Finding Home

by Kate Field

‘My life hasn’t exactly been normal, or not by your standards.’ Mim brushed a tear off her cheek, frustrated with herself for letting her emotion show. She didn’t want pity. ‘There was a good reason and it wasn’t the one you seem to think. You’re as bad as Gordon’s daughter with your dirty minds and grubby insinuations. Yes, I loved him, but we weren’t lovers. He was thirty years older than me! He was my saviour, my mentor, and my friend. He gave me a chance when I had no one else to turn to. He gave me security. Helping save the business was the only way I could repay him. It is possible to have a relationship with someone that isn’t about sex!’

  It was unfortunate timing that Lia walked back into the room as Mim uttered this last sentence. Corin was standing only a metre away from Mim, reaching out his hand in a tentative gesture of apology. Lia took one look between them and her eyes widened.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, crossing the room and punching her brother on the arm. ‘Are you trying to take advantage of Mim?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Corin stepped back with what Mim thought, perversely, was an unflattering degree of speed. ‘Blame our mother. She can do her own dirty work next time. Dirty-minded work,’ he added, as he looked at Mim. He offered her a hesitant smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I think you boys should go away now and let us carry on with our film,’ Lia said. ‘We were having a perfectly lovely evening until you came in and ruined it.’

  ‘Fine. We’re going.’ Corin whistled at Dickens, who immediately ran to his side. He walked towards the door and then looked back at Mim. ‘For what it’s worth, I’ve never thought badly of you. And yes, I believe in the relationships you mean. I hope we’re friends, aren’t we?’

  Karen peered round the door to the shop, spotted Mim on her own behind the counter, and came in. Heather was close behind.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mim asked. They both had wet hair, so could only recently have finished their Friday swim. ‘Have you forgotten the cakes? That’s an expensive mistake if you have to buy some from here.’

  ‘Look what we’ve found,’ Karen said. ‘It was pinned to the notice board on the car park.’

  She put a crumpled A4 sheet of paper on the counter. The corners had been torn off, presumably where it had been stuck down. The centre of the poster was filled with a few words in lurid orange capitals.

  ‘No scum in our bay!’ Mim read out loud. And then she gasped, because this wasn’t a protest about sea pollution, as she had initially thought. It was clear from the rest of the poster that this was a protest against the caravans – about the Vennhallow caravans, and the whole idea of the As You Like It charity.

  ‘It’s not the only one,’ Heather said, when Mim looked up in dismay. ‘They’re spread through the village. This one was stuck to the post box. I’m not even sure that’s legal.’

  She held up another poster, this one bearing the central message, ‘No louts in Littlemead!’

  ‘This is awful,’ Mim said. ‘Who would do this? Have you read what it says? I can’t believe the words they’ve used. Scum … delinquents … hooligans. They are misrepresenting what the charity’s about. All we’re trying to do is help people who need a holiday. What’s so bad about that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Karen said. ‘Whoever wrote these posters is scum as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘I can’t see who in the village would do it, though,’ Heather said. ‘Even the traditionalists who don’t like tourists wouldn’t be malicious like this. Do you think this is personal? Something to do with the Howards rather than the charity?’

  ‘But who could hold a grudge against them?’ Mim asked. She pushed aside the fact that she’d been feeling resentful towards them for a couple of days, after Bea’s interference and Corin’s intrusive questions. Their intentions were always kind, even if they didn’t think before they acted. It had touched her more than she cared to admit that Corin had called her a friend. Gordon had been the only friend she’d known before she came to Devon. She’d thought that having normal friendships, with people more her own age, of both sexes, was a path in life that was closed to her. Now she knew better.

  She suddenly had an awful thought. What if it wasn’t a grudge against the Howards but against her? What if Yvonne really had heard about the idea of her challenging Gordon’s will and had tracked her down to Littlemead? She could easily imagine Yvonne calling her scum; it wasn’t far off some of the insults she’d used in the past. Might she be trying to scupper Mim’s new life by causing trouble for the charity? Surely it was too far-fetched an idea?

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Mim asked, gesturing at the posters.

  ‘We’ll walk up and down the village and take down any posters we see,’ Heather replied.

  ‘We carry on,’ Karen said. ‘Working on these caravans has revitalised Susie. I’m not having her brought down again by a narrow-minded so-and-so. Just wait until I get my hands on whoever is behind this. I’ll tell them exactly where they can shove their posters…’

  Bea and Bill’s flight was due to land in the early hours of Monday morning so Mim was spared the job of collecting them from the airport. She’d assumed they would sleep in and was surprised to find Bea in the kitchen when she came down for breakfast before her swim. Bea was sitting on the sofa beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, drinking tea and looking out at the view.

  ‘Good morning, dear Mim,’ Bea said, turning to smile as Mim approached. ‘It’s trite to say there’s no place like home, but on a morning such as this I can’t wish to be anywhere else.’

  ‘It’s stunning.’ Mim stood in front of the window, gazing out. It was a beautiful day, one of the best since she had arrived in Devon. The early spring sunshine made the dew sparkle across the lawn and, in the distance, a strip of calm sea glistened like a mirror. She didn’t wish to be anywhere else either. This place had crept into her heart, maybe into her soul. And that was exactly why she had to move on.

  Mim had spent a lot of time thinking since the conversation with Corin about Gordon’s will. Her initial anger hadn’t lasted long. Yes, Bea had gone too far and interfered where she shouldn’t have, but she’d been motivated by kindness. She was looking out for Mim, in the same way she would have looked out for one of her own children. But Mim wasn’t part of this family, however much she might wish it; she couldn’t get used to being looked after by them. She’d established her independence over long, hard years and now it was in danger of slipping away, as she’d realised she relished being part of a team rather than going it alone. She couldn’t let that happen. It was all about self-preservation. Who knew when she might be on her own again? The novelty of her arrival would wear off one day, if it hadn’t already, and the Howards would be caught up in other weddings, other dinners, other family occasions in which Mim had no part. These past months had been precious, perhaps the most precious she’d known; she didn’t want to follow them with awkwardness and embarrassment if she outstayed her welcome. She had to leave, had to believe it was the right decision. Better to go on her own terms with happy memories intact. But her heart hurt; it would be the most agonising thing she’d ever done.

  She turned her back on the view and smiled at Bea.

  ‘I’m glad you’re up,’ she said, and she was relieved to hear her voice sound so calm, so normal. ‘I would have hated to leave without saying goodbye. And thank you. You’ve been amazing.’

  Bea laughed.

  ‘You’re only going down the track to your caravan. I don’t think we need sentimental goodbyes, do we? It’s us that should be thanking you for holding the fort here. I think it’s done Bill the world of good to have a break.’

  ‘I meant that I was leaving here,’ Mim explained. ‘Littlemead. Vennhallow. The caravan.’

  ‘Leaving Vennhallow?’ Bea stared at her. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand. I thought you were happy here.’

  ‘I am. But it was only ever a temporary solution, wasn’t it, staying in the caravan? I should have sorted myself o
ut and gone weeks ago, not let myself get so comfortable.’ Mim willed Bea to understand, not to drag this out a moment longer when every part of her wanted to hold back the words and stay. ‘You’ve been more than patient. I’m embarrassed to have scrounged off you for so long. It’s no wonder you wanted me to inherit some money so I could stand on my own two feet at last and move on.’

  Bea reached out and grasped Mim’s hand.

  ‘This is because of the business with Gordon’s will, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Forgive me. That was none of my concern. Corin did warn me not to interfere and I was mortified when he told me how upset you were by it. You both have every right to be cross with me. But it has nothing to do with wanting you to move on. Far from it.’ Bea glanced behind her, and picked up her cardigan from the sofa. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘What?’ Mim said. ‘Where?’

  ‘To the caravans. We were going to show you later but it can’t wait.’

  ‘What can’t?’

  ‘Mim, would you stop asking questions and come along?’

  Mim had never seen Bea look so fierce. Without another word, she followed her out of the house and down the track towards the caravan field until they turned through the gate and Mim stopped short at the sight in front of her. She hadn’t been near the field for a few days, as she’d been working and staying at Vennhallow overnight. The caravan that she’d helped to paint was now completely finished, with all the masking tape removed and it looked amazing: the shell-pink colour reminded her of the early morning light that she’d sometimes seen from her window. Work had now started on a second caravan and it had already been covered with the base coat.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Bea asked.

  She was facing towards a third caravan – Mim’s caravan. When Mim had left it on Wednesday, it had looked as it always had, with bland cream walls streaked with dirt that no amount of elbow grease could clean off. Now it was transformed. The exterior walls were painted in a soft sea-green and shone in the morning light. The steps and veranda had been repaired and painted chalky white, and the flowerpots that previously harboured weeds now were filled with bright flowers. It looked gorgeous, better than Mim could ever have imagined.

  ‘Come and look inside,’ Bea said, nudging her arm. Mim climbed up the steps, unlocked the door, and stepped in. It was hard to believe it was the same caravan she’d left only five days before. The drab, damp interior had gone, and the place glowed with light and colour that co-ordinated with the exterior paint. The sofa that ran round the wall had been reupholstered with rich, green fabric and scattered with cushions that looked perfect to sink into. The curtains had been replaced with thick drapes that would keep out the winter draughts and a large, fluffy rug covered the floor. The mixture of fabrics, colours and textures blended perfectly to create a relaxed, cosy atmosphere. It was warm and welcoming. It felt like a home.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Mim said. She forced herself to smile. This was what she’d hoped for, wasn’t it, for As You Like It holidays? This would offer the ideal retreat for those people that the charity wanted to help. She just hadn’t realised that her caravan was being used after all. ‘The people who stay here will love it.’

  ‘The people who stay here?’ Bea repeated. ‘For goodness’ sake, Mim, will you stop being so difficult? No one will be staying here except you. This is your caravan, for as long as you want it.’

  ‘So why have you decorated it?’

  ‘For you, my dear. Did you really think we would renovate the others and leave you in the damp and the cold? None of us want you to go. You’re one of us; don’t you remember me saying that on the day we met? But we know you like your independence. We did this as a surprise, so that you had a proper place of your own and to stop you having any thoughts of leaving.’

  Mim sank down onto the sofa and nestled into one of the cushions. It was every bit as comfortable as she’d anticipated. The whole caravan looked amazing. It was hard to take in that it was for her. So many people must have worked long hours over the last week to get this ready, and all for her. All so that she would stay. She really wasn’t in the way, or outstaying her welcome. She didn’t have to leave. She couldn’t speak; it was too overwhelming.

  Bea sat down beside her and gently took her hand.

  ‘We lost a child, Mim,’ she said, unexpectedly. ‘It was a late miscarriage, a couple of years after Ros was born. That’s why there was such a gap before Olly. We were too scared to try again for a long time. It was another girl, and I still think of her as my number two-point-five. Can you guess what we were going to call her?’ Mim thought she could, despite her limited knowledge of Shakespeare. ‘Miranda,’ Bea continued. ‘She was our Miranda. And now you’ll think me foolish, but that day we met in Lancashire, it felt as if she had sent you to our rescue. As it turned out, perhaps she had sent us to your rescue too.’

  Bea brushed tears from her cheeks. Mim’s cheeks were wet too. She acted on impulse. She leaned forward and put her arms round Bea, the gesture feeling at once unfamiliar and completely natural.

  ‘So why all the questions about Gordon?’ Mim asked, when they eventually broke apart. ‘He really was a friend, nothing more. Looking back, perhaps I should have had a contract and a formal wage, but it didn’t seem important at the time. The arrangement worked for us. I was used to living one day at a time and not dwelling on the future. I didn’t expect to inherit anything from him.’

  ‘I hoped you might have some money of your own, to give you opportunities,’ Bea explained. ‘You’re a bright young woman. You could do better than selling bananas in Janet’s shop. You must have had some ambitions when you were growing up.’

  ‘My ambitions were to have a safe place to live, an honest job, and to survive each day.’ Mim smiled. ‘Don’t knock selling bananas. I think my teenage self would be impressed.’

  ‘But don’t you wish for more?’ Bea pressed.

  ‘Oh, if we’re talking about wishes…’ Mim laughed. Of course she’d nursed wishes over the years. A home of her own, however modest. A family of her own, however small. A stable job, where she might have money left over at the end of the week for the occasional treat, maybe even a holiday. Wishing was the easy part. ‘If Bill can invent a way to make wishes come true, be sure to send him my way.’

  ‘And where will he find you?’ Bea asked. ‘Will you still be here?’

  Mim smiled and gestured around.

  ‘Look how gorgeous this place is. I’d be daft not to stay, wouldn’t I? I think you’re going to be stuck with me for a bit longer.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  At last the Easter weekend arrived. The weather was forecast to be dry and mild for the entire four days, and Mim couldn’t resist comparing the weather in Lancashire and feeling smug that she was missing out on heavy rain and winds. She didn’t think the novelty of going outside without a coat in early April would ever wear thin.

  They had made good progress on the caravans. Four were now fully painted on the outside, with a powder-blue and pale-yellow added to the collection; the group of caravans reminded Mim of the lines of colourful beach huts she’d seen on the postcards in the deli. Three of the interiors had been renovated, including Mim’s. She supposed she should feel guilty that the charity’s work had slowed down for her, but she was far too snug in her cosy caravan to let it bother her for long.

  Heather’s cousin was due to arrive at lunchtime on Friday and would stay for three nights to test out one of the caravans and to identify any problems before the charity was officially launched on the last Saturday in April. Mim was gutted that she would miss out on the fun, as she would be working through the weekend as usual. She had asked Janet for one day off but had been told that if she took time off over the busiest weekend of the year, she needn’t come back at all. It might have been a bluff but Mim couldn’t afford the risk.

  She popped into the yellow caravan early on Friday morning to check that everything was ready. This was familiar territory; she’d done
this with each hotel room before guests arrived and knew the importance of first impressions. She’d made the beds herself on Wednesday and the bedrooms needed nothing more than a last-minute flick with a duster. She plumped a cushion in the living area, tweaked a curtain so that the folds were even, and then stood back to survey the room with an objective eye. It all looked perfect.

  Lia had offered to be in charge of preparing a welcome basket; the caravans would be self-catered, but they had agreed it would be a thoughtful touch to leave some basic provisions to start the holidaymakers off. The white wicker basket sat on the dining table bearing a hand-painted ‘welcome’ sign. It looked perfect, but when Mim checked the contents her heart sank. A jar of olives, walnut and seed crackers, green tomato chutney, dark chocolate truffles… Where was the pasta, the cooking oil, the bread, the eggs? There wasn’t even any milk in the fridge, only what looked like an expensive bottle of wine. Lia had clearly meant well, but perhaps she hadn’t been the ideal choice to supply basic provisions rather than luxury treats.

  How was Mim going to fix this quickly, in the few minutes left before she started work? There was one obvious person who might be able to help, if he was free. She toyed with her phone. She hadn’t seen as much of Corin since their conversation about her relationship with Gordon. Their few meetings had been awkward, and it felt as if their newly established friendship was scuffed and dented already. She was hesitant about asking a favour but he wouldn’t mind if it was for the charity, would he? There was no time to debate. She tapped out a quick text to see if he could do an emergency shop.

  She could have saved the cost of a text. The man himself was standing at the gate posts that led out to the public road when she drove through a few minutes later. He had a scrubbing brush in his hand and a bucket of soapy water at his feet.

  She wound down the window and called out to him.

  ‘You’re keen. I don’t think the guests will mind if the gate posts are dirty.’