Meet Me at Wisteria Cottage

by Teresa F. Morgan

  The two men stopped and stared at Harry as he walked towards them.

  ‘Look who it is, speak of the devil. The wanderer returns,’ Simon said, as he scowled and placed his hands on his hips. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I had urgent matters to attend to. Family business,’ Harry said, hoping his excuse would be good enough. He didn’t meet Simon’s gaze.

  ‘No phone calls, nothing.’ Simon looked Harry up and down disdainfully. ‘It’s not a good way to do business, mate.’

  ‘I know, but to make matters worse I broke my phone.’

  Simon muttered under his breath. Harry knew it all sounded like poor excuses.

  He turned to Roy, as he couldn’t care less about Simon’s displeasure. Roy paid him; Simon did not. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Roy. I’ll get straight back to work, but I need to find Maddy first. Have either of you seen her?’ He hated to ask Simon this and even feared the answer.

  Roy shook his head, and Simon shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘She moved out a few weeks ago now,’ Roy said. He grimaced, looking first at Simon, then gestured to Harry to follow him, so that they walked out of earshot of Simon. His voice was firm but low when he spoke to Harry ‘I’m not happy about this, Harry. I nearly had to find another landscaper. Are you back for good?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Roy. I promise I won’t let you down. I’ll finish the job; I just need to find Maddy first.’

  Roy nodded after giving it some thought, and they walked back towards Simon.

  ‘Have you seen Maddy, Simon, or heard from her?’ Roy asked this question before Harry could but it sounded better coming from Roy. Simon was likely to give Roy a more honest reply. ‘Nah, I haven’t seen her for a while actually.’ Relief washed over Harry as Simon said these words: at least Maddy hadn’t got involved with the builder. ‘But then I haven’t been down to the gallery,’ Simon said.

  ‘Ok, thank you,’ Harry said nodding. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, Roy.’ I probably have a lot of customers to call tomorrow.

  ‘OK, Harry.’ Roy shook his hand.

  With anxiety inching its way up his spine, Harry drove down along the high street, parking his pickup in the beach car park in Tinners Bay. The tide was out, leaving a huge expanse of sandy beach in front of him. He could feel there was a chill in the air, being late September, and October rapidly approaching … He’d been away about six weeks, or had it been longer? He’d lost track of time. He could feel that October was around the corner, the sun wasn’t getting so high, and he’d have shorter days to work in. He’d have his work cut out, too, raking leaves and clearing dead bedding plants to make room for winter flowers and planting bulbs – that’s if he had a business to come back to.

  His hands started trembling on the steering wheel. What was he going to say to Maddy? Other than sorry.

  He knew it wasn’t probably the greatest idea to approach Maddy in her gallery, but he didn’t want to wait another moment. He had left it too long as it was.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, but he had to face facts – he might have lost her already. He would do everything in his power to win her back, though. He wasn’t going to give up without a fight. At the very least, he’d rebuild their relationship so they could be friends. He’d explain everything to her. Everything. Maddy had a good heart, but did she have a forgiving one?

  Taking a deep breath, Harry locked up his truck and headed towards the gallery. There were a scattering of people walking on the beach, some wearing wellies and coats, one holding the hand of a small child, carrying a fishing net and a bucket for a spot of early morning rock pooling, and one family already set up behind a windbreak. Late holidaymakers with very young children, who could take holidays out of term times were Tinners Bay’s clientele now. Harry could also make out some surfers, mad enough to brave the waves. There were considerably fewer people about than when he’d last been to Tinners Bay. Then it had been August and the height of the summer holidays, and the village had been bustling from early morning until late evening.

  Harry’s nerves jangled as he entered the gallery. He was trembling, as if he’d not eaten enough food and his blood sugar levels had dipped. Without having a chance to scan the gallery for Maddy, he was approached by a young man with dark gelled hair and muscular, tattooed arms. A flash of jealousy shot through him, as he feared Maddy had a new boyfriend, but when the guy approached, clearly eyeing him up, his fears vanished.

  ‘Hi, I’m Declan, one of the artists exhibiting here, how can I help you today?’

  Yeah, he’s definitely looking me up and down! Although Harry wasn’t back to his usual level of fitness, he had worked out and got his body back into shape. He stood taller than Declan, too.

  ‘Oh, um, I’m looking for Maddy.’ Harry hated sounding so hesitant. But he was thrown, never having met this man before. Then Valerie appeared from the back of the shop, paint brushes and paints in her hand.

  ‘Harry?’ she said, her mouth gaping open. Harry froze, waiting for Valerie to say something. She looked like she was trying to find the right words, not the first words that entered her head. She nodded briefly at Declan who immediately grabbed the paints and brushes from Valerie and made himself busy. ‘Where have you been?’

  Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘It’s a long story, but I’ve not been well. I’m looking for Maddy.’

  ‘She’s not here.’ Valerie’s stony response took Harry by surprise. She had always been warm and bubbly. She’s protecting Maddy, you fool.

  ‘I’ll explain everything to her, I promise, but I need to see her in order to do that. Where is she?’

  ‘Maybe you should have explained to Maddy that you weren’t well, rather than disappearing off the face of the earth. No messages or phone calls – there’s no excuses in this day and age, my boy.’ Valerie scowled.

  That’s me told.

  ‘I wasn’t in my right mind … Look, I don’t want to talk about this here,’ Harry said hurriedly, glancing towards Declan. However much he needed to be more open, there were some people who simply didn’t need to know his business. Valerie took the hint and gestured to him to walk out the back with her.

  She flicked the switch on the kettle. ‘Do you want tea?’

  ‘Yes, go on. Thank you.’ Not sure if he had a choice, because Valerie was already pulling mugs off the mug tree, and throwing a teabag into each of them, before glaring at him, as if to say, well go on, I’m listening.

  Harry sucked in a deep breath. Then, breathing out, he told Valerie about Karin’s accident, the baby, his PTSD … everything. It would be a practice run for when he got the opportunity to talk to Maddy. Harry was grateful that Valerie didn’t interrupt him as he spoke. She just nodded and listened.

  ‘I know I should have told Maddy about it all, but it was early days in our relationship, and I was afraid of losing her. Then everything got on top of me, and I thought she was better off without me, so I ran,’ Harry said, sipping his tea, now at perfect temperature.

  Valerie placed a soothing hand on his upper arm. ‘Oh, you poor man, this does explain the odd way you just disappeared,’ she said, her expression much softer and like the old familiar Valerie now, her earlier hardness gone. ‘Doesn’t make it excusable, mind, but depression makes people behave in different ways. You should have told her, Harry.’

  ‘I know that now. Where is she? Please, Valerie, I need to see her. She’s okay isn’t she?’ Harry feared the worst – what if something had happened to her, and he’d not been here to help her, to protect her? He’d never forgive himself then.

  ‘Maddy is absolutely fine. She has been in Bristol the past couple of weeks.’

  ‘Why?’

  Valerie frowned. ‘Her mother had an accident – broke her leg – and Maddy returned to help her family. She’s staying there to give them a hand with her mother’s gallery. I’ve told her to take as long as she likes, as it’s quieter here and we can manage.’

  ‘Valerie, can you tel
l me where she’s staying. Please …? I need to see her.’

  ‘She might not have time for this, Harry.’ She remained stern.

  ‘I promise if she tells me to leave, I will. But I need to set things straight. I need to tell her how I feel about her. I can’t leave it any longer.’

  Valerie crossed her arms, grimacing.

  ‘Please, Valerie, please …’ Should he get on his knees? How did he convince her?

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll write down her parents’ address, and the name of the gallery in Clifton, but if she asks you to leave her alone, you do it, OK? Otherwise you’ll have me to deal with.’

  Valerie grabbed a bit of scrap paper and wrote a Bristol address on it. ‘Luckily for you, I know Sandra’s address off by heart. And the gallery is Hart Designs, in Clifton. But I don’t have the address.’ Valerie went to hand Harry the piece of paper, but hesitated. ‘Don’t make me regret giving you this.’

  ‘You won’t!’ Harry hugged and squeezed her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Valerie, you’re a star.’

  ‘Stop it, you’re making me blush. And remember, Maddy is like a daughter to me.’ She wagged a finger and narrowed her eyes, but her manner was more playful and a lot less cold than when he’d first entered the gallery.

  ‘Thanks for the tea, and for listening.’ Harry placed his empty mug in the sink.

  ‘Good luck.’

  Back in his pickup, catching his breath, Harry plugged in his sat nav, securing the screen to the windscreen, and programmed it with the postcode Valerie had given him. It told him he had a long journey ahead of him of over two and a half hours.

  He knew he should really do the rounds with his customers and make his apologies, but Maddy came first. Harry wouldn’t rest until he’d spoken to her.

  Chapter 34

  Maddy had been rushed off her feet since putting the phone down to Valerie that morning. Her mother ran an art class from her studio. Sandra had trained as a teacher in her day, and when she’d finally had enough of snotty kids, she’d followed her passion and her dream of owning a gallery. The class allowed adults to come along and work on pieces of their own, or Sandra would set up a still life subject, which they could draw, paint, or use any medium they liked to recreate it. Out the back of her gallery, she had a small studio equipped with easels, which comfortably accommodated ten people. Maddy thought it was a good way of generating a regular income and wondered if she could do the same in Tinners Bay during the quieter winter months.

  Broken leg or not, Sandra had insisted these classes go ahead as usual. One was on a Wednesday evening, for those who worked full-time, and there were two held during the day, one on a Tuesday afternoon and one on a Thursday morning – which was today – aimed more at retired folk or shift workers, enabling them to continue an interest, mix with like-minded fellow artists, and encourage one another with their art.

  ‘A lot of them only make time in this two-hour session a week to paint. They’d be devastated if I cancelled it, darling. I can hobble around for two hours, with your help.’

  Maddy had been in charge of setting the room up. She was getting to know some of the attendees better, and they helped with the set up if they arrived early enough. She had been obliged to bite her tongue a few times at her mother, though.

  ‘Maddison, move the terracotta pot a bit further to the right. That’s it, perfect. And that yellow vase, yes, just over a bit.’ Her mother had been lucky she hadn’t thrown it on the floor and smashed it. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and counted to three. Why couldn’t she not interfere? OK, it was her mum’s class, but as she was on crutches, Maddy had hoped Sandra would let her use her own initiative. She was an artist too, after all.

  Maddy enjoyed the silence and focus of these sessions, broken only by the occasional bit of chatter between the class members, encouraging each other, or her mother advising a student about how to improve their picture. But otherwise, all you could hear was the sound of the brushes against the paper, the application of paint. It was so quiet you could almost hear the concentration. No music played in the background. Maddy had suggested tuning the radio to a classical music station, but Sandra had said she’d once asked her students if they wanted any background music, and they all preferred silence.

  Now the class was over, her dad had collected her mum from the gallery, leaving Maddy in peace to tidy up. With no energy in her limbs and her brain in a fog, she felt emotionally and physically tired today, and it wasn’t even one o’clock. Her mother, unintentionally, was draining at the best of times, let alone with her leg in plaster. Maddy was reminded why she’d moved to Cornwall. Even though the class was over, the gallery remained open until five-thirty – closing time. She refilled the coffee pot to make a fresh brew. Another idea she’d steal off her mum. There was room in her little kitchen area back in her own gallery for a coffee machine by the kettle. Sandra liked to offer coffee to her regular customers, however today, Maddy intended to drink the whole pot by herself – she needed the caffeine. She yearned to sit in a corner and read a book, or sketch out her next idea for a painting, but no such luck. Maddy wondered how her mother even found the time to paint. The shop had been busy all day with people, passers-by calling in to peruse the art. In between customers, she took bites of the tuna sandwich her dad had made her, washing it down with coffee, hoping she wouldn’t get indigestion.

  ***

  Sitting outside Maddy’s parents’ home in his pickup, Harry wondered if he’d been in too much of a rush to get here. He was over two and a half hours from home and was woefully unprepared. He hadn’t brought anything with him. A change of clothes and a toothbrush might have been a good idea. Not that he expected to be put up by Maddy’s family, but he might not be travelling back to Cornwall today. His stomach was starting to growl with hunger. He should have picked up more than a bottle of water and a flapjack from the motorway services. He’d knocked on the door earlier, but no one was home. Harry snoozed in the front seat, the long journey having taken its toll. He could murder a cup of coffee, but like a stakeout, he didn’t want to leave his post in case he missed Maddy.

  A car pulled up outside the house, waking Harry from his nap. The silver BMW faced him so that the passenger door opened onto the pavement. The driver, a man in his sixties, helped his passenger out of the car. It had to be Maddy’s mother – she had her lower leg in plaster and was being helped up on to the crutches. Harry could see her resemblance to Maddy; she had the same blonde hair with hints of coppers and reds — although at her age it was probably coloured now, rather than natural — twisted up into some chignon. (If that’s what you called it.) Considering the cast, the woman was smartly dressed.

  Harry stepped out of his truck and came to the aid of the man, who seemed to be struggling. He assumed he was Maddy’s father.

  ‘Dennis, stop fussing, I can do it,’ the woman said, batting her husband’s hands away.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ Harry said, holding out his hand to the woman.

  He could see the woman hesitate, about to insist she didn’t need any help, but with one look at Harry she took his hand and said, ‘Oh, thank you, dear.’ The man trying to help the woman definitely rolled his eyes and mumbled something inaudible under his breath.

  Once the woman was stable on her feet, Harry let go of her.

  ‘Dennis, can you fetch my handbag, please?’ she said, and the man obliged, leaning into the passenger foot-well, retrieving the bag. He closed the door, pressed a button on his key fob and the car beeped and locked.

  ‘Well, thank you for your help,’ the woman said, and started to head up to her house on her crutches.

  ‘Um.’ Harry paused, and the two people turned and frowned at him. ‘Are you Mr and Mrs Hart?’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Mrs Hart replied, her plastered leg hovering. Harry thought he had better be quick before the poor woman got tired or lost her balance.

  ‘I’m looking for Maddy.’ Both looked at him suspiciously now, o
bviously trying to work out whether they knew him or not.

  ‘Why?’ It was Mr Hart who asked.

  Because I’m in love with her.

  ‘I’m Harry, her next door neighbour.’

  ‘Oh, God, please don’t tell me something else has happened to her house.’ Mrs Hart leaned on to her husband for support.

  ‘No, no, no, nothing’s happened to her house,’ Harry said, also moving to aid Maddy’s mother. ‘It was perfectly fine when I left this morning. No … I’m not sure how much she’s told you.’ Oh, God what had she told them? ‘But, well, we had a thing going on—’

  ‘You were romantically involved,’ Maddy’s father said, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, and then I did something so stupid.’

  ‘Like disappeared.’ Mrs Hart scowled. ‘Yes, she’s mentioned some of it, but not much. Enough, though.’

  Harry heaved a sigh, clearly Maddy’s mother disapproved of him. He’d hurt Maddy; he knew that. And lost her trust, possibly for good. ‘Yes, and I need to see her to tell her the truth.’

  ‘And to apologise, I hope.’

  ‘Sandra, let the man speak. You can see he’s having a difficult time here,’ Maddy’s father said, tapping the arm he supported with his other hand.

  ‘Yes, and to apologise. I explained to Valerie this morning, and she gave me your address. I need to see Maddy to explain everything to her. Please, Mr and Mrs Hart, if she wants nothing to do with me, I promise to leave.’

  ‘What do you think, Sandra?’ Mr Hart turned to his wife. ‘He did help Maddy after her house fire, so I don’t think he’s a completely bad egg.’

  Sandra huffed. ‘All right, but if you hurt my little girl again, you’ll pay. She’s working at my gallery, Hart Design …’ Sandra gave Harry directions and an idea of the best places to park. Clifton could be incredibly busy, she warned.