This Is Your Life

by Susie Martyn

  ‘It has potential.’ Lizzie tried her best to sound positive but her heart was in her boots. ‘But boys, do you have any idea how long this will take? There’s weeks of work here… Or what it’s likely to cost?’

  ‘Darling,’ said Angel. ‘We so want you to do this. We just know, both of us,’ he caught Darius’s eye, ‘that you are just perfect for us. We completely trust you...’

  Lizzie suddenly realised as she looked around the garden, just what she could do with this. How much she would love to be the one to tame it into shape. She looked at the faces gazing back at her.

  ‘Putty in your hands,’ added Darius with a sideway glance at Angel. ‘Just name your price, flower…’

  Cornwall would still be there and it would beat hanging around the Star. Feeling a flutter of excitement, Lizzie gave up fighting the inevitable.

  ‘Ok.’

  Back inside, Angel brought out a tray of coffee and fondant fancies in garish colours, which he presented to Lizzie with a flourish.

  ‘I’m experimenting, sweetie! Absolutely nothing artificial! You must tell me what you think of them! Be honest now…’

  Delicately flavoured with almond and elderflower, they were sublime and as they ate, the three of them hatched a plan. As the boys wanted to entertain outside, the focus was to be a paved dining area under an enormous cotton awning, and there were already piles of flagstones dotted about which the boys had sourced from a salvage yard. Business was clearly booming and money, Lizzie was discovering, simply wasn’t an object. The focus was to be a massive table which they proudly showed her, which they’d snapped up at some sale. They also had grand plans for an elaborate system of raised beds.

  ‘Angel simply has to grow his own veggies, darling…’

  ‘And it just must be organic…’

  ‘And we’ll make our own compost, you see…oh, and what sort of worms should we order, flower…Dendroebaena or Tiger worms?’

  ‘B-both?’ Lizzie didn’t have a clue.

  The whole place cried out for colour against the stone and dark timbers of the barn. She’d divide up the garden and plant flowers in every corner, and against the old walls which were just made for some roses to tumble over them. So much for a couple of days - there was weeks of work here if Lizzie wanted it.

  ‘Contemporary cottage garden!’ announced Darius flamboyantly. Then anxiously, ‘oh goodness flower, would that work?’

  ‘I think it would be perfect,’ said Lizzie, getting into the swing, imagining spiky phormiums and grasses with splashes of zingy orange and acid green.

  ‘And when you’ve finished, we’ll throw a Lizzie party to celebrate!’ he beamed. Seeing her look of alarm he patted her hand, adding, ‘don’t worry, flower! It’s just a little thing we do! We had a Harry party for the architect… Huge fun it was – all those Harry Potters and Harry Hills! Ooh, do you remember Dirty Harry, Angel? Sex on legs,’ he whispered girlishly to Lizzie.

  ‘Oh, we simply love parties, darling. We’ll just have to have one,’ gushed Angel. ‘And we just thought that in the summer, what better place?’ He stood there proudly, surveying the bedlam.

  Chapter 8

  Caving in to the invisible forces at work, Lizzie arranged to view the empty cottage. Just out of curiosity. There was no harm in looking, was there? She’d quizzed Antonia about it that evening, as they shared yet another bottle of wine.

  ‘Good God Lizzie. You’re full of surprises! You can help at the horse show if you’re staying – I need another pair of hands. With all those super competitive mothers and their ghastly brats, it’ll be chaos… Talking of which, William had his sheep out earlier. Bloody brilliant it was! When he eventually got the last one into the field and shut the gate, you should have heard those drivers! William stood there glaring at them and didn’t say a single rude word, which was bloody astonishing for him. Think he rather enjoyed himself. Next lots due to move at 8am precisely! Awfully good sport, don’t you think?’

  And at 8am the next morning all hell was indeed let loose, as it wasn’t only William who dutifully moved his flock three hundred yards back up the lane to the field they’d come from the previous evening, but at the other end of the village, his wristwatch perfectly synchronised, Mr Woodleigh’s cows meandered unhurriedly in the opposite direction. Clearly this morning the traffic had built up both ways, with furious drivers yelling and hooting and it just so happened to culminate in the mother of all pile ups outside the Star.

  Lizzie hid in her room and watched with amusement as the Hooray Henry’s and Yummy Mummy’s waved fists and yelled in plummy voices about this being an absolute bloody disgrace before accelerating sharply up the lane and splattering their immaculate vehicles with cow pats. Ten minutes later all was quiet again, and Lizzie walked up the road to look at the cottage.

  Like most cottages in the village, Rose Cottage was part of the Littleton estate, but had been empty for quite a while, so old Bert, the estate manager told her when he showed her round. Bin in the Woodleigh family for generations, or so he told Lizzie.

  ‘You prob’ly seen him earlier out with them cows. Nice family,’ he said. ‘But all them houses are the same. A bit basic, like. Not to everyone’s liking.’ He’d chuckled. ‘But bit of a clean up and a lick of paint, it’ll look alright’

  There was a whiff of damp as Lizzie stepped into the kitchen. She wanted to throw open the windows and let the sunshine in so this poor, neglected little house could breathe. Then wash down the woodwork down and paint its walls… turn it into a home again.

  ‘Still, it keeps the rents down,’ he added. ‘You want it, you can move in whenever you like. Think you’d be right at home.’

  ‘Don’t you want references? Credit checks?’ she asked. ‘What do you need?’

  The old man shrugged. ‘Always gone on gut feeling meself. Never worked against me in the past. No, don’t you worry about that Miss, you’ll be fine.’

  All her objections were floating away. As she walked through the small rooms, the thick walls felt as inpenetrable as the towering oaks outside. And as the cottage drew her gently to its heart, it propelled up the stairs, waiting with bated breath for her to discover the view that lay in store. As she gazed at the fields that stretched for miles, an image of a beach flashed into her head.

  ‘Can I just think about it? Only for a day or two, but it’s just, well, I want to be sure…’

  He chuckled. ‘You take your time. I won’t let anyone else round till I hear from you, you have my word on that. You know, I’ve a feeling it would be right perfect for you...’

  Unbelievably it really was that simple. If she decided she did want it, he added, all he needed was a small deposit and a month’s rent in advance, which astounded Lizzie, who remembered in the past supplying lists of references, embarrassing bank statements and a deposit worthy of a small mortgage itself, all for some soulless flat in deepest suburbia.

  Undeterred by the strong aroma which remained in the air from the moving of Mr Woodleigh’s cows, the quiet and space had crept up on Lizzie. The garden too, another neglected tangle, but hers to do what she wanted with...

  A wave of sorrow engulfed her. Her mother would have loved this place… A single tear escaped and rolled unnoticed down her cheek. She’d have donned her gardening gloves and pitched right in there beside Lizzie and for a moment she imagined the familiar voice beside her.

  ‘Lizzie, isn’t it just lovely? It would be perfect for you…Quite extraordinary how you came across it wasn’t it? Perhaps it’s meant to be…’

  Startled, Lizzie looked around. She could have sworn her mother was standing next to her. Would have put money on it, even.

  And the very next morning, just an hour after she signed the lease in the estate office, the most surprising thing yet happened when she had a call from Mick, who had come up with the jeep earlier than expected. It was clean as a whistle like he’d said, and a very pretty turquoise colour. How Jamie would detest it, Lizzie found herself thinking, which is
probably what clinched the deal.

  Chapter 9

  The early days in her new home passed in a blur, as having hastily acquired some gardening tools of her own, Lizzie continued to work on Darius and Angel’s garden. After months of a desk-bound existence, the work was both backbreaking and tiring, but in the evenings she was spurred on by an urge to feather her nest.

  The cottage needed a good clean from top to bottom just as Bert had said and first she’d washed the worn brick floors, memorising their random patterns before moving upstairs to scrub the wide oak boards in the bedrooms. That done, she was ready to begin with the painting.

  Antonia had helped her move in, somewhat horrified.

  ‘God, Lizzie, you’ve hardly a damn thing in here…’

  Shocked, she’d disappeared and returned with a mattress and some bedding, as well as a kettle and teabags. And having most happily departed from the Star, it was heaven, Lizzie decided, to be lying in her own bedroom, gazing out of bare windows at starlit skies, while dim silvery moonlight filled her room.

  Impatient to check out her new home, Darius and Angel too had been over complete with a cast-off sofa which was far superior to anything Lizzie would have chosen. Angel had tutted at the state of her kitchen and stared in abject horror at the old Rayburn.

  ‘It’s archaic, flower,’ he told her firmly. ‘From the Dark Ages. Promise you won’t cook on that thing - you’ll probably die from some horrible disease …’ before absolutely insisting that they buy her a cooker as a house-warming present. Her objections – Lizzie had rather fancied giving the solid old rayburn a whirl - fell on deaf ears.

  Tim too had stuck his head in, between clients, suggesting that she and Katie should come for dinner, next time Katie was staying. Noting with interest a slight flush as he mentioned her, as soon as he’d gone Lizzie texted her friend to tell her.

  Vet in my kitchen wants you in his kitchen x

  Through it all, her mother’s letter was never far from sight. Every so often Lizzie re-read it to remind herself. Already life was taking shape in ways she could never have imagined, with doors opening all around her, so that all she had to do was take a small step through the right one. Like the one into Rose Cottage, for instance. In every respect it was perfect for her – and all she’d done was meet Bert up here that first morning, and now, here she was. In the safe haven, the port in a storm, she’d always craved, where she could batten down the hatches and shut herself away from the world. Except she didn’t want to shut this new, friendly world out.

  Antonia appeared frequently, usually early in the evening clutching a bottle of something which they’d start on before going to the pub. As well as the mattress, she’d lent Lizzie some ancient garden furniture – a table that wobbled no matter where you stood it and three equally dilapidated chairs of various shapes and sizes.

  ‘You’re welcome to them darling,’ Antonia had said. ‘Was only going to turn them into firewood. Don’t let any fat people sit on them whatever you do… ’

  But the chairs were more than up to holding Lizzie and Antonia, neither of whom were very big and they’d sit outside in the evenings, ever warmer as June passed, putting the world to rights.

  ‘This malarkey with the sheep doesn’t seem to be working,’ said Antonia distractedly, as she poured some wine. It was homemade elderflower that she’d found in a cupboard in her kitchen. ‘And Lord only knows what else we can do…’

  ‘I’m sure it’s got a bit quieter,’ said Lizzie. ‘Erm, why don’t you have a chin-wag with William about it?’

  ‘Tried that, darling… actually it was rather odd. He went awfully pink and didn’t say much at all. Not like him…’

  ‘Methinks our William has a crush,’ said Lizzie wickedly. ‘He’s probably harbouring some secret fantasy about al fresco sex in one of your stables… After all, you’re the only woman who can hold their own when it comes to talking about sheep and land rovers. You’re perfect for him!’

  ‘Bollocks, darling!’ Looking surprisingly flustered for Antonia, she swiftly changed the subject. ‘You know you really ought to go to Rumbleford. It’s full of shops you’d probably love – you know, those so called antique shops that are full of junk. Think there’s a Saturday market too… No offence, just you’re not exactly an Ikea sort of girl, are you darling?’

  Lizzie didn’t imagine Antonia was either, but then she didn’t have any priceless antiques like Antonia did, and Lizzie wasn’t proud – junk shops sounded just fine. And she’d indulge in some window shopping in Darius and Angel’s emporium, if they were open.

  ‘I’d come with you,’ Antonia continued. ‘But Hamish is having his physio… poor little darling jarred his fetlock.’

  Occasionally an idle thought popped into Lizzie’s head. What if she’d married Jamie... She shivered as she imagined herself, a manicured, over-styled corporate wife-types, hardly able to breathe without permission. They’d be on that honeymoon by now indulging Jamie’s fascination for all things cultural, staying in a cheap and cheerful hotel in Edinburgh. Where was the romance? The excitement? When there was a whole big world out there… Lizzie had suggested a tiny island in the Caribbean, imagining a deserted beach at the ocean’s edge and sipping cocktails with her hair in braids. Or going on safari, eating round a camp fire to the haunting sounds of bongo drums. Hardly surprisingly Jamie had dismissed both. We’re just not those sort of people, Eliza…was what he’d said.

  That weekend Lizzie followed Antonia’s advice and did indeed venture into Rumbleford. Belying its name, the Rumble trickled benignly through the town centre under the single arch of an old stone bridge, before meandering away into the distance. On either side, cobbled streets held a captivating array of little shops and cafés which Lizzie couldn’t wait to explore.

  She found the junk shops straight away. Antonia had been right and they were exactly Lizzie’s thing. Almost immediately she spotted a large pair of old lanterns, perfect for her cottage. Next came a painted metal wall clock and a battered coffee table, followed by an old milk jug and piles of old flowerpots for her garden. Colour – everywhere! Nothing beige ever, she thought with satisfaction, paying without batting an eyelid.

  After the first shop, she made for the next and so on, completely absorbed and oblivious to the hours ticking by. She found some woven throws in vivid blues and greens, and a gorgeous vase of dark green glass, which she couldn’t bring herself to leave behind. It instantly brought to mind one of Jamie’s pompous little asides - accent colours are so passé Eliza… Defiantly she bought the lot.

  After traipsing to and fro depositing her various acquisitions in her car, across the river something else caught her eye, irresistibly drawing her like a magnet. Above a dazzling window display, ‘Sparkie’s’ was spelled out in artfully crooked pink letters which even at a distance seemed to catch the sun and twinkle right back at her. Only narrowly missing a passing car, Lizzie crossed the road towards it.

  ‘Oh…’ she exclaimed out loud, as she stepped through the door.

  The walls inside glowed a soft gold and as she looked around her eyes took in the words stencilled intricately on them – ‘the earth has music for those who listen’…

  This shop could have been put together with Lizzie alone in mind. It wasn’t just the colours, the designs, the mix of vintage and new, it was the ambience, the décor, the hint of something in the air – like cinnamon or bergamot, guessed Lizzie, only more exotic.

  Floral prints hung alongside bold Pucci-esque tunics and maxi skirts that looked as though they came from the sixties. Denim in every shade imaginable… Her eyes alighted on a rail of Bohemian style dresses and faded flared jeans. Clothes she’d loved in the days before Jamie and the suits - it was years since she’d even looked at such things.

  Long having forgotten how the right clothes can make you feel, Lizzie perused everything with delight, touching with delight the soft, sheer fabrics, running her fingers through silken scarves, pulling things out and holding them aga
inst her - completely losing track of time, until ages later the salesgirls were starting to look concerned. Eventually one of them came over.

  ‘We wondered if you’d maybe like some help!’ she said in a gentle sing-song voice. She wore a glittery name badge with ‘Nola’ painted on it, and was clearly dressed in their own clothes from the shop. Her long hair was streaked with green which matched the striking eyes that looked anxiously into Lizzie’s. ‘Only Julia and I, we were getting a little worried about you. Weren’t we Julia?’ she called over, her eyes not leaving Lizzie.

  ‘Oh! I’m so sorry,’ Lizzie blushed to the tips of her ears, then looked at her watch. ‘That can’t be the time! Have I really been here that long? Only these are the loveliest clothes I’ve seen in years. It’s all just so….just lovely…’ she added lamely. ‘Sorry, I better go…’

  Nola and Julia looked at Lizzie quizzically.

  ‘You’ve been in here about two hours…’said Julia, just as gently, ‘hasn’t she Nola? And really, it doesn’t matter at all! We were just a bit worried about you! Are you sure you’re ok? We were just about to have some herbal tea – would you like some?’

  This time Lizzie flushed beetroot. And then realised she’d had nothing to drink all day, and that herbal tea was really quite appealing.

  ‘Thank you! And well, maybe you could help me…’ she started hesitantly. ‘I can’t seem to decide. I used to love wearing clothes like this, only it was ages ago! I’ve been living in suits for years…’

  The girls looked at each other, then led Lizzie over to a sofa she hadn’t seen until now.

  ‘Why don’t you sit here? Your feet must be aching horribly,’ they said sympathetically, which they had been for ages. Then having brought her some chamomile tea, their favourite, they told Lizzie, because it was very relaxing, they quizzed her.