The Trouble with Great Aunt Milly

by Alice Ross

  ‘Oh,’ she gasped.

  Matt didn’t say anything. He was too occupied fathoming the emotions coursing through him. Was he relieved or disappointed it wasn’t Francesca?

  ‘I- I’m sorry to disturb you,’ she said, her faultless English tinged with just a hint of an accent. ‘But I think I left my book ...’

  Matt pulled himself together. ‘Yes. Yes. You did. It’s, um, here,’ he spluttered, picking up said item.

  ‘Thanks.’ She took it from him, then held out her other hand.

  ‘If you haven’t already guessed, I’m Olga. And you are Mr Pinkerton, I presume?’

  Matt gave a snort of laughter. ‘It’s a long time since anyone’s called me that,’ he said, shaking the proffered hand. ‘Call me Matt, please.’

  ‘Okay.’ She beamed at him. ‘Well, in that case, I’m very pleased to meet you, Matt – at last.’

  Colour rose in his cheeks. Obviously she was referring to his unsociable behaviour. He hadn’t actually considered it from her point of view, but now that he did, she probably thought him some kind of weirdo. He felt a sudden need to explain himself.

  ‘Look, you probably think I’ve been acting a bit … well … weird. But I’ve had a hard time lately and I-’

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ she said. ‘It’s your home. You can do whatever you like. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better run along. I’ve a million things to do before I’m due back here this evening.’

  ‘Oh. Of course. Sorry, I shouldn’t have-’

  ‘That’s okay. I’ll be back at six, but I won’t disturb you if you’re busy.’

  Busy? scoffed Matt, as the door closed behind her. Him? Chance would be a fine thing.

  In the hours between Olga’s morning departure and her evening arrival, Matt couldn’t settle. Even his faithful friend the whisky bottle had lost its appeal. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about her had intrigued him. Was it that she looked nothing like he’d imagined? Or was it the positive aura which clung to her. She’d seemed so happy and productive and busy.

  Everything, in fact, he wasn’t.

  He spent the rest of the day preparing for her evening visit. He showered and shaved, then tugged on a white linen short-sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. Most significantly though, for the first time in weeks, he didn’t have a drink.

  Just before six o’clock, he positioned himself on the living room sofa and attempted to read the newspaper. He couldn’t. The words merged into one. He couldn’t concentrate on a thing. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he heard her key in the door and his heart-rate rocketed.

  Pretending to be engrossed in his reading, he watched out the corner of his eye as her slight frame, laden with carrier bags, sailed past the doorway. His spirits sank. Just as quickly he hauled them back up. He was being stupid. How could she possibly know where he was?

  He cleared his throat. ‘Hi,’ he shouted, attempting a casual tone.

  A few seconds later she appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Oh. Hi.’ She looked slightly puzzled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were in here.’

  ‘Just reading the paper,’ he announced - a little more cheerfully than intended.

  ‘Good. Well, it’s, um, nice to see you up and about. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll press on with dinner.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’

  Bummer, he seethed, as she scuttled off. He should’ve sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen where he could’ve chatted to her. Now he’d have to invent some excuse to go into the kitchen. But what? He contemplated a few, none of which seemed remotely viable. God! What was he doing? This was his home. He didn’t need an excuse to go into his own kitchen. So why did he feel like he did? He was still pontificating when she reappeared.

  ‘Dinner’s in the oven. It’ll be ready in half-an-hour. Hope you enjoy it. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  And before he could say a word, off she toddled.

  Chapter 22

  James had no idea where all that crap about Australia had sprouted from during his conversation with Piers the other evening. But sprouted it had. And as a result, he’d dug himself a very large hole. Everyone in the village was talking about his antipodean adventure. Everyone, apart from him. He was no longer sure he wanted to go to Australia. He’d never been sure he wanted to go to Australia. What he was sure of though, was that he needed a break from the village. And he knew exactly where to go: Great Aunt Milly’s cottage. He’d already phoned his mother to check it was free.

  ‘But, darling, you must pop in and see us on your way up,’ she insisted. ‘In fact, why don’t you stay the night and have dinner with us? And if you say no, I shall be most upset.’

  As all the men in the Pinkerton family were aware, upsetting Marjorie was not an activity to be undertaken lightly. It was, in fact, to be avoided at all costs.

  James’ parents lived in a large modern detached house on a pleasant, leafy estate on the outskirts of Cambridge. Upon arrival he was immediately ushered into the garden for pre-dinner drinks and nibbles.

  ‘I was just saying only the other day how you boys don’t visit us nearly enough, wasn’t I, Bernard?’ declared his mother.

  ‘You were, Marjorie.’

  ‘Not, of course, that Matt can visit anyone at the moment with his broken leg. That poor boy. I was all for packing my bag and going down to look after him the moment I heard, wasn’t I, Bernard?’

  ‘You were, Marjorie.’

  ‘But thankfully you arranged that housekeeper, James. I must say, she sounds quite a find. I’ve spoken to Matt this morning and apparently she made beef stroganoff for his dinner yesterday. Beef stroganoff, I ask you. I can’t recall the last time we had that, can you, Bernard?’

  ‘I can’t, Marjorie.’

  ‘Well anyway, I hope you don’t mind, darling, but we’ve invited Sheila and Neville from over the road to join us for dinner. Oh, and their daughter, Isabel. She’s single as well you know,’ she added with a wink.

  James’ heart sank as he realised he’d been well and truly set up.

  *

  The morning following his fruitless evening with Olga, Matt decided he’d have more luck hanging around the kitchen; exactly where he’d positioned himself when she arrived promptly at ten o’clock.

  ‘Morning,’ she said, bustling in with two carrier bags. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ he replied, aware of a flush stealing up his neck. ‘All the better for my dinner last night. It was great. Thanks.’

  ‘Glad you enjoyed it. And please, if you don’t mind, could you pass on any positive comments to the agency. I need all the work I can get at the moment.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll give you a glowing reference.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She plonked the bags on the workbench and began sorting the contents.

  Matt cleared his throat. ‘So, I, um, gather from the book you left yesterday that you’re interested in philosophy.’ Not much got past him – obviously.

  ‘I’m studying for my masters,’ she told him, marching over to the fridge with a punnet of strawberries. ‘Part-time, so I can still earn money. What do you do?’

  He grimaced. ‘I used to- I mean I work in advertising.’

  ‘Oh. And do you enjoy it?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s … okay. To be honest I’m thinking about taking a break from it. Changing direction. Doing something completely different.’

  ‘Like what?’ She spun around.

  Meeting her dark enquiring gaze Matt suddenly felt two inches tall. ‘I’m, um, not sure yet. I’m researching a few options at the moment.’ What a load of crap. He didn’t have a clue what he was going to do but he wasn’t going to admit that to this woman who appeared to have her life under complete control.

  Thankfully, she paid him little attention as she began rummaging through the cleaning products under the sink.

  ‘How long have you been in England?’ he asked, desperate to keep the conversatio
n going.

  ‘Nearly three years. I finish my masters in six months, then I’m going back to Poland.’

  ‘Oh,’ he muttered, suddenly feeling very deflated.

  *

  Anya von Hutterhausen was crying. She had, in a fit of impetuousness, driven to the gym to see Jakov. She’d wanted to surprise him, to thank him for the lovely evening at the cinema, and invite him to dinner. She’d waited in the car until he appeared, spirits soaring as soon as she set eyes on him. She’d been about to sound her horn when she noticed he wasn’t alone. Imogen tottered alongside him, swinging glossy brown hair and beaming a dazzling smile. Vomit rose in Anya’s throat.

  She’d waited until they were out of sight then, in a daze, had driven home, where she’d flung herself on the bed and cried solidly for three hours.

  *

  James couldn’t escape his parents’ house quick enough. He knew his mother meant well but, honestly, he wished she’d give it a rest; realise he didn’t want another relationship. Ever. He had no problem with his single status. So why did everyone else?

  Dinner the previous evening had been a disaster. Sheila and Neville had duly arrived, along with their Still Single Daughter, Isabel, who, with her mousy hair, round specs and flowing garb, epitomised a 1970’s academic.

  ‘Isabel’s an academic, darling,’ gushed Marjorie, bristling with excitement.

  ‘You don’t say,’ muttered James , shaking Isabel’s hand. ‘What’s your subject area?’

  ‘Sedimentology.’

  Sedimentology? Wasn’t that something to do with-?

  ‘Rocks,’ she added, with a hint of impatience.

  ‘Oh, right. Of course. Well, that sounds … fascinating.’

  ‘James has always been interested in rocks,’ announced his mother, handing round a plate of canapés. ‘The house was full of them when he was at home, wasn’t it, Bernard?’

  Her husband furrowed his brow. Evidently James’ prolific rock-collecting had completely escaped his memory. As had it James’. Before either of them could reply however, Isabel demanded:

  ‘Are you?’

  James scratched his head. ‘Am I what?’

  ‘Interested in rocks?’

  ‘Oh. Well, apparently I used to be, but not anymore, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So what are you interested in?’

  He balked at her directness. And did she really have to stand so close to him. ‘Um, photography,’ he said, blurting out the first thing that popped into his head.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ gushed Marjorie. ‘James has a friend who’s a professional photographer, don’t you, darling?’

  A picture of Alex’s lovely laughing face flashed before his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘I do.’ And she wouldn’t bore the pants off everyone talking about bloody rocks either. Alex was fun; people liked being around her. Unfortunately, so did bloody Piers.

  Alex, Alex, Alex, he pondered as he wandered round the service station, swiping up a tuna sandwich and a bottle of water. Why did everything come back to her? He should be thinking about Olivia, the love of his life. Not Alex bloody Corr who he’d known all of five minutes.

  His phone beeped with a message - from Mandy.

  Alex has dumped Piers. She’s not going to Canada x

  The phone tumbled to the ground.

  *

  At six o’clock that evening, Matt heard not one set of feet trotting up the polished floorboards of his hall, but two. He was in the kitchen again, hoping to grab a few more snippets of conversation with Olga. But it wasn’t Olga who appeared in the doorway. It was a girl, around seven years old, with long dark hair and enormous hazel eyes.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ apologised Olga, appearing behind her. ‘The child-minder cancelled at the last minute and I didn’t want to let you down. I thought she could wait here while I make dinner. She won’t be any trouble.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Matt. ‘But, er, who is she?’

  Olga clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, how stupid of me. Maria, this is Mr Pinkerton. Mr Pinkerton this is Maria – my daughter.’

  Matt had almost toppled off the stool at Olga’s daughter revelation. It had, however, piqued his interest. He wanted to know more.

  ‘So,’ he ventured, once Maria had been ensconced in front of the TV in the living room. ‘Is Maria’s father in England too?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Olga, eyes glued to the carrot she was chopping. ‘I haven’t seen him for five years.’

  Matt’s brows shot to his hairline.

  ‘I’d just finished university when I discovered I was pregnant. We got married. Just to please our families, more than anything. And I had Maria. But the marriage didn’t last. We were far too young.’ She moved over to the fridge and pulled out a head of broccoli. ‘We decided it was best if we went our separate ways. Which we did. So separate that we’ve completely lost touch. The last time he saw Maria was on her second birthday. And not a word from him since. For the last five years it’s just been me and her. But you know what? I’ve never once regretted it. Particularly as my ovaries are in such a state I’d been told I’d never have children. And I certainly won’t be able to have any more. So that makes her all the more special.’

  ‘Mum, I’m bored,’ announced Maria, appearing in the doorway. ‘Are there any toys here?’

  Two sets of dark eyes turned to Matt.

  He grimaced. ‘Sorry. I’m all out of toys at the moment.’

  Maria heaved a sigh which seemed to come from her toes. ‘Have you got a chess set?’

  ‘I do. Do you play chess?’

  She giggled. ‘I do.’

  Matt had never met a child like Maria. He hadn’t, in fact, met many children. But even so, he couldn’t imagine there were many like her. She was exceedingly bright, but totally un-precocious. And she’d wiped the floor with him at chess.

  ‘You can bring Maria tomorrow, if you need to,’ he said, as they were preparing to leave.

  Olga’s huge eyes grew a shade wider. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he chuckled. ‘She’s a pleasure to have around.’

  Matt could feel his depression lifting. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol for almost a week and his head no longer felt full of cotton-wool. In spite of all this positive progress though, the magical solution to his financial problems still hadn’t materialised. Returning to his original plan to find another job, he’d swallowed his pride and made a handful of phone calls. To no avail. No one was interested. And, to make matters worse, this morning the service charge bill for the apartment had arrived. It had been astronomical before but, according to a list of apparently unavoidable reasons, it had almost doubled. He’d phoned the company to check they hadn’t made a mistake. They hadn’t. He’d hung up and stared longingly at the whisky bottle.

  ‘We’re going to the zoo tomorrow,’ announced Maria, sitting at the breakfast bar that evening, legs dangling off the stool.

  ‘Wow, lucky you,’ exclaimed Matt. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been to the zoo.’

  Maria stopped her colouring in and looked up at her mother, busy with a pan at the hob.

  ‘Mum, can Mr Pinkerton come to the zoo with us?’

  Matt quailed inwardly as Olga flashed him an undecipherable look before returning to her stirring.

  ‘Well, I, um, don’t know if-’

  ‘Look, I didn’t mean-’ he stuttered at exactly the same time.

  ‘It doesn’t matter about his leg,’ pointed out Maria. ‘They have wheelchairs there. I know because a boy in my class came to the zoo with us and he had a broken leg. Anyway, I think a day out would do you good. It’s not healthy being cooped up in here all day. That’s what you said yesterday, wasn’t it, Mum?’

  Olga’s cheeks flushed scarlet. ‘Well, I might have said something along those lines, but I-’

  Matt snorted with laughter.

  Olga shook her head in despair and grinned at him. ‘Sorry. I’m afraid Maria is a genius for putt
ing people on the spot. Look, if you’d like to come with us, you’ll be very welcome. But don’t feel you have to.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he chuckled. ‘But I’d love to come if that’s okay.’

  Chapter 23

  Jakov had been calling Anya. Anya hadn’t been answering. He’d left several concerned messages. She hadn’t replied.

  Then, tonight, he’d rung her doorbell.

  She’d ignored it.

  *

  At Great Aunt Milly’s cottage James found everything just as it had always been: cream carpet, floral curtains, eclectic mix of pictures, vases, rugs and lamps and, in front of the French doors, her magenta armchair. He could picture her there now: hair coiled in a plait, eyes glistening with mischievousness. A shiver shot down his spine. Had he imagined it, or had he just caught a waft of her violet scent? He shook his head. Of course he hadn’t.

  Pulling himself together, he ambled over to the sideboard on which lay a pile of adventure holiday brochures. He smiled. What a strange one she’d been; completely unique. Precisely why he’d adored her so much. And he still did, despite all that nonsense with the will. And nonsense, he’d concluded, was exactly what it was because, no matter how hard he tried, he could still make no sense of that ridiculous caveat regarding marriage and babies.

  An hour later, doing his utmost to relax in a deck-chair in the garden, James couldn’t switch off. Since receiving Mandy’s text informing him that Alex had dumped Piers and wasn’t now going to Canada, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Indeed, he’d been employing every ounce of restraint not to jump in the car and hare back home to see her.

  But what would be the point? He couldn’t have featured at all in her decision-making because, as far as she knew, he was off to Australia for two years. So there was absolutely no point thinking about her.

  But if that was the case, why couldn’t he stop?

  James awoke with a start, sweat teaming out of him. The first thing he noticed was the strange smell in the room: a smell of … violets. He sat upright. Oh my God. He knew exactly why he couldn’t get Alex out of his mind.