Little did he know, when the auctioneer dropped the gavel, that he had just bought something that, were it human, would be on the critical list, with someone hovering mighty close with a pair of heart-zapping defibrillation paddles.
After two months he was over the initial shock and was now firmly in denial. He had felt it necessary to trivialise the issues his visitors had highlighted with dramatic gasps at the crumbling plaster, horror at the lack of ceilings and occasional screams at the array of dead rats and birds who had met their maker there. Probably driven to suicide by the depressing air of the house, Andy had later thought. He was fed up saying, “Don’t worry, I have a friend in the business who can put that right” or “That’s easily fixed, I can do that myself”. At least now the house was watertight, as Andy had replaced the entire roof – trusses, joists and tiles – which, in one fell swoop, had cost him a huge chunk of the renovation budget, as well as his left thumbnail.
Andy was a carpenter by trade, having faced the early disappointment at the age of ten that there wasn’t much call for bouncy-castle testers. Work was sporadic as a carpenter and he liked that lack of schedule to his life. He had drifted for a time after James’s death and had taken a few extended holidays on his own, to try to get his thoughts together. James was both his elder brother and his best friend, and his death had torn something out of him that he now searched to regain. Andy quickly discovered that having time away to think meant that you did exactly that, nothing but think, and soon realised that actually the last thing he needed was time to think. Thinking only turned to sadness, maudlin thoughts and, eventually, a state of abject depression. This conclusion had led to his hasty decision to buy the house in order to give him something to occupy his mind and hands for a few months or, as it was starting to appear, the foreseeable future.
Andy had decided that, with the roof now finished, this week he was going to tackle the cellar. That way, when finished, he had one large area he could easily shut off from the rest of the house and have a small sanctuary to return to. He nudged the old cellar door just a fraction too hard and watched it leave its hinges behind as it fell away from its frame and slid down the staircase. Not the start to the day he was hoping for, he thought, as he trudged down the stone steps after it.
The door had been the least of his worries, Andy realised, as he splashed into the water at the bottom of the cellar. Funny, he thought, that wasn’t there the last time I came down here. He pulled a torch from his jeans back pocket and pointed it into the gloom as the water efficiently found its way into his boots. He stood there for a moment, taking in the unhappy scene – the whole cellar area was flooded. Andy was puzzled; it had rained before, perhaps not quite as violently as today, but there had been rain and his previous inspection of the cellar had revealed only traces of damp, not signs of total flooding. He suddenly realised where the water might be coming from and said aloud, “Bloody Shaun!”
Shaun had, after weeks of polite reminders, finally turned up at Andy’s to sort out the plumbing to the kitchen and the outside tap so that, very soon, Andy could start mixing concrete in the garden. He should have known there was something wrong when Shaun had nipped off to get a washer two days ago and not returned. Andy, being a trusting soul, had believed that Shaun had been held up with something more important and that clearly the washer wasn’t an immediate need. Now he knew that clearly it had been.
Over the last few days, the smiles and pleasantries between Kate and Didi had turned into full-blown chats. Didi was 70 years old and had undergone a complicated heart-bypass operation, with reconstruction and replacement valves. She had a history of lung problems and lived alone, so she needed some support over the coming months while she regained her full strength. Kate was surprised at how much she was looking forward to seeing Didi and decided that, to give them more time for a natter, tonight she was going to do the tea round from the other end of the ward. She hoped the shock of the change of routine would not upset too many patients. They weren’t terribly receptive to change – when the paper towels in the toilets had been changed from white to green it had been the talk of the home for days.
There had been a few changes over the weekend, Kate noted, as she served everyone on the main ward. Margaret had gone home, as planned, now that she could manage her walking frame on her own. Betty, too, had gone, but unfortunately, not home. Kate swung her trolley out of the last bay and rattled off the private rooms in quick succession before tapping on the glass of Didi’s door.
“Come,” came the deep reply.
Kate shot a startled head around the door to see Didi’s beaming smile.
“Good Lord. I thought you had a man in here.”
“Chance would be a fine thing” Didi said, wriggling to try to sit herself up on her pillows. Didi had a kind face and thick, grey hair that was speckled with white and cut short, but arranged in big waves, giving her the air of a retired film actress. She was now managing to put on a little make-up, which always made you feel a whole lot better. She had told Kate that she never felt properly dressed without her face on. Over her nightdress she had a pashmina neatly draped across her shoulders. Very Hollywood, thought Kate.
“Pass me that paper, would you?” Didi indicated the local evening newspaper that was on her table. “Have a look at the lonely hearts’ section. I’ve circled a couple of maybes.”
“Didi, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not looking for anyone right now.”
“Not for you, you silly thing. For me!” declared Didi with a mischievous grin.
“Fair enough,” said Kate handing a black coffee to, along with the evening newspaper.
“I can see that you’re taken, my dear. I bet your fella’s lovely, like you, isn’t he?” said Didi, patting Kate’s left hand with its engagement ring, as Kate clasped her chipped tea cup.
“Yes. Er, he, he… ” stumbled Kate, with difficulty.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Didi covering her mouth with her hand in mock horror, “Did I just put my size nines in it? He left you this morning, didn’t he? Ran off with the au pair?” she laughed, and Kate couldn’t help laughing too at the sheer mischief of Didi and wondered how she would feel if that had been true. Then she thought of Concetta and James running away together and it made her laugh all the more.
Chapter 3
Shaun saw the two men the moment they entered the pub. He instinctively leant back to move out of view and, once they were deep in conversation with Melanie the barmaid, he snuck out through the public bar. He checked his watch; he was 40 minutes late for collecting Amy. Not as late as he would have liked – a little longer and Sarah would have had to cancel her shift at work.
He switched on his mobile and it sprang to life as a mass of texts and voicemail messages all demanded attention. As he had expected, there were four from Sarah, each one growing in anger and frustration, and an unexpected text message from Andy asking if he knew of any good plumbers. He stuck his phone into the pocket of his black-leather jacket and turned the corner into Sarah’s road. As he approached the house it tugged at his heart to see Amy’s forlorn little face pressed against the window. Clearly she hadn’t given up on her father. She suddenly spotted him and started to wave frantically and shout “Daddy”, which was muffled by the window. As he walked up the path, the front door opened and a furious- looking Sarah appeared in the hallway holding out Amy’s backpack whilst struggling to put her coat on.
“Hello, my gorgeous girl,” grinned Shaun at Sarah as Amy pushed past her mother and into her father’s arms.
“Hello, Daddy,” said Amy. “I knew you’d come,” she added, for her mother’s benefit.
Sarah pulled the door shut behind her and handed over the backpack to Shaun.
“Seven-fifteen,” she said, “I’ll be home at seven-fifteen, so please have her back by seven-thirty or she’ll be late to bed. She’s had lunch but will need tea later on.”
“Don’t you want to know why I was late?” said Shaun, looking smug.
“Couldn’t give a S-H-I-T,” spelled out Sarah, trying to control her temper, which was bubbling scarily close to the surface. She hated the way he got to her. She tried her hardest not to show it, not to give him the satisfaction, but it was difficult not to fly off the handle. Sarah counted to ten, kept her rants to herself and stayed as calm as possible, if only to protect Amy. Shaun knew which buttons to press and he played her with as much ease as a teenage boy with a PlayStation. He was waiting for her to lose it and she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure.
“Okay. Enjoy yourself at work, babe. Shouldn’t be busy, lunchtime’s half over!” he smirked as he moved in to kiss Sarah. She neatly dodged him by crouching down to kiss Amy goodbye.
“Be good for Daddy, let him win at noughts and crosses,” she said, replacing a strand of hair that had escaped from her daughter’s left pigtail. “Seven-thirty. When the little hand is on the seven and the big hand…”
“I can tell the time. Well, I know the o’clocks and half-pasts,” interrupted Amy.
“I know you do. I was talking to your father,” mumbled Sarah under her breath as she stood up and shooed them both down the path. Shaun and Amy turned right and Sarah went in the opposite direction.
“Seven-thirty,” she shouted behind her as she headed for the pub and Shaun lifted Amy onto his shoulders and they both waved.
“Might as well talk to myself,” grumbled Sarah, as she broke into a trot.
The pub was warm and welcoming despite the stale-beer smell that radiated from the ancient carpet. The Blacksmith’s Arms was a “locals” pub: lots of wood, low ceilings and a horseshoe bar that served both public and lounge bars. The real fire crackled a convivial greeting – the only such one Sarah was likely to receive. Melanie scurried out of the way as Sarah lifted the hatch and went behind the bar.
“Hi, Mel,” she said brightly to the back of Melanie’s head as she disappeared out the back.
“What time do you call this?” said Phil. Sarah winced and held up her hands in surrender. Phil had been the landlord at the Blacksmith’s Arms for 16 years. He was a large, round Yorkshire man and most of the time he was a jolly soul. Unfortunately, it appeared that today was not one of those times.
“I’m really sorry, Phil. It was Shaun – he was late collecting Amy.”
“I thought you had a child-minder?” interrupted Phil, puzzled.
Melanie reappeared with a tray of clean glasses and started to replace them noisily on the racks above the bar.
“I did. But they let me down because of a hospital appointment, so I called Shaun first thing and he said he could have her, but then he was late picking her up.”
Melanie tutted behind Phil and he raised a hand to signal her to stop.
“Look, Sarah. I know it’s not easy with the little ‘un, but I have a business to run and I can’t show favouritism either.”
“I know. I’ll work twice as hard. I am sorry,”
“I know you are, lovey. I’ll dock your wages. Can you take the food orders out?” He said, patting her arm with his chubby hand. Melanie looked over at Sarah with a look that could curdle milk and Sarah opened her mouth to repeat her explanation, but Melanie turned away. Melanie finished replacing the glasses and followed after Phil.
“Phil, have you got a minute?”
“Not if you’re gonna bitch about Sarah. I’ve said my piece to her, so that’s the end of it.”
“It’s just that that’s exactly what he said would happen,” gabbled Melanie, in her excitement to share her knowledge.
“Who said what would happen?”
“Shaun. He was in here earlier and he said that Sarah was having one of her episodes and wouldn’t let him see Amy. He’d offered to have Amy, but she’d refused,” Melanie’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, searching Phil’s face for a reaction.
“Righty-oh, then. Best you get back to it. There’s people waiting to be served.”
“Is that it, then? You know she was lying about it being Shaun’s fault, but you’re not going to sack her?”
“No. She’s a good barmaid.” And with that, Phil started whistling as he headed down to the cellar.
Sarah was tired but happy as she left the pub at the end of her shift. Melanie had been a bit strange with her, but that really wasn’t anything new and other than the work had been steady. It was good to go to work and have a steady shift, one that was busy enough that you didn’t watch the clock, but not so busy that you felt like a single worker bee looking after the hive on your own.
It was just after ten past seven when Sarah shut the front door behind her and she decided that there was time to have a look in the loft and see what she had up there for Christmas. She knew she had been on a spending spree in the January sales, but now she couldn’t for the life of her remember exactly what she had bought. She did have a vague memory of lots of cheap, pink tinsel and she hoped she hadn’t bought too much of it. Sarah had lost the step-ladder when Shaun moved out, as he had taken everything that belonged to him with him, anything of theirs and anything of use or value. This had left her with little more than some worn-out furniture, some stacking Tupperware and her compilation CDs.
She hauled one of the old wooden kitchen chairs up to the top of the stairs and plonked it under the loft hatch. Sarah wasn’t short, at five foot six inches, but she needed to be a little higher to help drag herself up into the loft. She searched the bedrooms for something suitable and returned with a collection of the biggest books she and Amy owned. She piled them up, with British Hit Singles and the Concise Oxford Dictionary giving good foundations at the bottom and Amy’s illustrated atlas on the top.
Sarah climbed onto the chair, steadied herself, then reached up and pushed the hatch to one side. She carefully put one foot, then the other, onto the books and, when she felt stable, pushed herself up. She found herself suspended by her forearms, with her legs dangling. To quickly get herself out of her predicament she felt for the back of the chair with her right toe and gave herself the final bit of height and thrust that she needed to propel herself up into the loft space. Unfortunately the force of this thrust was also enough to send the chair toppling over and bouncing down the stairs, taking the books with it. Sarah heard the commotion, but was unable to watch as she grappled to get herself into a safer position. She eventually peered down through the loft hatch to survey the disaster.
“Buggeroo,” she sighed as she checked her watch. Shaun and Amy will be back in ten minutes, she thought, so I may as well make myself useful till then. She stood up as far as she could, which was about three-quarters of her height, making her feel like a hunched-up old lady and carefully moved from joist to joist in search of anything Christmassy.
The first half hour went quite quickly as Sarah discovered four boxes of Christmas cards with scary cartoon Christmas trees depicted in various poses, five cards that said from “all of us” and an assortment of January bargains. On reflection, twenty-four lengths of magenta tinsel, six bunches of plastic mistletoe and a parachuting Santa Claus didn’t seem such first-class acquisitions as they had at the time.
As the time ticked away, Sarah found herself sorting through the many dusty boxes piled up precariously across the joists. She opened a battered case that had been on one cheap flight too many to find some of her old clothes, including some maternity clothes she had worn when she was carrying Amy. Great, she thought, as the chilly loft air swamped her, there must be something warm to wear in here. She pulled out a bright-green sweatshirt with Kermit the Frog’s face covering the front. Sarah smiled as she remembered wearing the sweatshirt non-stop after she’d found it in a charity shop. As she pulled it on, over her thin jumper, she surveyed the upside-down Kermit and remembered how Shaun had mocked her for being so childish.
She opened the top of a large box to find a collection of Amy’s first scribbles and pictures. Shuffling over to a small piece of chipboard that was balanced where the joists met, she sat down, dipped into the large box and pulled o
ut picture after picture. Some were random scribbles with crayons and pencils, but there were some original pieces – one with lentils and pasta shapes stuck on it, lashings of orange paint and a fish shape covered in pieces of kitchen foil and a large letter A for Amy scrawled on the back. Sarah held the lentil-and- pasta picture and felt the tears come. Her baby was growing up so fast, it seemed like yesterday they were making the picture and giggling when Amy splashed the paint across the kitchen table. She remembered how Amy had been so proud and had wanted to show Shaun but, when he eventually came home, he was drunk and could barely focus on her work of art.
Sarah sifted through Amy’s first attempts at writing her name, her first self-portraits and one drawing of all three of them with stick legs, large heads and even bigger smiles. She felt the silent tears drip down her face. “Where did it all go wrong?” she asked herself. She dried her face on her Kermit sweatshirt and set about repacking the box.
She went through boxes of long-lost stuff and started to make a box for the charity shop and one for the rubbish bin. Sarah found random wedding presents that had been consigned straight to the loft: an insulated gravy boat and an ornament of two gold jumping dolphins who looked as though they were smiling – really creepy. Other classics included a tea-towel holder in the shape of a cat’s bottom and a pair of pink champagne glasses engraved with their initials. Unfortunately, being Shaun and Sarah, each glass had SS on it, making them resemble bizarre gay Nazi memorabilia. These were all that remained of the wedding presents from Shaun’s family, as most of the others comprised cheap fizz that had long since been poured down the sink or Shaun’s neck.
Sarah found an abundance of photos that had never quite made it into an album. Some made her laugh out loud and others triggered the odd stray tear. The memories came flooding back like a raging tsunami and brought with them a myriad emotions. So many happy memories, but so many of them counterbalanced by an unpleasant one, thanks to Shaun. Was that yin and yang, the universal balance, or karma, she wondered? Or perhaps just her being “bastard blind” and now she could see.
It Started at Sunset Cottage Page 3