by Emma Davies
Tom inspected his hands before taking down a packet of cocoa powder carefully. ‘Blimey I remember this from when I was a child, at least it’s similar. This is even older, I think.’
‘How old is it?’
He turned the packet over. ‘I don’t know. Older than the stuff we had certainly. Maybe nineteen sixties or seventies perhaps?’
‘Cora would know, I bet.’
‘We could put glass across the front.’
Merry stared up at him, lost in her own thoughts.
‘Out there,’ Tom pointed. ‘Wouldn’t it be fabulous to have these on display in the shop? We’d have to cover the fronts of the shelves with something to preserve the stock, but people would love it, I bet.’
‘Oh, they would,’ breathed Merry, jiggling up and down. ‘This is just perfect. I told you we needed to re-use all these old things, and now we have the absolute icing on the cake. It’s like it was meant to be.’
Tom gave her a sideways glance.
‘And there’s no need to look at me like that. Don’t you feel it too?’
Tom, who didn’t, simply smiled. It made sound business sense to him, and that was all he needed to know.
‘Come on, let’s try these other keys, at least to see if we can find some spares, and I’ll let you get back to your furniture. We’ll shut everything away again. They’ve been here for years, another few weeks won’t make any difference.’
Merry had almost forgotten about the furniture after the excitement of finding all Christopher’s things.
‘I should ring the estate agent, I suppose, and put him in the picture. Not that I want to, mind. I don’t think I could bear to lose all these things now. I haven’t even looked at what else was in that desk drawer.’
‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ said Tom. ‘We’ll only get into hot water if we’ve got no claim to any of it.’
‘I know,’ agreed Merry morosely, picking up the rest of the keys. ‘I’ll ring them in a minute.’
‘Well admittedly they had just lost their brother, and grief can do funny things to you, but I wouldn’t say the family were at all close. Their instructions were quite clear: get rid of everything.’
‘But did they know what was here? Had they had a look at any of it do you know?’
The estate agent was reassuring. ‘I would imagine so. If you recall, their great uncle died quite some time ago and the family made enquiries then about selling the property. It was only because of the disagreement between the siblings that the house never came to market and that only changed at Christmas as you know. They would have had plenty of time to check the house during the time it was empty, it did belong to them after all.’
‘Yes, of course, they must have, mustn’t they?’ agreed Merry gratefully. ‘So you don’t think there would be any comeback?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. The property and any remaining contents now belong to you.’
A muffled bump sounded above Merry’s head and she lost the thread of the conversation for a moment.
‘So basically, we shouldn’t worry, and there’s no need to contact the previous owners, is that it?’
‘Pretty much. From what you’ve said it doesn’t sound as if it would have much value anyway. Sentimental perhaps, but as I’ve said I don’t think the family went in for that very much.’ Merry could hear the smile in the estate agent’s voice.
‘We’re not planning on selling any of it, just to use it in the shop, either for practical purposes or for decoration.’
There was another bump from overhead.
‘Then I really wouldn’t worry.’
Merry thanked him and hung up, quite distracted now as it sounded as though something was bouncing on the ceiling overhead. She put down her phone and hurried up the stairs.
As she reached the top of the stairs she could hear that the noise was coming from one of the smaller bedrooms, a room as yet unoccupied but housing a number of items of furniture from the hotel that they had still not made up their minds whether to keep or not. There was another thump as she reached to open the door.
It was the smell that hit her first, acrid and sharp, catching the back of her throat; but she soon took in the sooty black mess which covered a large portion of the room. The source of the noise was immediately apparent as a terrified crow blundered repeatedly into the window, seeking an escape.
Merry closed the door and hurried across the room, making soothing noises without even realising she was doing so, as she talked to the frightened bird. She tried to get the window open, but the catch was stiff and the crow’s wings beat against her as she reached past it, dirty puffs of soot rising up into her face. The bird’s eyes were wild, its mouth opening and closing repeatedly although no sound came out.
It darted past her again, flying in a low swoop around the room before hurtling towards the window once more. Merry was sure it would hurt itself if it carried on. She leant on the window catch again, feeling it suddenly give way as her fingers slid off, banging her knuckle painfully against the metal. She took a step backwards, trying to calm her own heart which was beating hard in response to the bird’s frantic efforts. She started to talk once more, making shushing noises as she would to her daughter, trying to sooth her.
She reached forwards with both hands, trying to stop the bird from its ceaseless flapping and suddenly, almost as if it could sense Merry’s intention to help, it stilled, hunched against the corner of the window, its chest heaving.
‘That’s it, little one, don’t be scared. Let’s get you out.’ Merry managed to get both hands around the bird, and gently brought it into her, wrapping the bottom of her fleece around it in an effort to make it feel safer. She managed to free one hand and pushed as hard as she could at the window, flinging it wide. A sudden rush of air flew in, bringing with it a patter of raindrops as she offered the bird up to the wind. It stood perched on her hands for a moment more, and Merry sensed the moment it would fly as it took off, soaring high above her before coming to rest in a tree at the edge of the garden. A minute later and it was gone.
Merry smiled, leaning forwards to reach the window and close it once more, only then catching sight of her hands. They were filthy, as was her jumper, and she slowly turned around to see the state of the room. How could one bird make so much mess? And how on earth was she going to clean it up? The chimney had obviously not been swept for a while; a huge ball of soot had fallen with the bird and burst onto the hearth, a black circle of dust fanning out and covering everything in its wake. Where the crow had sought to free itself, black marks covered the walls and carpet, and the furniture stored in the room was dark with the sticky mess.
She knew better than to touch it. She had only seen this happen once before when she was a teenager and still living at home. A crow had come down the chimney in their dining room and her mother had been adamant that the worst thing they could do was to rub it to get it off. It had to be lifted while it was still dust like. With a grim expression on her face she went downstairs to get the vacuum cleaner, cross now at the interruption in her day.
A newspaper had been pushed through the front door on to the floor in the hall, and as she bent to retrieve it she became aware that there was still someone standing outside. A very tall woman was scribbling something onto a piece of paper, and she looked up at the sound of the door opening.
‘Oh, hello. Sorry I didn’t think anyone was home. I did try the bell.’
Merry looked at her quizzically.
‘I’m Pat,’ the woman said. ‘From the village. I wondered if you might like the evening paper delivered. I was just leaving my details in case.’ She handed Merry the sheet of paper.
As Merry reached out to take it she caught sight of her hands once more. ‘Ah, sorry. I’m a bit mucky. We’ve just had a crow come down the chimney. Could you just leave it with me, and I’ll have a look when I’m less, well…covered in soot.’
Pat gave a nervous smile, looking up at the roofline. ‘Was it still alive?�
�� she asked, with a slight shudder.
‘Oh yes,’ said Merry cheerfully. ‘I managed to get it out of the window, it was fine. Ungrateful so and so though, didn’t even say thank you.’
Merry’s humour was met with a stony stare. ‘Well that’s something I suppose, it’s even worse bad luck if they’re dead.’
Chapter 13
Freya pulled her hood further over her face, but the wind was blowing in gusts this morning and her raincoat did little to deflect the rain. It also seriously impeded her vision.
Impatiently she reached into her pocket and pulled out a hairband, throwing back her hood, and offering her face to the weather. She scraped her hair back as best she could, tucking the loose ends behind her ears firmly. Freya was used to being outside in all weathers, in fact it was one of the things she loved about her life. It didn’t matter how cold and wet she got during the day, there was nothing that a nice hot shower, a mug of hot chocolate and a bacon sandwich couldn’t cure. People often remarked that there was no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing, but Freya disagreed. Some days it didn’t matter what you were wearing, but the one thing she had learned over the years was that skin, at least, was waterproof.
Hair secured, she returned her attention to the task in hand, anxiously reaching for another branch of the apple tree beside her. The pregnant buds were beginning to swell into beautiful tight promises that would soon offer glimpses of their delicate blushed petals. There was no sign of that this morning, but Freya was standing on the side of the orchard that faced the sun, so these were the buds that would blossom first. She thanked her lucky stars that March had seen a particularly sharp cold snap which had lasted for a couple of weeks. It had held these buds back and, as she surveyed the black pall of the sky above her she thought once more of the extraordinary alchemy that was Mother Nature. Had spring come early, these buds might be in flower by now, and the driving rain which was now into its third day would have ripped the petals apart. She eyed the sky again, and prayed for an end to the deluge.
After a few minutes Sam joined her, a grim expression on his face.
‘We’ve another couple of weeks I reckon, what do you think?’
Freya nodded, wiping a droplet from the end of her nose. ‘I think we’ll be okay, just as long as this doesn’t go on much longer. We might lose some of the Devonshires, but the cider apples are okay.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘I’m not so sure about the perry pears though.’ She looked up at Sam, trying to gauge the expression on his face.
He had turned away from her, and was staring out across the fields. She knew there was no way to see Braeburns’s fields from here, but it didn’t stop Sam from looking.
‘I rode out by Stephen’s this morning, his trees are already like galleons in full sail.’
‘But we’ve had good days of warm sunshine up until this week, and there were plenty of bees around, maybe he’ll be okay? He might still get a good crop.’
Sam sighed. ‘I’m not sure I care anymore, Freya. It’s been two weeks since I went to see him, and I thought that perhaps he would have had time to calm down and think about what I said; that maybe he would have got in touch… I’m just fooling myself, thinking things will ever be any different.’
‘Sam, you can’t blame yourself. Stephen is a grown man, he has to take responsibility for his own actions, and that includes how he runs Braeburn. You’ve offered to help, that’s all you can do.’ She took his hand, wondering whether to mention her own conversation with Stephen, but knowing that this wasn’t really the right time. ‘Come on, let’s get back inside. We’ve a lot of homework to do.’
Merry took hold of her friend’s coat later that afternoon, and hung it over the big butler sink in the utility room. Even the short dash from the car into the house had been enough to soak her through.
‘That’s the second time today,’ laughed Freya as Merry re-joined her. ‘I got drenched this morning as well,’ she added, holding up her bedraggled hair as proof. ‘And it’s so windy, the car practically blew itself here.’
‘Dreadful isn’t it?’ agreed Merry, pulling a face. ‘Rain is most definitely stopping play right now, which is fantastic just as we’ve got the builders actually organised to turn up. I hope when they do arrive that they can put on a turn of speed; everything else is dependent on when they finish, and I’m getting rather impatient.’
Freya smiled. ‘It’s all very exciting. Come on, show me what else you found.’
Merry led Freya through to the dining room where the table was covered in a layer of papers and notebooks. ‘These are the latest things,’ she said. ‘They were stuffed into the drawer of an old desk we found, but look at the colours on them. They’ll make gorgeous posters.’
Freya picked one from the pile closest to her. ‘What are they?’
‘We think they’re printer’s samples. I’ve looked up some of the designs and they all became wallpaper.’ She shuddered. ‘I’m not sure I would ever be up for that amount of colour in a room, but I think these are lovely. I’m guessing they were printed from Christopher’s original designs, perhaps to check the colours, or the detail maybe. Once all was okay, they’d go on to run the rolls of wallpaper.’
‘And you’re going to use all these in the shop?’
‘Hmm,’ Merry nodded. ‘In fact we’ve just had some drawings back from the architect, do you want to have a look? Tom’s in there now.’
A fire was roaring in the grate in the study as Tom sat working at the computer. He smiled a greeting, immediately vacating his seat so that Merry could sit down.
‘Here, I’ll let Merry show you round,’ he said. ‘I’ll just pop and check on Robyn.’
Merry rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare wake her up,’ she said, clicking on a file on the screen in front of her. ‘She’s been a right grumpy mare this morning,’ she added to Freya. ‘Cora’s been taking her out for a walk most mornings, and I think she’s rather got used to it. With all this rain she hasn’t been out for the last few days. Do babies get cabin fever? I dunno. Anyway she refused point blank to go to sleep this morning and consequently didn’t know where to put herself this afternoon. . . Right, here we are.’
Freya looked at the screen as directed. A bright image had appeared, that even to her untrained eye, clearly showed the shop space, now transformed from an empty dilapidated shell to an impression of what it might look like once open for business.
‘We want to use as much of the salvaged furniture as we can, but as space is at a premium, Nigel did a survey for us, showing the best fit to maximise the selling area. Bless him, I didn’t ask him to but I’d emailed photos of some of Christopher’s work to give him an idea of the look we wanted and he’s incorporated those too.’
‘He knows you too well,’ stated Freya, knowing that Merry’s relationship with the architect they had used so often at the hotel went back years. ‘It’s really good though, it gives you a much better idea of how it will look.’
‘It will also save us no end of time. We were going to have the walls a soft green, you know a bit heritage Farrow & Ball, but when you look at this, it wouldn’t work at all. We can also see exactly how the units will look, and what we might display where. I don’t want to spend hours renovating the furniture, only to hate it when it’s all in position.’
Freya nodded at her, seeing the truth in her words. She was just about to ask about the extraordinary collection of groceries they had found when she became aware that Tom had returned to the room, standing in the doorway. His face was ashen in the dim light.
‘Merry,’ he began, but he needed to go no further. One look at his face and she was out of the chair and crossing the room. Freya raced upstairs after them.
‘I thought she was sort of snoring at first, and I nearly left her to come back downstairs. Merry I nearly left her, I could have walked away…’
Merry lifted Robyn from the cot, her daughter’s head flopping backwards, her breaths coming in short fast puffs.
She crossed to take his arm, while Merry laid Robyn down on the changing station, the back of her hand resting gently against her daughter’s forehead. ‘She’s burning up.’
Merry lifted up her little pinafore, smoothing the skin on her belly and quickly pulled down the top of her woolly tights. ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ she muttered. ‘Please no.’
The skin was mottled and blotchy, and even Freya could see that Robyn’s responses were low. Merry looked straight up into her eyes, her own wide with panic and fear.
‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ said Freya.
The waiting room was like any other, full of hunched nervous people. Freya’s eyes scanned the doors at either end of the room, hoping for a glimpse of Merry or Tom through one, and Sam through the other.
She had followed the ambulance as it pulled out of the village, the siren setting her heart pounding as she wove through the lanes after it, praying that the roads were clear, willing it onwards. They had caught it early said the paramedic, they had done the right thing, but it was still Robyn’s tiny body inside the ambulance, a place she had no right to be, and Freya drove, forcing all thoughts from her mind, save getting to the hospital. The rain lashed at the windscreen, the car buffeted by the wind as they turned onto the main road. The wipers screeched across the screen as they fought the weather, but Freya remembered nothing of the journey.
Only now, alone in a room full of other people did it all come flooding in. What would have happened if Tom had thought his daughter was merely sleeping? What if he hadn’t been there at all, as she and Merry chatted away without a care in the world. What if Merry hadn’t recognised the signs; how did she even know? A singular moment of responsibility that Merry had reacted to by instinct, some innate maternal guide giving her the sixth sense she needed, right when she needed it. Freya had never felt so helpless. She wanted to hug her friend, and hold her, to tell her everything would be alright, but that reassurance was not hers to give. Only time would offer it, if they were lucky.