The Perfectly Imperfect Woman

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Look for trees that are narrower in the trunk. They’ll be younger,’ Griff suggested.

  ‘This is a thin one,’ Zoe called. ‘In fact, there’s a few over here.’

  ‘It’s as good a place to start as any,’ said Herv, striding towards her in his monster-sized wellies.

  Dr and Mrs Court arrived with a bag full of small bottles of pop. Then Ruby and Kay arrived with a spade and a fork and joined in. No one expected Una Price to turn up, but she did. Last, of course, and she hadn’t brought any tools with her, and she stood watching with Griff, arms folded, but she was there. Only Titus was significant by his absence.

  The more they dug down, the more water-clogged the mud became and collapsed immediately back onto itself. Some made more impact on the ground than others, none more than Herv. He dug like a machine, and in second place was the string-thin Johnny who had a deceptive amount of strength, and plenty of youth on his side.

  ‘You be careful with your back, Derek Price,’ Una yelled at him.

  Derek looked pleasurably shocked by her concern. ‘I will, Una. I will.’

  ‘Don’t overdo it, Dr Court,’ Marnie warned him, as he stretched an ache out of his shoulders.

  ‘I won’t, but I don’t want to miss the find,’ he beamed.

  Ruby squealed as she hit something solid, but disappointingly it turned out to be only a large rock.

  ‘I’ve got to have a sit down for a bit,’ said Una, waddling over to the fallen tree that Emelie had rested on, when she and Marnie went picking strawberries. She was steps away from it when she disappeared into the ground with a screech that owls everywhere would have envied. It was as if a trapdoor had opened beneath her.

  Those who could rushed over. Lionel was nearest.

  ‘Una, are you all right?’ The hole was at least four foot deep.

  ‘My bloody ankle,’ she winced.

  ‘Take our hands, Una, we’ll pull you up,’ said Herv. He and Lionel carefully hoisted her out.

  ‘Chuffing sinkhole,’ she said, putting her bare foot down on the mud. ‘And I’ve lost my shoe.’

  ‘It’s a well,’ shrieked Johnny, staring into the hole that Una had so recently vacated. ‘It’s a round well.’

  ‘Oh my lord,’ said Lionel. ‘Here, dig here.’

  Una hopped to the tree trunk and sat down to rub her ankle. With renewed vigour, the diggers plunged their spades and forks into the ground around the newly found hole, loosening the stones where they could. Herv reached down, tearing up huge rocks that had been placed there to press down the soil. There was a feeling of great excitement thrumming through the air now, like an engine of anticipation building up steam because this had to be the well – Margaret’s well. Herv scooped out more rocks, Lionel and Johnny threw down their spades and followed his lead.

  ‘There’s something else here,’ said Herv. ‘It feels like metal, not rock.’ It was lodged under more stones and he was having difficulty getting a purchase on it. Then his fingers managed to grip it and he gave one almighty heave. He handed it to Lionel who took it from him reverently and turned it around in his hands, wiping the mud off it with his jumper sleeve.

  ‘What is it, Vicar? Treasure?’ Johnny’s eyes were wide with fascination.

  ‘A chalice,’ replied Lionel.

  ‘There’s more,’ said Herv, tugging hard and then handing over a tarnished metal cross.

  ‘Oh my,’ gasped Lionel. ‘Church artefacts. If they’ve been down there as long as Margaret, these must be things stolen from churches and monasteries when they were destroyed in Henry the Eighth’s rule. We’ll have to declare it to the authorities of course.’

  ‘Will we buggery,’ said Griff. ‘It’s on our land so it’s ours.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Kay.

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s on Marnie’s land,’ said Derek, and all eyes turned to her. She felt herself colouring under the splatters of mud which had taken over most of her face.

  ‘I’ll have to check,’ she said. Not the answer some of them wanted, but she would do things properly, they knew.

  ‘They’re here.’

  Attention shifted to Herv who had found something else in the well. Something far more valuable to the village. A human skull.

  *

  They had to leave the digging there, once there was evidence of a body. Ancient or not, Marnie knew they’d have to phone the police, because she’d found it out from the internet in case it ever happened. If they decided these were ‘bones of antiquity’ then it would be a matter for the county archaeologist. ‘If that turns out to be a sheep, I’ll bleeding murder someone,’ said David, looking down into the hole at the partly unearthed skull.

  ‘If that turns out to be a sheep, it’ll have had the funniest shape head on an animal you’ll have ever seen,’ replied Roger.

  It wasn’t a sheep, it was definitely human: it was poor Margaret, they were sure of it.

  ‘Can we all say a little prayer,’ said Lionel.

  Everyone bowed their heads.

  ‘Dear Lord, thank you for leading us to find Margaret and her child. May she be buried amongst us soon, properly, where she belongs, and at peace. Amen.’

  ‘It was me that found her, not God,’ Una argued, under her breath but still loud enough for everyone to hear.

  ‘Ah, but who led you over there,’ said Roger, with a twinkle in his eye.

  Una huffed. ‘I’m changing religions if my God wants to shove me down a well.’

  Lionel offered her his arm. ‘Dear lady, you are the hero of the hour.’

  Una beamed as a ripple of applause offset the ache in her ankle.

  ‘I think celebrations might be in order,’ said David. ‘Anyone fancy a pint? Your wellies are most welcome. Oh, the joy of easily moppable rustic stone floors.’

  No one needed to answer in words. Their smiles said it all. If ever they deserved a pint, it was now.

  *

  The whole of the village of Wychwell – bar Titus – trooped down to the Wych Arms. Una hobbled theatrically, but no one minded her being a drama queen on this occasion. If she hadn’t been Una, lazy and very heavy, the ground might not have caved in. Marnie wondered how many times tiny Emelie had crossed over the exact spot where the well lay underneath her feet.

  David brought out the carrot wine, Lionel went across to the vicarage to fetch his beetroot, determined not to be outdone. Never had the pub been as full, never had the roof threatened to blow off with the amount of camaraderie stuffed inside its walls. Those who had been slightly worried about how to speak to Marnie now she owned the village, found that a little wine helped ease down any barriers. Una even wished her every success and Marnie thanked her for finding what had foxed so many for so long. Marnie looked over at one point and saw her talking to her estranged husband, although by that time she was plastered and Derek was eager to be off.

  The only two people who didn’t speak were Marnie and Herv. But his eyes flicked to her often, and hers to him. At one point he smiled at her and she smiled back, but neither crossed over to the other. She secretly studied him talking to Kay and a very tipsy Ruby and thought how gorgeous he was. Strong, lovely, kind . . . he was absolutely perfect. And she was about as opposite to that as could be. Kay went off to the toilet, strategically Marnie suspected, leaving her daughter with that hunk of Viking and Marnie thought that maybe they’d make a good match after all. Ruby was pretty and bubbly and would probably be really nice away from her mother and she’d love him, oh boy she’d smother him with affection . . . and she was blonde so she was on to a winner with him because he obviously liked those. And, more importantly, she didn’t have a lot of past hanging around her neck like a scabby albatross.

  When she saw him crook his arm and Ruby take it, she wondered if he’d eventually realised how uncomplicated and easy a relationship he’d have with her, after the brush with evil that she’d given him. She wished them well and tried not to watch them walk out of the door, though her eyes were so cloude
d that even if she had turned her head, she wouldn’t have seen them anyway.

  Herv showed Ruby to the door and bent to receive her kiss on the cheek. He was okay with that, because he knew that Ruby’s affections had found a new home with a teacher at her school. Change was present in the air; he also knew there had been a seismic shift in Wychwell as soon as they had found Margaret. Marnie had lifted the curse and with it, slipped properly into the role of Lady of the Manor; Wychwell was all hers now and she would make her mark on it. One curse gone, another one started. The curse of good fortune had put her out of his league.

  Chapter 50

  It took over two and a half months for the results to come back from the laboratory for the skeletons they found down the well. Experts ascertained that one set of bones came from a woman, aged between thirty and fifty and were approximately four hundred and seventy years old. The date fitted. Strangely though the second set of bones was not a baby but a cat.

  The well also yielded other treasures which had to have been buried at the same date: religious artefacts, stolen from churches. It couldn’t have been far from the truth to assume that Edward Dearman himself had stored these secretly in Margaret’s grave for safe-keeping to be retrieved later, but after his premature death, they were lost.

  Marnie sold them to the British Museum and the funds would pay for a new swanky village hall, and repairs to the church roof, the vicarage and the gravedigger’s cottage.

  The diverted waters from the spring had caused the ground to become extra fertile, trees had grown quickly and covered the area over with foliage, disguising the site of Edward Dearman’s dreadful deed. Finally, after hundreds of years, the spring had found its way to the surface again and helped them unearth Margaret.

  Marnie, for a reason she couldn’t fathom, deferred moving into the manor until Margaret was laid to rest. In truth, leaving Little Raspberries would be a wrench and Marnie knew why it was always given to someone who could appreciate the sanctuary it afforded. She felt inordinately sad packing up to leave it, but she didn’t need it any more and Little Raspberries should be made ready for the next person upon whom it could work its healing magic.

  October 31 – the day of Margaret’s funeral – was the first day off that Marnie had had since the big dig. She had thrown herself into the affairs of Wychwell with vigour, in fact she didn’t recognise herself without a hard hat on. If she didn’t have a meeting with an architect, she had one with a builder or a bank or a prospective tenant. The tearoom was almost finished now and a manager had been appointed. Marnie nearly fainted when Una asked her if she could apply for the job. She’d probably eat more of the cheesecakes than she could sell, but sometimes you had to put your faith in people, thought Marnie, and offered it to her on the spot. Lilian had put faith in Marnie, it was time to pay it forward.

  Ruby had fallen head over heels in love with a teacher at her school and her mother, no longer on maternal Rottweiler duty, had become a much softer creature.

  And Titus was gone. Hilary offered him the deal of a lifetime – a house in Sandbanks, Dorset where Titus could show off a prestigious postcode. She cut him a generous full and final settlement in the divorce on the condition he played nicely, knowing that Titus would have eaten his own backside for cash. She couldn’t avoid giving him a chunk of her fortune, but her divorce – as she disclosed to Marnie in one of their many email exchanges – really was money well spent. Plus she was earning so much from Country Manors that any hole in her finances would soon be closed over. Number five was done – Country Manors – The Witch is Back.

  Marnie saw Herv only briefly – here and there, a quick hello, how’s it going between appointments, nothing more than that. It was always Marnie who set the pace. Lovely to see you, take care. Always her feet that started walking away first. It was better that they were cordial, she reasoned. Their moment had come – and gone. He was a lovely man who should have someone straightforward and simple, not someone who had more history than the Romans and more psychological baggage than a Louis Vuitton stockroom.

  Lilian had seen to it that a plot was reserved in the churchyard for Margaret, for when she was found: a sunny spot under the giant wych elm. Margaret’s skeleton, and her cat, were put in the coffin together. The village turned out to say goodbye to her. Una had discovered a real talent for flower-arranging and had made a wonderful autumnal wreath from simple coloured leaves and twigs and fruits, and she took great pleasure from the compliments she was given. She and Derek sat together in the church. Though they were better apart, somehow they had rediscovered the friendship that had brought them together many years ago.

  Marnie lingered behind in the churchyard to inspect the new stone which had been erected at the head of Lilian and Emelie’s graves. It had just three words on it, apart from the names and dates: ‘Oh Perfect Love’.

  Emelie, Marnie had been astounded to know, had been a celebrated Sapphic poet in Europe, writing in Italian and German. Marnie had had some of her work translated into English so she could read it and it was beautiful. She knew that many pieces had been inspired by her darling tortured Lilian with whom, Marnie hoped with all her heart, she lay at peace now.

  Marnie and Lionel, when she’d had any time, had been working on an updated history of Wychwell. Emelie had written a chapter about herself and Lilian. It would cause a few eyebrows to be raised in surprise, Marnie knew, but it wouldn’t make any difference to the affection in which people had held them both.

  ‘Well, ladies, I hope I’m doing okay,’ said Marnie to the ground. Lilies and edelweiss had been planted there and it was too soon to know if the plants would take, but then again Herv had done it, so she bet they would. ‘I miss you both so much. I’m moving into the manor tomorrow but I don’t think anyone is going to be sneaking down a secret passage to see me. Say hello to Margaret for me. Oh, and I’m getting a dog. Greyhound rescue. She’s grey and was called Irish Lady – how could I resist? I’ll look like Rose’s portrait on the staircase.’ She blew a kiss. ‘God bless you, my darlings.’

  She was picking the dog up the following week. Poor thing was the worst racer in history, lost every one despite coming from a champion mother and father. As soon as Marnie heard that, she decided that they were a match, because she knew what it was to be the family disappointment. She could imagine herself as a portrait on the staircase one day, black hair, green-eyed with a sleek hound at her feet, but she’d have no ring on her finger. She’d be the lonely lady of the manor, married to the village and all the people in it, the temporal version of a nun married to the church.

  She joined the others for a drink in the Wych Arms after they had laid Margaret to rest. Lionel had upped his game to apricot brandy and David Parselow had to carry Pammy home. Herv stayed for a couple of drinks and then slipped away. Marnie wondered if he had a date. The thought of him with someone else still tore a hole in her heart.

  She couldn’t sleep that night and she blamed it on the brandy. She didn’t know what Lionel had added to it to make her head spark with activity so much, but she suspected those apricots had been grown next to an amphetamine factory. She dressed and did a few laps of the green, as she so often did, and then flopped onto Jessie Plumpton’s bench in the middle of it and stared up at the manor – her new home – and thought how amazing it was. The moon was high above it, a huge pink-tinged round of light as if it was doing its best to impersonate an apple, she thought. A Pink Lady. She laughed and deduced she must still be half-pissed, having stupid notions like that. She should get back to bed, she had a big day ahead of her.

  She had only taken a few steps, when she heard a voice behind her. A voice that sent shivers tripping down her nerve endings.

  ‘You too?’

  She turned, tried to sound cool and not as if her heart had started flapping around inside her like a landed trout. ‘Oh hello, Herv.’

  ‘Sit with me for a moment. Help me find my sleep,’ he said, then immediately corrected himself. ‘Not that I think
you’re boring.’

  Marnie smiled. She sat beside him, a person-width away.

  ‘So, here we are again,’ he said, after a ridiculously long silence.

  ‘We are indeed.’ Well this wasn’t awkward at all.

  ‘We’ve barely spoken for weeks . . . months.’

  ‘It’s been a busy time, what with all the building work and stuff.’ The lamest excuse on the planet.

  They sat looking in the direction of the manor for a few moments before he sighed heavily.

  ‘Do you know what I think?’ he said.

  ‘No.’ And that was true, she had absolutely no idea.

  ‘I think you’ve been avoiding me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I haven’t . . . at all . . .’ she said; the world’s most unconvincing reply.

  ‘Know what else I think?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think I’ve been avoiding you.’

  ‘Have you? Why?’ She didn’t even ask if he was joking because she knew he wasn’t.

  ‘You’re the lady of the manor and I’m the gardener.’

  ‘I’m still the same person.’

  She wasn’t though and they were both more than aware of that. She was queen of a small private kingdom and his pride couldn’t take that people might think he wanted to be with her for that reason. At least, until he had come to his senses tonight thanks to Lionel’s apricot brandy. It might have made his walk wobbly but it also caused him think more clearly than he had done for a long time. ‘Til helvete med alle Kay Sweetmans i denne verden.’ To hell with all the Kay Sweetmans of this world. He wasn’t going to let them stop him from saying what he should have on the night of the big dig, when he had thrown the towel in instead.

  ‘Know what else I think?’

  She chuckled. ‘No.’

  He twisted to face her. ‘I think I love you,’ he said. ‘No, that’s wrong, I know I do. Because I can’t get you out of here’ and he hit his skull with the heel of his hand, ‘. . . you won’t leave it. And I told my head, “Look, you plant bulbs and dredge leaves out of the lake, Herv Gunnarsen. People will think you’re after her money.” But I watch you and I don’t see any happiness in your eyes and I think, Herv, you can make her happy. You can love her, you can mend her.’