Right at that moment, with the unmistakably comforting aroma of fish and chips lingering around the chippie, Kitty’s stomach rumbled. She was starving. Surely she could afford a bag of chips? Of course she could…! What time did they open? She peered more closely. 6 o’clock. Damn! She’d be on the stop-go slow train home by then.
Passing half a dozen small retro retail outlets, a few more people hurrying, heads down, huddled in raincoats and vanishing beneath umbrellas, Kitty arrived at the end of the shops on her side of the road. The High Street curved away and disappeared between an arch of towering pine trees to who knew where, but not before skirting a wide area of grassy parkland with a drained paddling pool, a soggy sandpit, and swings and slides and seesaws all standing empty in the drizzly afternoon.
Carefully crossing the road, and snuggling more deeply inside her parka as the rain became even heavier, Kitty made her way down the other side of the High Street. There was a steamy-windowed café – Nellies – which offered full English breakfasts, lunchtime sandwiches and afternoon teas; a jeweller’s; two or three tourist-tat shops selling “gifts, mementos, curios and keepsakes” for the Firefly Common visitors; “Tim-and-Toni unisex hairdresser – styles for all”; and a posh dress shop just called Frocks. Every window was outrageously festive and merrily twinkly-sparkly in the chilly afternoon murk. And, Kitty noted, there was not one coffee chain in sight. Presumably the Firefly Common residents had to head into Bournemouth for anything more up-to-date than a cuppa and a sticky bun.
Trying to shelter from a sudden vicious gust of wind in a shop doorway, she looked at her watch – surely it was time to catch the train now…? No. Not yet. Still. She sighed… Maybe she’d turn round and buy a cup of tea and a cake in Nellies and make it last for an hour or so…Or maybe…
‘Oooh! Nooo!’ Kitty screeched, as a car swooshed past, sending a tidal wave of freezing muddy puddle water over her feet just as another squall of rain drove icy pinpricks into her face. ‘Oh, sod this!’ And without pausing, she pushed her way into the shop.
It was blissfully warm and dry, with gentle spotlighting and no Christmas decorations, and, apart from a young man sitting at a desk staring at a screen in the far corner, empty. Kitty gazed at the rows of photographs of houses… Then at the purple logos emblazoned everywhere: Lovell and Lowe Estate Agents.
Great, she thought, not even a shop where I can pretend to be buying something… Typical… One more mistake…
The young man in in the corner, all shiny suit and gelled quiff, looked up from his screen. ‘Hi. What a nasty day, isn’t it? Can I help you?’
‘Er – yes it is, and – um – no, thank you… I’m just – um – browsing…’ Kitty stared closely at glossy photos of a raft of millionaire’s-row type mansions, and quickly moved away to a display by the window, horribly aware of her boots squelching with every step. She stopped moving and squelching and stared at these properties. They certainly looked more realistic, like proper homes, all cosy and snug – some of them were really olde-worlde – but probably no less expensive. Kitty thought sadly that Firefly Common was probably one of those south-coast villages where only the rich could afford to live.
She suddenly sensed the gelled-quiff getting to his feet and walking across the shop towards her, so she snatched at the nearest leaflet. ‘I’ll um – just take this one to have a look at… um…’
‘Ah,’ the gelled-quiff nodded conspiratorially. ‘You’re looking to rent, I see. These on this wall are our rental properties… and that…’ he indicated the leaflet in Kitty’s hand, ‘is one of our most intriguing. Sandcastle Cottage.’
‘Oh, wow. What a fabulous name,’ Kitty blurted out, forgetting that she wasn’t really interested in renting or buying or anything at all in Firefly Common. She gazed down at the photo of a very pretty but rather oddly shaped cottage, with various angles and added-on bits – including one of those front porch verandary things that ran the whole length of the house – and two overhanging windows in the eaves that looked like kindly eyes.
Gelled-quiff – whose name badge indicated that he was really called Connor – nodded. ‘It’s a fascinating place. Been in the same family for years. Mrs Mulholland is the last of the clan to live in Sandcastle Cottage.’
‘Oh dear,’ Kitty, assuming Mrs Mulholland had been shuffled off into a care home by less than caring younger members of the family, managed to look suitably sad.
Connor nodded. ‘So, as business is a bit slack this afternoon, and I have the keys – shall we go and view?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Shall we pop and view Sandcastle Cottage now? You can follow me in your car if you like – I mean, it’s not far to walk, but in this weather…’ He looked Kitty up and down, ‘and you already seem to have got a bit damp…’
‘Er, yes… and I don’t have a car… and…’
‘No probs, mine’s just outside.’ Connor practically skipped across the shop, rifled through a wall cupboard, jangled some keys then looked at Kitty. ‘Your name and address – for the computer. Files, you see. Protection – on both sides… I have to say who you are and where we’re viewing and at what time – then I have to sign it all off when we’re back again. Safety. And security. You know…’
‘Oh yes,’ Kitty said blankly. ‘But honestly, I really don’t… I mean, actually…’
‘Just name and address.’ Connor’s fingers flew over his keypad. ‘Then I’ll lock up the shop and we can go.’
‘Actually,’ Kitty said again, then stopped. Oh, what the heck… There was still ages to wait until her train was due, and it would be fascinating and free – not to mention warm and dry – to nosy round someone else’s house. She smiled. ‘My name is Kitty Appleby, and my address is…’
‘Oh! Reading!’ Connor nodded. ‘Looking to escape the urban sprawl and find a nice place by the sea are you? Well, Sandcastle Cottage is a fab property – there are one or two restrictions on the rental agreement of course, but I’m sure we can work round those if you like the place – which I’m sure you will. Shall we go?’
‘Yes, let’s,’ Kitty said cheerfully. ‘Why not?’
Chapter Three
Which was how Kitty came to be standing outside Sandcastle Cottage, freezing and frizzing, in the company of the rapidly-sinking gelled quiff of Connor from Lovell and Lowe.
What she hadn’t realised from the photo was that Sandcastle Cottage was one of the houses she’d passed on the common earlier. One of the gorgeous tucked-away amongst the trees and shrubs cottages that she’d coveted… Yes, it looked a bit cold and forlorn right now, with the windows unlit in the fading afternoon light, and the garden untended, but oh, that front porch veranda… Imagine sitting out there in the twilight of a warm summer evening, with a glass of wine, candles flickering, music playing softly… It would be just perfect.
Get a grip, Kitty sighed to herself. Step out of Fantasyland and get a grip. Of course now she should tell Connor that this was all a mistake. All of it. But she didn’t. ‘Okay,’ she smiled at him. ‘Lead on.’
They’d got half way along the overgrown, leaf-strewn, garden path when a deep voice roared out from behind the undergrowth to the right hand side of Sandcastle Cottage.
‘Oy! Excuse me! Yes, you! What might you being doing? Stop right there!’
Kitty and Connor turned their heads in unison.
‘Yes!’ the voice barked. ‘You two! I can see you! Think you’re going to break into that empty cottage for a bit of how’s-yer-father, do you? Well, let me tell you, you’re going to have to find another love-nest – I’m being a good neighbour and I’m keeping an eye on that place and…’
Kitty tried hard to stifle her giggles and failed. Connor looked slightly affronted. Kitty wasn’t sure if this was because she’d giggled and insulted his possible-bit-of-nooky credentials, or whether it was because he was horrified that anyone would think, seeing him with a tall, parka-wearing, frizzy-haired older woman – albeit one that looked a touch like Julia Roberts
– that his taste in cavorting-companions had hit an all-time low.
Connor, flicking back the sinking quiff, frowned. ‘Is that you, Mr Hubert? It’s me. Connor Lowe. I’m just showing this lady round the cottage. She’s interested in renting.’
There was a crashing through the undergrowth and the owner of the voice – elderly, stocky, grey-hair, red-face, comfy threadbare-hand-knitted jumper – glared across the top of the nearest bushes. ‘Well you should have said you had a viewing, young Connor. You know the agreement. You let me know so I don’t think there’s intruders. I was right in the middle of watching Escape to the Country and…’
‘Sorry.’ Connor grinned. ‘But, this lady… Miss… Mrs… um…’
‘Miss,’ Kitty said helpfully. ‘Appleby.’
Connor nodded. ‘Yes, well, Miss Appleby came into the office on the off-chance just now, so there wasn’t time to let you know… Anyway, it’s pretty miserable out here, so we’ll just whizz round – you get back to your telly… And thanks, as always, for keeping an eye out.’
‘No problem,’ Mr Hubert peered at Kitty. ‘You thinking of renting, are you, duck? Tis a lovely cottage. I’m hoping to have a nice new neighbour… You’re not a hippie or a vegetarian or anything weird, are you?’
Kitty shook her head. Raindrops trickled down her neck. It didn’t really matter if she was a satanic moon-bayer, she was never going to be living in Sandcastle Cottage, was she?
‘That’s good, duck,’ Mr Hubert chuckled. ‘Only I promised Mavis that I’d make sure we got someone nice in to look after the place, see?’
Kitty nodded, although she didn’t see at all. She looked at Connor. ‘Mavis?’
‘Mavis Mulholland,’ Connor hissed rather irritably. ‘She’s the owner. Mr Hubert takes his neighbourly duties very seriously.’
‘Oh, right.’ Kitty nodded again and felt her hair stick in cold, wet curls along the side of her jaw.
‘See, duck,’ Mr Hubert continued, ‘ While Mavis is away she wants someone living in Sandcastle to stop it getting cold and damp and deserted over the winter, see?’
‘Not really.’ Kitty said.
Connor sighed. ‘Miss – um – Appleby, before we all die of hypothermia, in case you haven’t read all the details, the lease on Sandcastle Cottage is for nine months. A very short rental term. Especially at this time of year. Which is reflected in the extremely low monthly rent.’
‘Right,’ Kitty said, not really interested in details that were never going to concern her, and beginning to lose the feeling in her extremities. ‘OK. So, shall we go inside now?’
‘Ah, see,’ Mr Hubert continued, ‘Mavis ain’t going to be away for ever – just until the summer. She’ll be back.’ Kitty smiled kindly. ‘Oh I do hope so. They can do such wonderful things these days… Hospitals… Nursing homes…’
‘Crikey O’Reilly!’ Mr Hubert roared with laughter. ‘Mavis ain’t ill! She ain’t in any nursing home! She’s on a world cruise! She won the lottery thing-a-me-bob! She’s having the time of her life!’
Lucky, lucky Mavis, Kitty thought.
Connor, his quiff now drooping damply over his eyes, clearly decided that he’d had enough of the neighbourly bonhomie, waved farewell to Mr Hubert, and was now heading briskly towards the front porch steps. Kitty didn’t need further invitation. She had long legs and they reached the front door at the same time.
‘There,’ Connor said, unlocking the door, leaning inside to switch on the light, then standing back to allow Kitty to step across the threshold, ‘Sandcastle Cottage…’
‘Oh!’ Kitty gasped in delight as, after shedding their boots, they stood in the parquet-floored hall with the slightly bowed apricot walls. ‘It’s warm! And furnished… well, yes, it would be, of course… as – um – Mavis is coming back – but oh… Wow…! It’s beautiful.’
‘We had instructions to leave the heating on,’ Connor said, closing the front door and rubbing his hands. ‘Oh – were you wanting unfurnished accommodation?’
‘Er – no… Not at all… furnished is – um – lovely…’
‘That’s good. And yes, Mrs Mulholland wanted all the basic furnishings to be left in situ – everything personal is in storage I understand. Now – do you want me to do an escorted tour or would you rather wander around on your own?’
‘Oh, on my own, I think,’ Kitty said quickly, knowing that now would be a good time to come clean and just head for Firefly Common Halt to wait for her slow train home.
In the cold and the wet…
Oh, what the heck…
‘Ok,’ Connor was attempting to flick his quiff back into place. ‘Let me just run through the details. Over the years the Mulholland family have modernised the building and added rooms on, keeping sympathetically to the original Sandcastle Cottage ethos, and at one time it was run as a B&B. Mrs Mulholland now lives here alone. So, we have two storeys. On the ground floor there’s the kitchen, dining room, living room, a snug, a cloakroom, study, the conservatory, and two single bedrooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom between. Upstairs there are three double en-suite bedrooms, a further study-cum-bedroom, and a family bathroom. The attic is boarded, wired, heated and insulated, but not used for anything other than storage, although it could make another bedroom if needed.’
‘Wonderful,’ Kitty said, and really meaning it. ‘It sounds wonderful.’ She cast a surreptitious look at her watch. There was still plenty of time to look round Sandcastle Cottage. ‘But it’s huge…! Six bedrooms… I mean, it looks quite small from the outside…’
‘It’s a bit of a Tardis, yes,’ Connor still fiddled with his recalcitrant quiff. ‘It should be housing a huge family again really I suppose… are you – um – I mean, do you have a partner? Children?’
‘No children and yes to the partner.’ Well, sort of. Sometimes she forgot James even existed. She knew she had to get out of this. ‘To be honest, Connor, I think Sandcastle may be a little larger than the sort of place I – um – we were looking for. What I mean is, I don’t want to waste any more of your time.’
‘Take a look round anyway,’ Connor said, having finally got his quiff back in place. ‘No hurry. I’ll be in the kitchen checking my messages. Just turn the lights off in each room as you go. There’s no harm in taking a look, is there?’
No harm at all…
So Kitty took a look and fell in love.
Sandcastle Cottage was everything she’d ever dreamed of. The quirkily shaped rooms were cosy and comfortable: snug, with a mixture of well-loved mismatched furniture from various eras, with gorgeous jewel coloured curtains, polished oak floors, deep-pile rugs and pretty toning pastel walls. Each room hummed with warmth from radiators, but several also had a fireplace with a proper hearth. There were paintings and books and cushions; dried flower arrangements in jugs; televisions and radios; computer hubs and routers in the study rooms, phone chargers on the chiffonier in the hall: the old mixed with the new and turned into a home.
While Connor continued to check his messages, Kitty, having ended her tour, sat on the bottom stair and sighed. She’d never forget this place, ever… And one day, when life turned itself around, she’d aim to live somewhere like this: somewhere homely with character, somewhere that enveloped you with a warm hug as soon as you walked in through the door.
Not, she thought, standing up and re-zipping her boots, a soulless new-build box, or – god forbid – a similar place to the one she was living in now. No, one day she’d aim to find her very own Sandcastle Cottage…
‘Ready?’ Connor came out of the kitchen. ‘What did you think of it?’
‘It’s fabulous,’ Kitty said. ‘It’s a dream house. I absolutely love it.’
‘Good,’ Connor headed across the hall. ‘I knew you would. And of course the monthly rent is an added bonus.’
‘Is it?’
Connor laughed as he switched off the lights and opened the front door. ‘Didn’t you notice that on the particulars? It’s what used to be known as a peppercorn
. Mrs Mulholland didn’t want or need the money, and as there was no-one left in the family to take over, she just wanted to rent to someone who would love the cottage and look after it ‘til she came back.’
Kitty peered at the details she had in her hand until she found the monthly rental. And blinked. Blimey! She looked at Connor. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’ Connor nodded. ‘Sandcastle Cottage is a gift to the right person – so, Miss – um…’
‘Appleby.’
‘Of course, yes, sorry. So, Miss Appleby, is that person going to be you? Shall we go back to the office and finalise the details?’
Oh, Kitty thought, as they stepped out on to the veranda into the cold, dark, wet evening, if only…
‘Um… Not right now.’ Shivering, she pulled up the hood of her parka and shoved her hands deep into the pockets. ‘I’ll need to go home and – er – discuss everything… I’ve got your number – I’ll ring you.’
‘Ok,’ Connor nodded. ‘Only don’t leave it too long. This place will be snapped up before Christmas I’m positive.’
So am I, Kitty thought as they trudged through the clicketty-clacketty of the bare branches in the darkness above them, and the constant cold flurry of rain, back towards Connor’s car.
Connor looked at her. ‘Can I drop you somewhere?’
Kitty shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’m sorted. Thank you again for the viewing, though.’
‘My pleasure. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Don’t forget – sooner rather than later! Bye!’ Connor waved a hand and leapt into his hatchback before his quiff could sag.
Kitty watched his taillights vanish away from the common, then, with one last lingering look at Sandcastle Cottage, she headed miserably for Firefly Common Halt and the slow train home to Reading.
Christmas at Sandcastle Cottage Page 2