Home for Winter

by Rebecca Boxall

  ‘How long does it take to make?’ asked Pete.

  ‘The initial fermenting process takes up to a couple of weeks.’

  ‘But how do you know if it’s ready to bottle?’

  ‘There’s two ways to tell – if bubbles come out of the airlock at a rate of less than one every ten minutes, it’s more than likely ready. And if the yeast’s settling at the bottom, leaving the beer clear rather than hazy – that’s another indicator it’s all set.’

  Serena switched off at this point, but Pete looked completely in awe. Turning away from this riveting discussion, Serena observed her other companions around the table, feeling a warm glow, until she began to overhear Mrs Pipe’s conversation with Ashna who was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  ‘A-cursed, so they say,’ Mrs Pipe said, a dark look on her face.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Serena, scraping her chair closer to the housekeeper.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know I should say,’ she said, clamming up.

  ‘Come on,’ said Serena, smiling. ‘You were telling Ashna. Why not me?’

  Mrs Pipe cleared her throat. ‘Well, it may be nonsense, but the story goes there’s a curse on the Vicarage. There was a vicar with a roving eye, ’ad affairs all round the village, he did. Then his long-suffering wife died in childbirth in the house. Legend has it, the place has been a-cursed ever since. A baby’s not lived in that house since she died over a hundred years ago.’

  ‘That can’t be true,’ Serena said, smiling too brightly. She could see Will from the corner of her eye. He had clearly overheard and looked like he might throttle Mrs Pipe. ‘After all,’ Serena continued, ‘the last vicar and his wife had four children.’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ agreed Mrs Pipe, ‘but the youngest were five when they moved in. The vicar’s wife before her was a fresh young thing. Never did bear a child herself. They ended up adopting a teenager,’ she said, nodding sagely.

  Serena began to feel too hot, her cheeks burning. She needed to get out of the pub, to get home.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Ashna, her dark eyes concerned.

  ‘Fine, I’m fine,’ said Serena. ‘I’ve had too much to drink, that’s all. I’m not used to drinking at lunchtime. I might just get some air,’ she said, gathering her coat and bag.

  She raced out of the pub, running all the way home where she scooped up Paddington and retreated to the bedroom. Will found her twenty minutes later, a look of contrition on his face.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, rubbing his forehead. Will looked tired – exhausted – and Serena was furious with herself for putting him through this. She had to move on. She simply had to.

  ‘It was a lovely lunch,’ Serena told him sincerely. ‘I just got a bit overwhelmed by Mrs Pipe’s story.’

  ‘You don’t believe it, do you?’ asked Will. He was so pragmatic. He was spiritual, of course, but he had no truck with superstition.

  ‘Of course not,’ replied Serena. ‘It’s just . . . you know, with everything that’s happened . . .’

  ‘You’ve got to just dismiss this, Serena. We have to move on. I so desperately want us to get back to how we were. Please promise me you won’t think any more about it?’ Will pleaded.

  ‘I promise,’ Serena told him. But later, when Will was downstairs, she made her way along to the old nursery. She breathed in deeply. The room smelt musty, unlived in. When had this nursery last been home to a baby? Something about the room made her not just sad, but uneasy. There was a stillness to it. What was it Mrs Pipe had said?

  ‘Legend has it, the place has been a-cursed ever since. A baby’s not lived in that house since she died over a hundred years ago . . .’

  ‘No!’ Serena shouted into the dense and fusty atmosphere. ‘Please, no!’

  She turned from the room, slammed the door and stumbled along to her bedroom, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  When will our luck change? Serena despaired inwardly. She could barely believe that the very place supposed to heal them both, to give them their new beginning, now appeared to be cursed – and in a way that couldn’t have been more significant to Serena. ‘A baby’s not lived in that house since she died over a hundred years ago . . .’

  It couldn’t have been much worse.

  8.

  SUMMER 1996

  Two days after they finished their GCSEs, Luna announced she’d been invited to stay with Claudia Wrentham in Singapore for the month of August. Claudia was the most glamorous girl at their school and her father, a merchant banker, had recently been headhunted for a job at a multinational company in the Far East. He and Claudia’s mother had moved to Singapore in May, with their daughter to follow on after finishing her exams. Claudia had stayed with the Meadows while she took her exams.

  ‘Am I invited?’ asked Serena, although she knew she wouldn’t be and wasn’t too disappointed. Luna pulled a face.

  ‘Sorry, Serena,’ she said. ‘Just me.’ Luna didn’t look sorry at all.

  ‘The airfare will be expensive,’ said their father, looking over his newspaper. ‘Are you expecting your mother and me to stump up for it?’ he asked sternly.

  ‘Well, I did wonder if you might,’ wheedled Luna. ‘After all, you paid for Serena to have all that extra tuition in maths that I didn’t need,’ she added triumphantly.

  ‘Hardly the same,’ muttered Arthur, but he looked defeated already. Serena wished that sometimes, just sometimes, her parents would stand up to Luna properly.

  As August approached, Serena found herself encountering mixed feelings about Luna’s imminent departure. It would be the first time in their lives they’d been apart and, although half of her was relieved at the prospect, she still felt knitted to Luna in a way that made her panic more and more as the trip approached. She also hated the thought of being left behind, with nothing remotely exciting to do. And then a thought struck her.

  It was a humid July day and Serena dashed upstairs to her bedroom to sit at her computer, even though the room was far too stuffy in such weather. She switched on the terminal and waited patiently for it to boot up. Eventually she was able to log into her email account.

  ‘Hi, Freddie,’ she began to write. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy a visitor this summer, do you?’ she followed on, boldly.

  Serena and Freddie were still pen pals, even after all this time. They didn’t write weekly any more and their missives were no longer sent by snail mail, but they emailed each other every month or so. They’d each found that having never met in person meant they opened up to one another in a way they wouldn’t with their other friends. It was cathartic – like strangers on a train.

  They had actually tried to meet up on a couple of occasions over the last year, but somehow it had never quite worked out – the first time Serena had been struck down with a sickness bug and then Freddie had broken his ankle in a hockey match the day they’d planned to have lunch. Perhaps it would be a case of third time lucky.

  Serena sat at the desk, waiting for a response, refreshing the computer screen every five minutes until her bottom went numb. In the end, she went downstairs and helped herself to a cold Coke. When she returned to her bedroom, there was an email in her inbox.

  ‘You bet! August would be a good time, if that suits you? Mum says you’re more than welcome and all my sisters will be here so you’ll see them too. I can’t believe that we’re actually going to get to meet, as long as neither of us gets sick! ’

  She logged off, marched determinedly downstairs and, without much persuasion at all, her mother agreed. Serena was going to Majorca.

  9.

  MARCH 2015

  Late on her birthday, after she’d calmed down, Serena went to find Will, feeling they needed to discuss the significance of the reputed curse further. She went downstairs, but he wasn’t there so she searched the whole house, eventually finding him in one of the attic rooms. She was about to go in when she realised he had a white box in his arms.

  ‘There it is,’ Will said to himself as he placed
the box carefully on the ground and started to look through its contents. A toy elephant – unisex, he’d said to Serena when he’d brought it home from the shop the day after the twelve-week scan. For the same reason, he’d bought yellow and green babygros with little ducks on them, and a tiny pair of knitted bootees he hadn’t been able to resist. Underneath all of this, the scan photos. Serena saw Will take one out of the envelope and look at it for several minutes. After a while the picture began to shake in his hand. Tears ran down his face, but his sobs were silent.

  ‘Enough!’ Will reprimanded himself at last. He blew his nose with a hanky, then piled the items back into the box and hid it high up in a cupboard. Serena’s heart ached for him. For all that he’d told her it was time to move on, it was clear he wasn’t even close to getting there himself. She turned and crept away.

  A week later Serena decided to put all thoughts of curses out of her mind – although she was avoiding the nursery like the plague. In need of distraction, she decided it was finally time to set about revamping the Vicarage now that they’d fully unpacked.

  Ashna kept very much to herself, not wishing to intrude on Will and Serena, but on a sunny March day Serena decided she was in need of Ashna’s help with making a list of what needed to be done in the house. She knocked gently on Ashna’s bedroom door.

  ‘Come in,’ came Ashna’s soft tones.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ apologised Serena as she opened the door. She paused, taken aback, for the room was strewn with the most exquisitely vibrant scarves and bedspreads.

  ‘Ashna!’ she exclaimed, absorbing the kaleidoscope of colours around her. ‘These are beautiful!’

  Ashna looked embarrassed. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s what I’ve been up to since I got here. It keeps me busy. Mrs Pipe finds me old material from jumble sales and so on and I use that as my base for these,’ she explained.

  ‘But they’re amazing,’ said Serena, touching a turquoise scarf embellished with rich gold embroidery. ‘Do you sell them? You could make a fortune. I can’t believe they’re made from recycled rags!’

  ‘I’ve just started to sell a few through the antiques and interiors shop, to get a little income. I want to start contributing some rent. The guy who owns it says they make good gifts. I have something here for you, actually – I’m afraid it wasn’t quite ready on your birthday.’

  Ashna rummaged around in the drawer beside her bed and handed Serena a wrapped parcel. Serena quickly unpeeled the paper, revealing a sea-green scarf with silver thread sewn through it.

  ‘Oh, I love it!’ gasped Serena, draping the scarf round her neck immediately and checking her reflection in Ashna’s mirror. ‘It matches my eyes exactly. Ashna, you’re so talented! How did you learn to do this – are you trained?’

  ‘Yes . . . I went to a technical college after school and studied textiles.’

  ‘Your parents let you?’

  ‘Yes, though it was pretty restricted. I was escorted to college and back by my brother and I wasn’t allowed to mix with anyone on my course or socialise with them. But at least I was doing something I’m passionate about. My mother fought for me to be able to take the course. I was so grateful to her.’

  ‘You miss her,’ Serena said gently.

  Ashna nodded, but she’d said enough. Serena understood.

  ‘Now, I’m guessing you needed me?’ Ashna asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d totally forgotten. Ashna, I think it’s time to set about improving the Vicarage. I need to go round the house making a list. Will you help me?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ashna, putting down her needle and thread. ‘I’ve been desperate to get started, but I didn’t want to push you. Come on, let’s begin at the top.’

  Serena hesitated for a moment, reticent to return to the scene of Will’s distress, but then she realised she was being silly. She was avoiding the nursery as it was. She didn’t want the entire house to end up out of bounds. The two women climbed up to the top floor and looked around. Ashna’s eyes were eager and Serena soon caught her enthusiasm for the project, however overwhelming it seemed.

  ‘Now, the first thing we need to bear in mind is that the property’s bound to be listed,’ said Ashna as she inspected the attic windows.

  ‘Of course! I hadn’t even thought of that,’ replied Serena, her heart sinking. How did this young girl know so much?

  ‘I love all those shows on TV, if you’re wondering,’ Ashna explained. ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she stage-whispered, ‘but I’ve got a real thing for Phil Spencer from Location, Location, Location!’

  Serena giggled. ‘I love that programme too,’ she agreed and they decided to settle down to watch it together on Thursday.

  But for now the Vicarage required their attention. In the end, although the wind whistled in through the rattling sash windows, Serena and Ashna decided they were basically sound and that to try to restore them would be far too costly. A lick of paint was all this floor really needed. They also needed to think of some use for the attic rooms, which were currently bare of any furnishings.

  ‘How about a sewing room for you for starters?’ suggested Serena.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t! This is your house. I can’t take over,’ replied Ashna, but Serena was insistent.

  ‘Far better than crowding out your bedroom with all that beautiful material. And anyway, it’s not safe. What if you stood on a pin in the night?’ Serena added and so it was agreed that the largest of the attic rooms would become a small workspace for Ashna, with the other rooms used for storage, although Serena thought she might install a couple of second-hand beds just in case they ever had a houseful.

  Back down on the first floor, more work was required. Ashna noted that each room needed the ancient floral wallpaper to be stripped and replaced with a decent coat of paint and that the parquet floor on the landing needed a good polish. The carpets in the bedrooms were decent enough, although Ashna noticed there was a large stain on the one in the nursery.

  ‘Let’s just leave that for now,’ said Serena, closing the door firmly, and Ashna didn’t argue.

  In the master bedroom, the original fireplace remained and Serena was contemplating getting this unblocked, as the room was icy at this time of year and she’d always thought it would be incredibly romantic to have a flickering fire casting a warm and cosy glow on their bed. Otherwise, it was in reasonable condition and the modern en suite was plain and clean. The dressing room could do with more shelving though, and Ashna listed this on her notepad.

  Pete was in his room and they decided not to disturb him, so they headed downstairs again. Serena found she was by now quite into her stride.

  ‘The staircase will need a good polish too. And down here, some of these need replacing,’ she added, pointing out a couple of cracked flagstones in the entrance hall. There was more painting required both on the ground and basement floors.

  When the two of them entered the kitchen, Serena slumped down onto a chair.

  ‘What on earth do we do in here?’ she asked, casting her eye over the room, which was in dire need of a lick of paint and so old-fashioned as to be almost prehistoric. The huge central work table was the main feature of the room, but it was heavily stained and rife with indentations from slicing and chopping.

  ‘You’re not going to put in modern kitchen units, are you?’ asked Ashna. ‘It’s so charming as it is.’ Serena looked over the kitchen again, as if with fresh eyes.

  ‘I think I’d rather not, especially as the floor would be ruined – the tessellated tiles are too beautiful to rip up. Such incredible blues and golds. I suppose if we had the central work table cleaned up professionally that would be a start,’ she conceded.

  ‘And the dresser is rather lovely,’ she observed, getting up to inspect it. It was made of pine and there were cup hooks along the edges of the shelves, as well as narrow grooves along the tops, where pretty plates could be stored while on display. ‘Historical, even,’ Serena added, making a me
ntal note to seek out some attractive crockery when she was next at a second-hand shop.

  ‘Exactly!’ enthused Ashna, and soon they agreed simply to make small changes to the room, retaining its old-fashioned charm as much as possible.

  By the end of the day, Serena had contacted a local painter and decorator – she never had got round to it on her birthday – and arranged to meet him the day after next. By the time she climbed into bed, wrapping her arms around Will’s solid torso, she was exhausted. The next day she woke feeling fresh. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in many, many months.

  10.

  AUGUST 1996

  For the first two days of her holiday in Majorca, Serena felt miserably homesick. She was mystified as to why, since she’d been so looking forward to the trip. She could understand feeling homesick for her father, but it wasn’t just him she missed. She missed her uncosy mother, her bedroom, the faulty tap that dripped in the next-door bathroom all night – even Luna’s changeable moods. It made no sense and yet Arthur had always instilled in his girls that blood was thicker than water. It was one of the few matters he was adamant about, having been fostered throughout his childhood until finding his twin brother in his teens and discovering they were almost identical, not just in looks but in character. Serena now realised that perhaps her father was right. Despite everything, she missed her family more than she’d ever thought possible.

  She was a polite girl, however, and tried her best to conceal her longing for home from her hosts, who ran a bed and breakfast business from the farmhouse, or finca as they called it.