by Dawson, H A
Her gaze was intense. ‘Sammy, if I ever . . .’ she paused to consider her choice of word ‘. . . change . . . you will protect our children, won’t you?’
‘That’s a crazy thing to say. Why will you change?’
‘I don’t know. I might lose control and do something crazy. You just never know.’
‘You’re the sanest person I know. That would never happen to you.’
‘But if it does, will you protect our children?’
He frowned, unresponsive.
‘Please, Sam . . .’
He exhaled a noisy breath. ‘If you lost control, I would protect you all.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered and strode away.
Laid face down on the concrete, Michaela stretched her right arm into the bush. Craning her neck, she called out, whispering to the black and white cat in the undergrowth. Regrettably, he didn’t flinch and maintained his position in the shadows. Undeterred, she shuffled closer, hoping to gain his trust. Yet the little cat had other ideas, and once she was within half a metre, he turned and strode away.
She rose to her feet, frustrated that the one-eyed cat still hovered in the bushes. Every attempt to be friendly had failed, and even though Michaela now fed the little cat twice a day, she still could not make contact. He appeared happy in his forsaken existence, and although he was less scrawny, and the white patches of his fur were no longer a matted grey, his coat still lacked lustre.
She crouched down once more, willing the cat to trust her. He didn’t exhibit fear and appeared content, making it difficult to accept his stance. Cats should enjoy human company, so why was he unresponsive? She imagined nursing him and grooming his soft fur, and she thought of his plaintive meows as he asked for his meals. Unfortunately, none of it would come to fruition if the cat remained aloof.
A sound at her rear caused her to turn her head.
Sam manoeuvred a wheelbarrow of rubble from the house and rested it onto the ground. ‘Have you thought of a name for him yet?’
‘No. I was thinking of something like stubby, as in stubborn, or even dogged, although it sounds too much like dog.’
‘How about something to do with bread, since that’s what first attracted him to us?’
Um. Like bagel or brioche.’
He smiled. ‘What about bloomer?’
‘That’s fantastic.’ She chuckled. ‘We’ll call him Bloomer.’
He picked up the handles of the barrow and wheeled away the brick pieces allowing her to concentrate her attentions back on Bloomer. She said his name multiple times, but he maintained his rigid posture and deadpan expression until he grew bored, and then disappeared deeper into the bushes and undergrowth. Saddened, and feeling as though everything was against her, she returned indoors.
Chapter 11
Michaela squeezed the vehicle into a spot at the end of a lane and turned off the ignition. The quiet rumble of the engine died away and her eyes drifted to the jostling hoards of people in the nearby field. It was the village’s monthly car boot sale, a popular event even on a cloudy cool spring day. At a glance, she could see row upon row of tables, a bouncy castle, and a hot dog stand.
She turned to Sam. ‘It’s larger than I thought it would be.’
He nodded. ‘I’m glad we came. We might be able to find something for the house.’
‘What are you after?’
‘I’m just looking for ideas. I fancy having a themed room.’ He passed a quick glance. ‘I know you don’t want anything Victorian, but it doesn’t have to be, we could do 1940’s or 1950’s style.’
‘That’s a thought.’
‘I’ve seen vintage phonograph players that incorporate a CD player and radio . . . they can be quite cheap. There is a lot of stuff available on the Internet.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. Or perhaps we could do something foreign, like a Mexican theme.’
‘Or what about an African jungle, with ferns, bamboo, and fake animal print fabrics.’
She was thoughtful. ‘I would like something a bit more unusual. I will have to get my creative juices working.’
They climbed out of the vehicle and walked to the entrance of the car boot sale, following a middle-aged couple with a terrier dog. At the gate, a tall bearded man was departing with a large standard lamp, and a little way behind a hefty woman puffed as she carried a box of small plants. Pausing for a breath, she balanced her box on a wall and held her free hand to her chest. Michaela peered at her, noticing her ruddy glistening cheeks and heaving bosom.
‘Just getting my breath back,’ the woman said.
Michaela smiled. ‘I was just wondering if you were okay.’
‘I’ve been ill for a few weeks. It’s my chest.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thanks, my love. I have a stall over there,’ she said pointing. ‘My grandson’s looking after it whilst I take these plants home. We are working a shift system.’
‘That’s a good idea. This is the first time we’ve been here. It looks to be well attended.’
‘Yes, it always is. You’ll find a few bargains, that’s for sure.’
‘That’s what we are hoping for. We have just moved into the village, Church Lane in fact.’
The woman looked pensive.
‘The house that needs renovating,’ she continued.
‘The Coopers old place.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
The woman’s gaze flitted and an awkward silence filled the air. Clearly, she was thinking of the rumours. Was this how everyone was going to react? She stiffened at the thought.
‘Your handsome young man is waiting for you,’ the woman said, ‘I don’t want you getting into trouble.’
‘You won’t. I might catch up with you later if you’re back at your stall.’
‘I should imagine you might,’ the woman said and hobbled away.
‘Take care of your chest.’
‘Thanks my love.’
She strode to Sam. ‘Did you see how she reacted when I mentioned where we lived?’
‘She seemed fine to me.’
‘No, she definitely acted oddly. Do you think she knows about Catherine?’
‘I should imagine everyone knows about Catherine.’
Their exchange repeated in her thoughts as she progressed along the line of stalls. When she saw a table full of children’s items, from small toys to clothes, her heart skipped a beat, her concerns forgotten. This time next year, she would be a mother, and she would have her own collection of tiny outfits and toys. It seemed such a long time to wait and her patience was in short supply. With her enthusiasm bubbling, her eyes drifted across the brightly coloured plastic objects.
Most of the items on the table were for children around six years of age, so Michaela deemed them unsuitable. Moving along, she saw a bin containing a collection of small soft toys, all selling at twenty pence. Initially, she was enticed. However, when she fingered the items she changed her mind. Some had rips, some had eyes missing, and others had bubbled worn-out fabric. She moved along the row.
Upon the next stall were items spaced across the table, each with its own price tag. This time most appeared to be in excellent condition: there were teapots, china cups, unusually designed cutlery pieces, and animal shaped condiment sets. She liked a chicken salt and pepper set and made a purchase.
She drifted along the row, looking at tables with an assortment of items and seeing little of interest. The aisle was crammed with people and she struggled to see beyond the first few bodies. It was strange being unable to stretch out, as despite having an occasional yearning for company, she had grown used to the freedom of space.
Such a realisation made her consider the time she had spent in the packed bars in the city and the laughter she had shared with her friends, and her heart tightened with the loss. Ultimately, she had decided she had to maintain her distance; the alternative with comments relating to her naivety would be too hard to bear. She wanted to be able to pai
nt a happy picture of her new life and describe her and Sam’s successes relating to their task of renovation and repair. She didn’t want to have to lie about the work taking much longer than expected and the cost being much greater. It would be embarrassing.
Putting her negative thoughts from her mind, she continued along the row to a stall selling books. In the first section were horror and science fiction, another romance, a third crime, and the remainder were old books that were hard-backed with plain covers. Having jostled for position, she stood motionless, scanning the items on the table.
She dismissed the crime and science fiction and perused the horror. She was not an avid reader, preferring face-to-face pastimes, but she did read the occasional book and liked Dean Koontz. His style was absorbing and easy to read, and there was often a gripping plot depicting people with strange or malevolent tendencies. However, now that she lived in an apparently haunted house, the books had less appeal. She moved away.
She met with Sam at the end of the row, near a hotdog stand. Given that she avoided eating meat and poultry, the odour should have been repulsive, but she found herself drawn and hoped it was the smell of fried onions. When a boy bit into his hotdog and the ketchup squirted out of the centre, her stomach turned, her faith restored.
‘What have you bought?’ she asked Sam.
‘Some drill bits and a screwdriver set. What about you?’
She showed him her purchase and they meandered along the next aisle, weaving past a mother with a toddler in a pushchair, and two couples who chatted in the centre of the narrow aisle. Soon, Sam was attracted to a stall selling wood, and so Michaela continued alone and searched the crowds for familiar faces.
It was difficult to determine who was local and who wasn’t. She recognised a man from the village pub and a woman she had seen at the post office, but no one else. Was this how it had been for her uncle? Overwhelmed by feeling of seclusion, she thought of his life as a recluse, an act of his choosing, and wondered why anyone chooses to distance themselves from other human beings and in particular his own family. Clearly, Jim Cooper was a puzzling man.
A plant stall was a distraction. She scanned the small items, searching for suitable hardy perennial plants and shrubs for her garden, but they were unfamiliar varieties and she needed assistance. The stallholder made suggestions, and he offered advice regarding the weeds in her garden. She left with fuchsias, tomato plants, and a Buddleia bush.
She spun around, searching for Sam and keen to show him her purchases. He was still chatting to the man selling wood, and her loneliness swelled. She looked to the people close by, yearning to catch someone’s eye. Everyone was occupied and with a companion, everyone but her.
‘Hello my love,’ a voice said.
Michaela jolted, and turned to the woman she had spoken to at the entrance. ‘You’ve got back quick.’
‘I only live across there,’ she said, pointing to the row of houses along the lane. ‘I’m Mary, by the way.’
Michaela.’
‘You look like you’ve been spending.’
‘I have.’ She opened her bags. ‘Plants and a salt and pepper set.’
‘Are you doing the garden yourself?’
‘Yes. It’s quite an undertaking, but I’ve already made a start. I’ve created a small vegetable patch.’
‘Good for you. Youngsters these days seem afraid of hard work.’
‘Not me.’
Mary pulled her big floppy cardigan across her middle. ‘I knew Jim and Audrey Cooper, you know.’
Her eyes brightened. Really?’
‘Oh yes, but it wasn’t amicable, at least not with Jim. No one had much sympathy for him when he left Audrey with two young kids. It has been said he was having an affair.’
‘Was that why they moved out?’
‘No. They moved out of the house after one of their children drowned in the pond. I don’t think they could cope with the memories.’
She gulped. ‘I’d heard about that.’
‘Yes, it was nasty business. He’d been looking after the little lad at the time.’
‘But it was an accident, wasn’t it?’
Mary scowled. ‘It could have been prevented if he’d have been doing his job and watching out for him. It was his fault and everybody blamed him, and rightly so.’
‘What happened?’
She shook her head, refusing to speak.
‘No wonder he lived as a recluse after that, the guilt must have been unbearable.’
‘He got what he deserved! Audrey was just as upset, yet she had two distraught young kids to deal with. When Dylan was about sixteen years old, he had a big public fight with his dad, and as far as I know, they’ve never had contact since!’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘The others in his family wouldn’t have a bar of him either.’
Michaela looked at her feet. That must have been the reason why her parent’s broke contact with Jim and Audrey. Couldn’t they have sympathised just a little? Even if he had been a little careless with his parental role, his act would not have been deliberate. Jim had lost a son too. Yet, rather than coming to her uncle’s defence, she clamped shut her mouth, and as a result, Mary spoke freely, voicing her opinion of his hostile and unprincipled behaviour.
‘He got what he deserved,’ she said, ‘Audrey never forgave him. She never went to his funeral, yet there was a time she would have done anything for him.’
‘Losing a child would be difficult to deal with.’
‘I think it was more the circumstances, but she kept tight-lipped about it.’
Michaela nodded in encouragement.
‘She was heartbroken, the poor woman.’
‘I don’t think it would be easy getting over something like that.’
‘I could always tell Jim was a wrong-un. I shouldn’t really say this, but most people are glad he’s gone.’
‘Was he that bad?’
‘Yes my love, he was.’
Mary served a customer, allowing Michaela’s thoughts to drift. Perhaps her parents had made the right decision keeping Jim away from family gatherings, although she struggled to believe he was as bad as Mary insinuated. However, as soon as the thoughts slipped through her mind she remembered Grace’s comments upon her arrival. She didn’t seem to have liked him either. A picture was starting to build.
Chapter 12
Michaela’s conversation with Mary was something to ponder over the coming days, and whilst she had talked it through with Sam, he appeared to have little interest in discussing such matters. What she needed was a female companion, someone who thought along the same lines and who could understand her yearnings. Without that person, she felt distressed and lonely.
It took her back to her previous life and her job in a local hotel. At the time she had been indifferent about her role; now it appealed. Conversations had been numerous and occurred on a minute-by-minute basis; in comparison, for the majority of the time, she endured perpetual silence. What if her voice stopped working? What if she became the reluctant recluse?
Her decision to move had been ill thought out. She had given no thought to the consequences of a solitary life, nor considered any plans for obtaining another career; as a result, her self-esteem had slipped. She had to do something and wondered what local clubs and committees were available to join. It would be a start, a step in a positive direction. However, her melancholy was invasive, and whilst the idea appealed, she lacked motivation. Michaela wanted someone to appear on her doorstep requesting her company; she did not want to make an effort. She was tired, irritable, and apathetic.
Taking a breather from her digging, she gazed across the landscape, and even though it was a perpetual scene of tranquillity, Michaela received little relief, her muscles tensed, her fists tightened, and she scowled at the open space. She needed a change and she needed to spend some money.
She flung the garden fork to the ground and stomped towards the house. Within a few minutes, she had replace
d her boots with shoes, her dirt-stained sweatshirt with a thin woollen jumper, and her worn-out canvas trousers with a flowing crimson skirt. Having added a touch of perfume, Michaela headed to the car, feeling much better and at least a bit feminine.
The house faded in her rearview mirror as she drove along the lane, through the village, and towards the garden centre on the edge of a neighbouring town. Humming to the sounds on the radio, she passed underneath towering trees and peered through the gaps to the fields and meadows.
The garden centre was a welcome sight. At last, she was in human company and headed straight to the café, eager to sate her desire for something sweet. Having chatted for a few minutes with the assistant, Michaela took her piece of carrot cake and hot chocolate drink to a table next to two women. As she sat, she complimented one of the women on her clothing and a short conversation followed; consequently, her pent up anger and despair started to dissolve.
A while later and feeling re-energised, she readied herself to leave and glanced through the glass partition into the indoor section of the centre at the accessories, fertilizers, insecticides, and indoor plants. Wanting a closer look, she reached for her bag and headed from the café.
The ceiling was high and the air was fresh and aromatic. Michaela strolled through a watering equipment section and arrived at shelves stacked with garden ornaments. She scrutinised the vast array of concrete painted objects, from gargoyles and gnomes to a range of animals of varying sizes. There were fox families, meerkats, frogs, and rabbits to name but a few, and whilst some were cute, none appealed enough to make a purchase. Moving away, she headed to the outdoors plant section.
Having grasped a large trolley, she perused what was on offer. A multitude of small potted plants stood in rows on trestles whilst the larger items stood on the concrete slabs. Most of the plant names were meaningless. She studied the descriptions, keen to match the soil and light requirements to her own garden, but her knowledge was limited. What was the acidity level in her garden? Was it heavy soil? All she knew was that it was laden with weeds; the rest was a mystery.