by Rosie Blake
Clara felt her cheeks fill with colour. She hopped off the now closed suitcase. ‘It was silly, a spur-of-the-moment thought. I’ll let you finish up,’ she said, reaching for her purple hat.
Louisa heaved herself off the edge of the bed, staring around at the flat that wasn’t any closer to looking neat. ‘I can’t leave you here with everything in this state,’ she said. ‘I haven’t tidied since 1973. The spare room is an actual bombsite.’
‘No, of course not, I should have realised,’ Clara said, stuttering over the words now.
‘But if you are insisting,’ Louisa sighed, looking at her with an imperious gaze. ‘Begging me…’
Clara picked up on her changed tone. ‘Oh, I am,’ she nodded. ‘Begging, that is. It’s a cosy flat. I love it, and I can take good care of your pets.’ She waved at the cage and the rug.
‘Someone does need to look after Lady CaCa and Roddy,’ Louisa mused.
‘Of course, I’d love to. And I can tidy, it will be no trouble,’ Clara added. ‘It will be lovely to stay in a home-from-home rather than another B and B.’
Louisa had marched across the room to the kitchen and was sifting through a drawer next to the fridge. In alarm, Clara watched as she pulled out an enormous butcher’s knife. ‘Well,’ she called, bracelets jangling menacingly. Diving back into the drawer, she held up a small bunch of keys. ‘Spare keys,’ she announced. ‘Lady CaCa, Roddy,’ she turned to the cage and the rug in turn, ‘meet your new room-mate, Clara.’
Clara’s face, white with shock moments before, broke into an enormous smile. ‘Oh, excellent. Really? Brilliant. I can’t wait.’
A buzzer sounded.
‘NO LIKEY NO LIGHTY,’ the parrot called just as Louisa yelped.
‘Agh, the taxi,’ she cried, thrusting the keys at Clara and racing from handbag to suitcase muttering ‘Passport, tickets, passport, money, passport, underwear, passport, clothes, passport, books, passport, hat, passport, swimming costume, passport.’
‘So,’ Clara stood on the spot, holding the keys in her hand, ‘is there anything much I need to know?’
‘No time, no time. I’ll email you the details – write down your address.’ Louisa flung a pen at her and held out the back of her hand.
Clara started to scrawl on it. ‘Although I don’t really check my e —’
‘Good, good.’ Louisa nodded, watching her write. ‘Well, a few things before I go – COMING, REG!’ she shouted in response to a voice through the letter box below. ‘You need to feed Roddy and Lady CaCa, obviously, and Lady CaCa refuses to talk to you unless she has a clean cage. She likes the Daily Mail for the lining of the cage – she likes to shit on the headlines, it’s her thing, she’s a very left-wing parrot – and don’t ever give her chicken, or any meat, she won’t talk to you for a month. I once fed her something with chicken stock and she vomited it all up over a picture of Donald Trump, which I’m not sure was entirely undeliberate. She speaks only in swear words and TV catchphrases. The shop is not too tricky, the till can stick, we close on Sundays and Mondays, and early on Saturdays, but really hardly anyone comes in. I can send instructions. Actually, Lauren knows – she was in the pub last night, do you remember? The blonde, pretty but also impossibly nice. So unfair. She used to work in the shop part-time when we were busy – talk to her, she’s fantastic.’
‘We’ve met actually…’ Clara put the lid back on the pen.
‘Have you? Well, that’s a bit of luck.’ Louisa read the back of her hand. ‘That’s a four, is it? Right, excellent. Funny address.’
‘I’m Danish,’ Clara explained.
‘How splendid. I once had an affair with a man from Copenhagen who couldn’t pronounce the word “sixth”. It was hilarious and he was amazing in bed, so creative. I like Danes.’
Clara found her mouth flapping open.
‘On the corkboard is the list of local numbers for if the water pipes break or something is set on fire – you never know, I once had to cancel a fondue night because I’d set the living room alight with lighter fuel – and the recycling goes on a Monday, I think, but I can never remember so I just put it out every now and again and hope for the best… and, oh, my son, Joe, he’ll need to know – he lives in London, I’ve been calling him every hour since dawn but no luck, which is not surprising because he’s always absurdly busy, so if he phones, please tell him I’ll be in touch. Or his number’s on the corkboard, so if you wanted you could call him. STOP SHOUTING, REG, I’M COMING. Right, darling, must fly. How marvellous, I feel a million times better knowing you’ll be here, you have excellent energy.’
She kissed her on each cheek, Clara barely able to stutter a goodbye as she watched Louisa turn and head down the stairs, suitcase banging, the large sunhat plonked on her head. Staring down at the keys in her hand, she heard the downstairs door slam and wondered just what she’d done.
Chapter 5
The street seemed to have become even gloomier while she’d been in Louisa’s flat. Dusty glass fronts now speckled with raindrops, the concrete paving stones, the tarmac of the road, the clouds above her all the same heavy grey as she headed back up the high street to the pub. There were a few people about: a woman up ahead in wellington boots walking a springer spaniel, a man unloading boxes from the back of a minivan, a cyclist sweeping past – a strange flash of neon and then gone. Her footsteps felt heavy as she made her way back to the pub, pushing through the door of the bar to see Gavin scrubbing at the counter with a cloth.
‘There you are,’ he said, pausing to look at her.
Clara moved towards him, crossing her arms over her chest, her skin covered in goose bumps, the pub colder this morning with no punters. ‘I went for a walk.’
He continued to wipe the surface. ‘Did you get across the fields to the line of trees? There’s a stream that runs all the way to the next village.’
‘Oh no, I was exploring the high street.’ She just managed to stop herself adding that she’d been looking for breakfast, worried that she would offend him, picturing the sad banana and box of cereal on the tray beside her single bed. She must make sure she took them with her. ‘Actually, I ended up seeing Louisa. I’m going to stay on, house-sit for her while she’s away,’ she explained.
‘She’s really going?’ Gavin stopped scrubbing.
‘She’s gone.’
His eyes widened. ‘Gone?’
Clara nodded. ‘Just now.’
‘Did she say anything?’ he asked, not meeting her eye but returning to circling the cloth along the bar.
‘Say anything?’ Clara repeated.
‘A message? For me, or someone… She often does when she goes away…’
Clara couldn’t help a small smile as she watched a blush build in his face. ‘She was in a huge rush,’ she explained. ‘She was going to ask you to look after the animals, but obviously I’m there so I’ll make sure they’re fed and watered…’
‘I’ll message her through Words with Friends; we’ve just started a new game,’ he said, flashing his mobile at her.
‘I don’t know it,’ Clara said, looking at lots of letters on a board.
‘Well, it’s basically Scrabble online, an app. It’s Louisa’s turn; I’ve been waiting all morning for her to see my last word – six letters, DRAPER. I hope she doesn’t have an S because it’s so near the triple word, but she’s obviously been packing. She’ll probably leave me a message there, we often do…’ He trailed away, his face now puce.
‘I’m sure she will, and I’d love some advice about her pets. The parrot in particular sounds tricky…’
‘Lady CaCa?’ Gavin stopped. ‘She’s more than tricky, she’s a potty-mouthed nightmare.’
Clara laughed. ‘Sounds terrifying. Oh, also Louisa asked me to call her son. I’ve written down his number but I couldn’t see a phone in her flat.’
‘Probably buried,’ Gavin snorted. ‘No idea how that woman finds anything. You should see what she keeps in her handbag.’
‘Well, I
was wondering if you had a landline I could use? Or your mobile? I thought it might be nice for me to introduce myself.’
Gavin looked confused for a second.
‘I don’t have one,’ Clara shrugged.
‘No mobile?’ Gavin repeated, his mouth an O. ‘I thought everyone under the age of thirty was surgically attached to one.’
Clara felt the usual need to explain. ‘I used to, but…’ She paused, not really wanting to delve into this topic further, knowing it threw up lots of other questions. ‘But now I don’t.’
‘Well, go ahead any time,’ he said, holding out his mobile. ‘Or use the landline by the till. Don’t expect an answer, though. Louisa always complains that she has a far more intimate relationship with Joe’s voicemail than with any man.’ He chuckled at that, a warmth filling his eyes as he said her name.
Clara headed to the phone, tapping out the number she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper. As predicted, it went straight to voicemail, a smooth, confident voice filling her ear and asking her to leave a message. She almost missed the beep.
‘Hi, my name’s Clara, I’m staying… well, your mother asked me to tell you that I’m staying in her flat. While she’s away, in Madrid. I’m going to run the shop. I think she’s tried to call y —’
A robotic-sounding woman’s voice cut her off: ‘You have reached the end of this message. Please press one to re-record.’ Clara was so startled she hung up.
‘Oh,’ she said, backing away from the phone.
‘All OK?’ Gavin asked, sitting on a stool staring into space, cloth hanging from his hand.
Clara nodded, knowing the message hadn’t been a big success but not wanting to leave a second one for fear of sounding like an idiot.
‘I’d better go and pack up my things.’
‘I’ll help you down with that bag,’ he said, following her up the narrow staircase, ducking to avoid the beams above his head. ‘It looked heavy.’
‘It’s no problem,’ Clara called over her shoulder, realising she hadn’t even had a shower that morning, aware that her hair was filthy. Gavin’s wide shoulders and bulky frame filled the stairwell. She felt the walls closing in as she fumbled with her room key, the low ceiling and dark beams pressing down. ‘So you only have the one room?’ she asked, searching for something to say.
‘Just the one, no cause for more,’ Gavin said, edging closer to a door nearby as he talked.
Clara had a strange feeling that he was nervous. She jerked her head at the long corridor. ‘There seem to be a lot more,’ she said, catching a flash of something as he pulled the door shut, the click of the old latch loud, a swift turn of a key in the lock.
‘No, no, just… private use, you know,’ he said, double-checking the lock, shifting his eyes left and right, unable to look at her.
Clara wondered what was behind the door. She felt the atmosphere shift, Gavin’s easy nature morphing into something else. The tension was there in the silence that surrounded them.
‘Well,’ she said, trying to reclaim the previous mood, ‘it’s a lovely room. I had a very good sleep, great mattress,’ she added, diving into the room to remove the banana as fast as she could. She wanted to clean her teeth after the sugary carrot cake, but with Gavin standing outside waiting for her, she was in a rush now to get out of there.
He took her bag, indicating that she should go on ahead, quickening his pace as they passed the closed door on the way down. Clara suddenly had a terrible image of a previous guest tied up and gagged, waiting for rescue, something to explain his edgy behaviour.
She paid her bill in silence, thanking him as she turned to go.
‘Here, take this,’ he said, waving a voucher at her, utterly relaxed again now they were back in the bar, the previous atmosphere forgotten. ‘It’s for steak night. Tuesdays. Steak and a glass of wine for ten pounds. We serve food on Tuesdays and Saturdays.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ Clara said, accepting it and tucking it into her jeans pocket. ‘Sounds good.’
He insisted on shutting the bar and walking back down the high street with her, shouldering her backpack as if it weighed nothing, pointing out old shops, giving her some of the history of the place. His eyes crinkled as he recounted the time he and Louisa had ice-skated in the car park of the village hall, how she’d fallen and he’d almost put his back out catching her. He was chuckling, lost in the past.
‘Thank you,’ Clara said as he passed her the rucksack outside the front door of the shop. He left with a last wave and she lugged the bag up the stairs to the flat. She wasn’t in the mood to unpack, though; could feel her curiosity pulling at her, wanting to get down and see the shop.
She clattered back down the stairs, trying one of the keys in the door that led off the hall, a side door into the shop. Pushing her way in, she searched around for a light switch; the shutters pulled down on the window meant the shop was in darkness. She wished for her old mobile then, the ability to make it a torch so she could find her way round. ‘Ow!’ she yelped into the space, her calf hitting something sharp. Finally her fingers found the promising feel of plastic and she flicked down a switch, then another, until various strip lights hummed into life, revealing every corner of the shop.
It was full to bursting with stock, displayed in the most haphazard way. Shelves were crammed full of dolls, jigsaws, cars, oversized wooden letters and numbers, board games. There were wire baskets overflowing with various goodies: neon footballs, large foam hands and soft toys. Clara wandered down the aisles, marvelling at the number of items, some things hidden behind others, boxes that had fallen down at the back, a thin film of dust on some of the shelves that made her wonder when they were last looked at. It was a riot on the senses, almost overwhelming in its garishness. It reminded her of a mismatched aunt, surrounded by a dozen bags crammed with things, multicoloured shawls draped round her neck, large beaded necklaces clashing with diamanté earrings. She switched off one of the lights to dull the effect as she continued her search.
The till was towards the back of the shop, set on a counter that was covered in paper, receipts, key rings, candy bars, pots of pencils, lollipops and more. It made Clara’s head ache just looking at it. A calculator poked out from below a pad, doodles on every sheet: parrots, cats, lots of flowers, stars, hearts, eyes and Gs of every size.
She moved past more shelves at the back, frowning as she saw myriad boxes stacked behind each other, all containing different things. She tugged on the handle of a cupboard in a corner of the room, the door sticking. It opened with a groan and she moved into the small space, reaching up to pull down some of the items on the top shelf: beautifully carved wooden pieces, dust dulling their colours. She ran a finger along the back of a stunning rocking horse, his mane falling over one eye, his body painted in exquisite colours.
As she moved around the cupboard, a thought sparked inside her, the idea growing as she looked deeper. She felt her stomach tighten, her fingers itching to get started already. A smile had formed as she closed the cupboard door, ready to make some drawings of her own, pausing only briefly, distracted by another door across the way. She moved towards it, pushing it open and gasping at the enormous space that opened up before her. She was just about to walk inside when she heard the sound of knocking. A hand flew to her mouth. Turning, she saw Lauren, nose pressed against the pane of glass in the side door.
‘Sorry, did I frighten you? You left the door open,’ she explained, pointing behind her. ‘Then I saw the lights on.’
‘Did I? Oh that’s dreadful. It’s my first day as caretaker, I’m hopeless,’ Clara said, her heart still racing from the shock.
‘Caretaker?’ Lauren cocked her head to one side.
‘Long story.’