

  Something had shifted in the past few days, since the trip to find paint and bookshelves, which they had successfully done.

  There was a lightness, maybe even a flirtation… or was that just Clara flirting? It had been a long time since she had flirted and she wasn’t very good at it when last she tried, so she wondered if it was even registering with Henry.

  She was eating with Henry and Pansy every night, and it was getting harder to leave to return to her cold bedroom and lie in bed alone.

  She missed them both when she wasn’t with them. The way Pansy would come and talk to her and hold her face sometimes when she needed to make a point.

  She missed the way Henry laughed at her jokes and didn’t frown when she used a swear word, making sure to never use one in front of Pansy.

  And she missed the conversation. She and Henry could have talked about everything and anything forever she thought. Trying not to compare him to Piles was a daily battle and one she always lost.

  It was as though she was more herself than she had ever been and yet she was so far removed from her old life.

  Did anyone miss her back in London? Judy hadn’t called, not that she wanted to think about her anymore.

  Judy was her past, Giles was her past but were Henry and Pansy her future?

  She kept painting as Henry was talking to Pansy in the kitchen. The last time she had painted was with her mum when they left her father for the last time. Her grandmother had said Clara could paint her new bedroom, and Clara had insisted on a buttercup-yellow feature wall, like she had seen in a magazine. So, she said she would paint it but then, like most things, she lost interest and her mum had to finish it off.

  That was before that awful night. The last time she saw her father.

  She shivered as Henry came back into the hallway. ‘You’re cold? It will be warmer when I get the insulation into the roof, I promise.’

  ‘It’s okay, just a shiver.’

  ‘Someone walking over your grave, huh?’ Henry laughed as he left to go back to the roof.

  Pansy walked into the hallway, her hands filled with play dough. ‘Daddy said I can go to school next week.’ Her little face looked both pleased and worried.

  ‘Oh wow, Pansy, that’s amazing. You’re going to love it. I loved school.’

  ‘Daddy said he will sign me up tomorrow. And I can have ribbons for my hair.’

  ‘Ribbons are a must. I wonder what colour the uniform is?’

  ‘Daddy?’ Pansy ran outside and Clara put down the paint roller and followed her. ‘Daddy? What colour is the uniform?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Henry. ‘Clara, I was going to ask if we can use your address for the mail? Just until we get sorted.’

  Clara felt like doing a cartwheel similar to the one that Pansy was attempting.

  ‘Of course, anything you need,’ she said trying to be casual as she wandered back inside and then in the solitude of the hallway she did a little happy dance.

  He was staying. Pansy was going to school. He wanted to use her address. God, it was so exciting.

  The sound of her phone ringing interrupted her solo dance fest and she fished it from her handbag and answered.

  ‘Hello? This is Clara.’

  ‘Clara Maxwell?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You brought in Moira Brown last week… umm on Tuesday evening last?’

  ‘Yes, I did, can I help?’

  Clara was looking at the wall, thinking how much better it was looking. It really brightened the area… or was that because she was glowing with happiness at the thought Henry and Pansy were staying forever?

  ‘We are trying to get on to her daughter, Rachel Brown. We have left several messages but she isn’t returning our calls and we have asked for several things to be dropped off for Mrs Brown but she hasn’t visited either
.’

  Clara paused.

  ‘Let me speak to Rachel and find out what’s happening, okay?’

  ‘Mrs Brown has had a major surgery and is very alone and worried about her daughter. She is facing a lengthy recovery, at least three months in rehabilitation, and then the occupational therapist will have to come and assess the house to see what modifications will have to be made.’

  ‘She lives above a bakery,’ said Clara. ‘There are stairs – the stairs she fell down.’

  ‘That’s not for me to assess. That will be the rehab team’s job when Mrs Brown is ready to be released.’

  Clara thought for a moment. ‘Let me talk to Mrs Brown’s daughter and I’ll let you know the next steps.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Brown will be relieved to hear you are helping.’

  Clara put down the phone and picked up the roller.

  She knew Mrs Brown was hard work but how bad was it if Rachel refused to even take calls from the hospital?

  She would head to the bakery tomorrow and find out exactly what was happening, but in the meantime, she needed to finish the painting in the hallway and then she was planning on cooking in the Aga for the first time. A roast chicken with all the trimmings and a lemon self-saucing pudding with cream. It was exactly what Granny used to make before everything happened, and she wanted to make Pansy feel like she had felt as a child when she was at her granny’s house. Warm, safe, cosy and loved.

  She never wanted Pansy to feel fear like she had felt as a child and it was then she realised she loved the little girl. She wondered if she loved Pansy like she was her own daughter, would she fall in love with Henry?

  Henry knocked on the doorframe.

  ‘You need a hand with anything before I go back to the van to shower? Pansy wants to stay here till dinner but if that’s too much, let me know and I can lock her in a cage, also known as the van.’

  He smiled at her and she felt herself smile back. Oh, all bets were off, there was no doubt she would fall in love with Henry Garnett. It was hurtling at her like a freight train and she felt like she was tied to the tracks and there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.