Dreams of a Little Cornish Cottage

by Nancy Barone

  Once home, we’d empty our sandals of all the sand – or mud, depending once again on the season – and rinse them and our feet out with the garden hose and then I’d help them with their showers and getting changed into clean clothes. And then they would attempt to fill Neil in on the goings-on in the village. He’d listen for a few minutes and then his eyes would begin to glaze over and he’d finally give up on the book he was reading, only to try his luck by turning on the TV, louder and louder, to drown their voices out.

  Shaking my head, I’d call the girls back in and explain that Uncle Neil was tired.

  ‘From what, reading the papers all day?’ Amy would scoff.

  How did one answer such a direct question? As it turned out, I later found out that he was indeed tired, and rightfully so, but less from reading the paper than rolling around on the ancestral settee in his study with his floozy; I mean, his secretary. Could he have been more clichéd? And could I have been any more blind? It was a good thing that I had put it all behind me with a certain sense of relief, rather than wallowing in self-pity. Life wasn’t long enough for that.

  And then they’d help me prepare supper and one of them would bring Neil’s out to the snug on a tray as he preferred to not interrupt his vision of all of the day’s games and scores. It suited us fine, as we’d munch on our food and talk about all the things we’d done and all the friends we’d met during the day, making plans for the next Sunday.

  Considering that now Neil and his acidic indifference were gone, I could only say that things had changed for the better.

  *

  The next morning Connor was planting some flowers in the garden as the girls mucked around in the dirt with him. They seemed to migrate to him whenever he was around.

  Between you and me, after the divorce, when I had trouble falling asleep, I always had the habit of forcing myself to think of something nice. And now I didn’t need to force myself; nowadays, the moment I closed my eyes, Connor’s smile would appear in my mind’s eye.

  And in the morning, I couldn’t wait to see his smile. Just like now.

  ‘You ready to help, so?’ he called out to me.

  ‘Me?’ I called back, shooting to my feet. The garden was long, but I was down there in a heartbeat.

  ‘You,’ he said with a grin. ‘All you do is work. Take a screen break, tell me where you want these violets.’

  I looked at them, and then back at him. How the hell would I know? ‘Uhm…?’

  He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Are you sure you’re not a city girl?’

  ‘I’m as Cornish as they come, only I don’t have a green thumb.’

  He looked at the girls. ‘Did you hear your Auntie Nat? She rhymes! She really is a writer.’ And with that, he bent to poke a hole into the earth big enough for his violets.

  I shrugged. ‘A writer without words, at the moment.’

  He looked up, rubbing his hands to get rid of the dirt. ‘Yeah? Writer’s block?’

  ‘I guess so. I need inspiration.’

  ‘Then you need to do something new.’

  Like him, a little red voice said inside me. You need to do him. If only he showed any interest!

  Oh, be quiet, said the little pink voice on my other side. She’s a lady, not a—

  ‘Something new? Like, uhm, what?’ I ventured.

  Connor watched as the girls pressed the soil down at the bottom of the garden as he’d instructed them. Then he turned to look at me, his dark eyes twinkling.

  ‘Something you thought you’d never have the courage to do.’

  Ohgodohgod. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought he was flirting with me. He’d had more than one chance to, so far. But so far, no good. Maybe he was a late bloomer?

  In any case, I sincerely liked being around him, so it was time to stop worrying about the lack of a looming romance – which was never going to happen between us – and just enjoy the present. I absolutely understood the girls’ interest in him. But I would have to have a word with them about giving our lodger his space.

  ‘We could find something to do all together,’ Connor said. ‘Like surfing. Do you surf?’

  ‘You must be joking,’ I said. ‘I can barely swim.’

  He stood up. ‘What kind of a Cornish girl are you?’

  ‘A very lazy one.’

  ‘So it’s decided. I’ll teach you and the girls to surf.’

  The mere idea of standing in front of him in a swimsuit, or worse, a wetsuit, made me cringe. ‘Uhm, I’m okay with the girls learning, but we’ll just have to see about me,’ I answered as heat crept up my neck. Even the thought of him in a wetsuit was more than I could take. I needed my emotions with a pinch of distance.

  He laughed. ‘Okay, no pressure, so!’

  No pressure? All I could think of lately was him. When I got back inside, I moved my desk so I could keep an eye on them and make sure they weren’t pestering him (and, yes, okay, also to keep an eye on him as well), and sat down to write my article.

  But it was no use. I simply couldn’t concentrate, what with my career in danger and a half-packed-up house around me. There were a million things on my mind and when I got like this it was pointless trying to plough through the writing when I’d only be killing what little enthusiasm I had. Better to spend my time by actually being productive and getting my errands done. I stood up, debating on whether to bother him by involving him in the insignificant minutiae of my household. In the end, courtesy, and the will to get to know him better, took over.

  ‘Connor?’ I called softly through the French doors, leaning against the door jamb. ‘I need to pop out and get some cartridges and some more bubble wrap. Do you need anything?’ I offered.

  He looked up and smiled. ‘I’m all right, thanks, Nat.’

  ‘Okay. Zoe? Amy? Put your shoes on, we’re going into the village.’

  ‘Awh, Auntie Nat – we’re having fun!’ Amy called back, as for once Zoe nodded her agreement. ‘Can’t we stay with Connor?’

  ‘No, my pet, you can’t. Connor is busy and doesn’t have time to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘You can leave the girls with me if you want. I’m not going anywhere,’ he offered.

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘It’s fine, Nat,’ he said and the twins looked at me expectantly.

  I debated. I had never left the girls with anyone, let alone someone I’d just met. Granted, I had all of his details and all. He wasn’t actually a stranger per se. But maybe I should leave my trip until later. Sarah was home too, though, so I wasn’t leaving them solely in his care.

  Connor dusted his hands off and came to stand opposite me, followed by the girls who gravitated around him like metal shavings to a lodestone. In her haste to reach him, Amy almost tripped but Connor’s hand instinctively shot to his side to steady her. Did this man have eyes at the back of his head?

  ‘Go,’ he said. ‘The girls will be helping me here. Won’t you, worker bees?’

  Well, they’d certainly be safe, that was for sure.

  ‘Yes!’ the girls agreed, Amy, who never liked to be told what to do, agreeing even louder than Zoe. Hm. His influence on her could be a breakthrough out of her fractious ways.

  I bit my lip. ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be imposing? They can be a handful,’ I warned him.

  He grinned and turned towards my nieces again. ‘Girls? Can you promise Auntie Nat that you won’t tear the house apart while she pops into the village?’

  ‘Promise!’ Amy hollered as she came to a halt right in front of me, giving me a military salute.

  I swallowed. ‘Well, okay then. Thank you, Connor. I owe you one.’

  ‘No problem, Nat. We’ll be here when you get back,’ he said softly, almost as if only for my benefit. Then he smacked his hands together loudly. ‘Now who wants to help me dig up this old woody bush and plant new ones?’

  ‘I do!’ the girls chimed in unison and he gri
nned up at me as his curls tumbled over his eyes and he flicked them back with a toss of his head. ‘See? Piece of cake, I tell you. Now go.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, then. Thank you.’

  And after that, things were never the same again.

  4

  Mummy Dear

  While I was down in Wyllow Cove, I bumped into my mother’s neighbour, Mrs Locke, the village busybody and quite frankly, a nasty piece of work. It was no wonder she and my mother got on like a house on fire. Not having any choice but to stop as she’d already spotted me, I paused for what to the poor untrained sod would seem like small talk. Because I knew that, as soon as I turned and went my way, she’d dash back to my mother’s to tell her how I was literally fifty yards away from her home but had chosen all the same to not pop in.

  And now you’ll think I’m a bad daughter. But if you had lived with my mother Beryl for the best part of twenty years and managed to grow up into a happy adult despite her, you’d get me completely.

  I had had absolutely no attention whatsoever while living in that house. Nothing I ever did was good enough to mention – not my good grades, not my extra-curricular achievements – nothing. And you’d think that being the eldest of two, I’d at least be considered for that much. But from the day Yolanda was born, me being only two, I had literally faded into the background among the geometric patterns of the old Fifties wallpaper of our home.

  ‘Droppin’ in on yer poor mum, I expect,’ she told rather than said to me.

  ‘Uhm yes, of course,’ I managed. ‘I’ve got some errands to run first, but I’ll be popping round later.’

  She glared at me as if I’d said I would rather die than see her and stalked off.

  I sighed and paid for my cyan and black cartridges and picked up some cinnamon buns – Mum’s favourite – at The Rising Bun.

  Mum’s cottage, once our family home and where she now lived alone, was a small, three-bed terraced house right on the harbour front, but towards the end, so she was in the midst of it, but had her privacy. There was a bijoux front garden and a good-sized back garden. For years I’d tried to get Mum to renovate; not to bring the old fisherman’s cottage into the twenty-first century, but at least to let it not fall apart in the next few years, but she was adamant. The Artex ceiling was staying, along with the single glazing and the Economy Seven electric heater. Which brings me to the huge bubble of water hanging from the ceiling right over the settee, caused by a leak in the upstairs bathroom that she refused to fix.

  ‘Mum,’ I’d said to her countless times. ‘You have to get rid of that. Your beams are going to rot and the entire roof will collapse in time if you don’t.’

  To which she’d reply: ‘Your father was the only man had ever touched this house – and me, for that matter. So when it goes, I go. Together we stand, together we fall.’

  After various attempts, I’d got Yolanda to lure her out of the house for a few hours and had a competent builder sort it out. But when Mum got back home, did she even notice it? No. Mum only noticed the negatives.

  As I rang the doorbell and let myself in as usual, it turned out that Mrs Locke had actually beaten me to it, and was now glaring at me again like I’d just punched her in the face. Not that I wouldn’t want to, nosy old cow. All my life she’d looked down on me like I was dirt, and God only knew what lies Mum had told her about me, or worse, about how wonderful Yolanda was.

  And that was when I noticed the crutch against her armchair. ‘Mum! What happened to your leg?’

  She looked at me, then shrugged. ‘It’s me ankle. Sprained it.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you call me?’ I asked, rounding to take a better look, but there was a bandage on it.

  ‘What for? What could you have done?’

  ‘I could’ve taken you to the hospital for starters!’ I said. ‘Are you sure it’s not broken?’

  ‘Of course it’s not broken. I’d be howling in pain if it was, wouldn’t I? Now stop fussing over me.’

  ‘But does it hurt? Have you taken a painkiller?’

  ‘Just a moment ago,’ she answered, rolling her eyes at Mrs Locke, as if I was the intruder. Go figure.

  Mrs Locke’s eyes were now sizzling with delight at the sign of some more potential domestic tension. Was it me or was this not pure ostracism at its best? You’d think that a mother would always side with her family. And you’d usually be right. Only in my mum’s case, you’d be wrong.

  I stared Mrs Locke down, and then turned back to my mum. ‘How are you going to get upstairs to go to bed then?’

  She looked at me, then looked away. ‘I was planning to sleep on the settee.’

  ‘What? That’s crazy, Mum.’ I headed for the stairs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she called after me.

  ‘I’m packing you a bag.’

  ‘A bag? What for?’

  ‘So you can come and stay with me, of course.’

  ‘I don’t need to come and stay with you, Natalia. I’m perfectly fine on my own here.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Mum,’ I argued from the top of the stairs. ‘You can’t hobble around the house on one foot – and the neighbours have their own lives and business to tend to. Don’t you, Mrs Locke?’

  ‘Well, I could pop in a couple of times a day,’ she said sourly.

  ‘Nonsense, you have your TV programmes. I’ll take care of my mother, thank you very much.’

  But on the way back to my place it was all Why didn’t you leave me there and I can manage on my own and I don’t want to be a burden.

  Oh, if I’d only known then what I knew now.

  *

  ‘Connor?’ I called as we got in.

  ‘I thought your cat’s name was Missy,’ Mum said.

  Connor was in the orangery juggling at least five oranges while the girls shrieked in delight. I paused, waiting as my mum stopped to catch her breath and I couldn’t help but smile at this picture of serenity.

  ‘So this is what’s been keeping you busy,’ she observed coolly.

  ‘I bet you can’t do six!’ Amy challenged as he continued.

  ‘I bet you I can!’ he countered.

  ‘Okay, then, what do we win if you can’t?’

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked as the oranges continued to whir around his head and he made funny faces.

  ‘Ice cream!’ Amy negotiated. ‘If you drop the oranges, you take us out for ice cream!’

  ‘Deal!’ he agreed, turning to acknowledge our presence and wink at me. It was just a tiny muscle twitch, but it instantly made me warm and fuzzy all over. What was happening to me?

  He suddenly dropped all the oranges, one by one.

  ‘Haaaa!’ the twins cried. ‘Ice cream it is!’

  ‘All right, all right, you little pixies, pipe down, now,’ he said as he bolted over to us at the sight of my mother on crutches. ‘Hey, let me help.’

  ‘Thanks, Connor, thank you so much. This is my mum, Beryl. She’s sprained her ankle and will be staying with us for the next few days.’

  Mum removed her glasses and looked him up and down. ‘Very dishy.’

  ‘Mum!’ I hissed, but Connor smiled and held out his hand. His voice was respectful but warm at the same time. How did he do that? ‘Pleasure to meet you, Mrs—’

  ‘Beryl. Call me Beryl. I’m not that old.’

  Connor grinned. ‘Okay, Beryl.’

  ‘And besides – the pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure,’ she murmured, and I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Because Mum didn’t do warmth. Nor did she ever laugh. Come to think of it, I couldn’t even recall the last time I saw her smile since Dad’s death.

  ‘Right. Mum,’ I said, taking charge. ‘I’m going to move you into my study so you won’t have to climb the stairs. There’s a really comfy bed in there and you can see all the way down to the sea.’

  She looked at Connor and gestured towards me. ‘She doesn’t understand the word no, this one. Fine, Nat. I’ll stay. Just for a few days and t
o shut you up.’

  Connor grinned. ‘My good old Irish luck, so,’ he said. ‘We’ll have great fun together, you’ll see, Beryl.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to,’ she threatened him.

  A little later, as I was transferring a few writing supplies from the study to the orangery off the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Connor offered as he was coming down the stairs. After a moment of silence, he poked his head into the orangery. ‘I think it’s your GP?’

  Neil? Oh my God in heaven. Just how had he found out about Mum? Ah. Mrs Locke must have blabbed.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Neil said as he came in, spotting all the boxes and bubble wrap.

  ‘Hello, Neil. This is Connor, my new lodger. Connor, you’ve met my ex-husband Neil.’

  ‘Hi,’ he said politely, extending a hand that Neil took rather reluctantly, turning to me for further explanation. Not that I owed him any.

  Connor caught the drift and with a light cough, excused himself from the room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Neil demanded in a hiss.

  ‘Packing up the rest of your stuff. Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Besides that – what the hell is going on? Why is there a strange man living in our home?’

  ‘My home, Neil. And all this,’ I said, waving a hand over what could only be considered the tiniest portion of the entire collection of the Tamblynn-Lobb family heirlooms, ‘is your stuff. I’m saving a couple of things each for the girls, but you can take the rest.’

  ‘But I haven’t got anywhere to put all this stuff!’ he said, panicking. ‘My flat is tiny…’

  I shrugged. ‘So? I certainly don’t want it. Put it into storage.’

  ‘Storage? With all the room you have here, you want me to put our forebears’ stuff into storage?’

  ‘Forebears? Please. It’s just your grandparents’ old tat.’

  ‘Natalia, why are you doing this to me?’