Home for Winter

by Rebecca Boxall

  Freddie’s Mum, Bobbi, seemed to sense that this girl with wild blonde locks was rather lost and put the kinder of Freddie’s older sisters in charge of bolstering her spirits. And soon enough, Serena found herself enjoying being part of a large and energetic family.

  Bobbi was a very tranquil kind of person. She had long, youthful dark hair and a worn but attractive face, tanned to walnut by the sun. She wore long skirts and beads and everything she did was done at a slow, measured pace. She reminded Serena of her father and she found herself watching, mesmerised, as Bobbi went about her daily tasks. She was enchanting, whatever she was doing – collecting the hens’ eggs, laying the long wooden table on the terrace, hanging sheets on the washing line, brushing her hair with steady even strokes, screwing in her chunky earrings. Always busy. Never idle. But her industry took place in such an unrushed and soothing manner.

  Freddie’s father too was laid-back, but he had a different energy about him. He also looked like an old hippy, with long faded hair, a beard and droopy clothes – but Freddie had explained to Serena in one of his letters that Malcolm used to be a City trader, and there was a sparky liveliness about him that made it possible to imagine him shouting out numbers in the pit, pacing around with a phone clamped to his ear. But the City was always a means to an end for him and as soon as he had enough money he left London, family in tow, to live out his lifelong dream of subsisting somewhere warm and undemanding.

  Freddie’s older sisters were called Amber and Ebony, such exotic names that Serena couldn’t understand why his little sister was called Jane. In fact, she was always known as ‘Little Jane’ as she was a tiny little thing, looking much younger than her eleven years. Freddie himself was a little older than Serena at seventeen and the two older girls were close in age – Ebony nineteen and Amber twenty. Neither of them seemed to have a job or to be in any sort of education. They just sauntered around the house, sporadically helping their parents out with the bed and breakfast business in the day and partying hard at night.

  As for Freddie himself, it had been a revelation to Serena to discover the character traits not yet revealed through his letters, most notably his fearlessness. He was wild. Perhaps even reckless. And yet courteous as well, conscious not to let this part of his character impact on anyone else, including her. The very first time Serena saw him, arriving at the farmhouse after being picked up by Bobbi (who’d explained that Freddie was looking after his little sister, who got terribly carsick), he was flying through the air on his bike. He’d created some kind of homemade ramp in the garden and she watched as he pedalled at full speed towards it, took off into the air for several moments and landed with a gleeful holler. Though when he spotted Serena he quickly discarded his bike and ran over, eager to be introduced and show her around.

  He was handsome too, incredibly so. She’d seen a photo, of course – he’d sent one with a letter recently – but clearly Freddie wasn’t vain for the picture had done him no justice at all. Meanwhile, Serena feared the photo she’d sent of herself had been overly complimentary, catching her in a good light, and she wondered if Freddie thought her a disappointment in the flesh. Not that it mattered terribly. After all, it wasn’t as though they were going out with each other. They were pen pals – nothing more, nothing less.

  As the days passed, however, and Serena gradually felt more at home at the old finca, she had to admit she was growing increasingly attracted to Freddie. His olive skin grew darker by the day and his hair was a delicious combination of dark and light, with the effect of molten caramel. He was made for a hot country, she thought – unlike her. Her pale skin, unused to the sun, turned redder every day, no matter how much lotion she slapped on, and the heat made her hair frizz unattractively. One evening, Amber offered to lend Serena her hair straighteners and she attempted to iron out her springy curls along with the frizz. But while she thought she looked wonderfully grown-up and sophisticated, Freddie looked concerned when he saw her.

  ‘Why are you trying to look like Amber and Ebs?’ he asked, putting a hand out to touch her hair.

  Serena felt her face begin to flame. ‘I . . . I just thought I’d try a new style,’ she stammered. ‘Don’t you like it?’

  Freddie shrugged. ‘It’s nice, it’s just . . .’ he tailed off.

  ‘What?’ asked Serena, suddenly feeling a little cross. It had taken her ages to style her hair this way.

  ‘You look like everyone else now,’ he explained. ‘I like you different.’

  Then he grinned. ‘But you do look good. Come on, let’s go out tonight now you’ve made the effort. There’s a bar you’ll love. I’m sorry I haven’t taken you out yet since you got here. Mum told me to give you time to settle in first. Majorca can be quite crazy when you’re not used to it.’

  Serena felt her spirits soar. By now she’d fallen in love with the old farmhouse in the hills of Deia, as well as with Freddie’s family, but it would be exciting to sample the nightlife for which a part of the island was so famous. And going out with Freddie would be a kind of date, or so she hoped.

  In fact, it was nothing like a date as it soon became clear Freddie had arranged to meet his older sisters and various friends at the bar, and the place was anything but intimate. The whole building vibrated with music and excitement and, although Serena was a little disappointed it wasn’t just the two of them, she felt adrenaline start to flow through her body as she downed the beers she was handed on a regular basis by those who were old enough to buy them. By two o’clock in the morning, she was feeling very woozy indeed, but the bar had only just begun to fill. She stepped outside onto the cobbles to get some fresh air and, as she swayed outside the throbbing building, she savoured the warm breeze lifting her smoothed hair off her back.

  ‘There you are!’ It was Freddie. He’d found her. ‘Don’t go wandering off like that! I was worried,’ he said. He didn’t seem drunk at all, but Serena had seen him downing as many beers as she had. He watched her swaying and chuckled.

  ‘Look at you,’ he said, pulling her towards him, and Serena hoped he was about to kiss her. But he didn’t. He just hugged her to him. It was a lovely hug – she felt safe and comforted – but sadly there was nothing romantic to it at all.

  11.

  MARCH 2015

  Serena yawned. ‘Right, time I went up. It’s been fun though,’ she added. She and Will had joined forces against Ashna and Pete for a game of Pictionary, which had been pretty raucous, fuelled by Will’s homemade beer that he’d wanted everyone to sample. But it was late now and Serena’s bed was calling.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Ashna, hopping up off the floor where she’d been sitting on the rug beside the log burner, stroking Paddington, who’d been in seventh heaven.

  ‘We’ll just have a nightcap, shall we?’ Will asked Pete as he jumped up and located a bottle of port. They were engrossed in conversation when the doorbell rang.

  ‘It’s late,’ said Will, checking his watch. Almost midnight. ‘Back in a sec,’ he said to Pete.

  Serena, having heard the doorbell, came downstairs, wrapped in a dressing gown. She watched as Will answered the door.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, greeting a scruffy-looking chap on the doorstep. The poor man looked cold and bedraggled, wearing just a thin anorak.

  ‘You look freezing,’ Will said. ‘Come in and have a cup of tea,’ he added, and the timid man followed him down the stairs, Serena trailing after them.

  The man didn’t say anything. He might well have been mute. But Will kept up a steady stream of undemanding chatter as he made him a cup of tea and heated up some soup while Serena found a couple of bread rolls and the butter dish. The man – clearly a vagrant – wolfed down the sustenance and stood up. He gave a little bow, then made his way back up the stairs, Will and Serena following behind.

  ‘Wait!’ said Will. ‘Just hang on here a mo,’ he added, and the poor soul stood and waited with Serena in the hall.

  Will disappeared, returning with a thick Puffa jacket. ‘
I don’t wear this any more,’ he said. ‘Would you like it?’ The man looked at Will, gratitude in his eyes, and took the coat, quickly putting it on over his anorak.

  Serena spotted Pete, who had emerged from the study and was watching this tender scene in wonder. Both Serena and Pete knew that Will wore that coat nearly every day. She had a feeling that Pete – who was in many ways still a child in comparison to Will and Serena – had decided then and there that when he grew up, he wanted to be just like Will.

  The next morning, Serena and Ashna were at the kitchen table, waiting for the painter Serena had contacted to arrive, when Pete came down looking sleep-dishevelled.

  ‘Mornin’, ladies,’ he said. They stared at him. How could anyone look so gorgeous when they’d just crawled out of bed? Pete flicked on the kettle, then scraped back a chair and plonked himself down, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, spotting Ashna’s ‘to do’ list on the table.

  ‘List of things that need doing to the house to get it looking remotely respectable,’ said Serena, pulling a face. ‘Only it’s going to cost an arm and a leg. We’re seeing a painter today, who I’m reliably informed is the cheapest in the business round here, but with the size of this place, I suspect the bill won’t be for the faint-hearted.’

  ‘You can have my arm and leg to pay for it, if you want,’ Pete joked. ‘I’ve always got another of each on the other side. I probably owe you a limb or two for takin’ me in.’

  Serena chuckled.

  Will came in next and inspected the list himself. ‘See if he can just do one floor at a time, to save us being too disrupted,’ he said. ‘Who’d like a coffee?’ he asked then, noting the kettle had just boiled.

  ‘Please, mate,’ said Pete. He looked up at Will like a puppy to its master. Serena smiled. She could see why Pete was so in awe of Will, who, while kindly enough to have seen past his history, was no pushover. She felt as though she and Will were a little like an older brother and sister to Pete and Ashna. In fact, she couldn’t believe how well the arrangement seemed to be working or how much better she felt for having more people in the house.

  When the doorbell rang, Serena dashed up the stairs to answer it.

  ‘Morning,’ said the man at the door, who was wearing jeans and a checked shirt and had a remarkably well-spoken voice. He was tall, with a confident stance and a rugged complexion that suggested he spent a lot of time outdoors. His hair was thick and dark, cut short to tame the curls, and dark stubble – almost a beard – framed his smiling face.

  ‘Hi,’ said Serena, ‘can I help you?’ She wondered who this stranger might be. Knowing what vicarage life could be like, she couldn’t begin to hazard whether this man would be looking for shelter, selling something or simply an old friend of Will’s.

  ‘We did say ten o’clock, didn’t we?’ the man asked, checking his watch.

  ‘Oh, you’re the painter!’ Serena exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry – it’s just you don’t look like one!’

  ‘Overalls are in the van,’ the man explained. ‘It’s the voice as well, isn’t it? Bit posh for a painter and decorator,’ he said, grinning cheerfully. ‘Do you mind if I bring in the twins?’ he asked next, and Serena shook her head. This was becoming more and more bizarre. He’d brought his children with him?

  ‘I’ll be down in the kitchen,’ she shouted to the painter, who was by now approaching the back of the van parked opposite. He waved to assure her he’d heard.

  ‘He’s posh!’ Serena informed the others as she scuttled downstairs. Will laughed.

  ‘Serena’s a sucker for stereotyping,’ he explained to Pete and Ashna. ‘Always surprised if someone breaks the mould.’

  ‘And he’s bringing his children in with him,’ she whispered now, in case the man was on his way down. The next moment, two lively black Labradors burst into the kitchen, causing Paddington to jump into Serena’s arms in fright.

  ‘Oh, bugger, sorry – didn’t realise you had a cat,’ said the painter. ‘Shall I put them back in the van?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. I’ll shut Paddington in the scullery,’ said Serena, depositing her disgruntled feline into the unwelcoming little room when she’d so been enjoying the warmth of the Rayburn. ‘Are these the twins?’ Serena asked.

  ‘Yes. My babies: Basil and Manuel,’ said the decorator. Serena smiled at the blank looks coming from Pete and Ashna as they digested the dogs’ names. Although he looked fairly young, the man must have been in his thirties to remember repeats of Fawlty Towers.

  ‘And I’m Max,’ he said, introducing himself to Serena and the others. ‘Local painter and decorator. I promise you, no one is better or cheaper,’ he announced confidently.

  ‘Good to meet you. Come on,’ Serena said. ‘I’ll show you what needs doing.’

  Will disappeared into his study while Max followed Serena around the house, a notepad and stubby pencil in hand.

  After concluding their tour, they returned to the kitchen where Pete and Ashna were making a great fuss of the dogs.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ asked Serena.

  ‘Love one, please. Milk, no sugar,’ Max replied, ripping a page from the notebook. ‘Here’s my quote, by the way. I’m not one to hang about. And don’t be embarrassed if it sounds like too much. Just tell me the most important things and I can give you an instant re-quote.’

  Serena put the kettle on, then took the page from Max and gulped. Heavens. She knew it was probably a snip, but it was still far more than they could afford.

  ‘Um, well, if we were maybe to start with this, this and this,’ she said, underlining a few tasks. ‘What would that come to?’ she asked.

  Fortunately, the diocese had been in touch the day before to confirm they’d be preparing their five-yearly report on any works they considered essential in the house in the next few weeks so Serena was hoping the Church would be able to stump up for some of the jobs she’d now deferred. She was fairly sure they wouldn’t mind who did them, so with any luck they’d be able to keep Max on. They’d even made noises about providing some funding for tidying up the overgrown garden.

  Sensing the delicacy of the conversation, Ashna and Pete upped the volume of their dog-fussing. Serena smiled inwardly. Those two were always in cahoots and she couldn’t have been more pleased. She just knew they’d be perfectly suited. Max consulted his pad again and wrote a revised figure at the bottom of the page. It was much more manageable as a starting point.

  ‘When can you begin?’ she asked.

  ‘Soon as you like,’ Max replied. ‘And if you want, I could give you a quote for the garden at some stage too,’ he added. ‘I do landscaping as well as decorating.’

  Serena was about to reply when Pete chipped in.

  ‘No need for that, mate. I’ve got it covered,’ he said. ‘Serena, could I have a word?’

  They made their way out of the back door to the garden.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Serena asked Pete.

  ‘Yeah, ’course, but listen: I’m not payin’ the goin’ rate for rent and was hopin’ to find a way to help out a bit more. Before I started gettin’ into trouble, I did a course in landscape gardenin’. Least I can do is get the garden sorted for you,’ he offered, his eyes twinkling. ‘Come and have a quick look now and I’ll tell you what I’m thinkin’ . . .’ he offered. Will popped his head out into the garden a moment later, then came out, as Pete was keen to discuss his provisional plans with the two of them.

  Serena couldn’t believe it. She’d always thought of Ashna as an angel sent from above, but she was starting to think she and Will had been sent two angels. Thank goodness, she thought, remembering Mrs Pipe’s words on her birthday about the curse. With any luck, she thought, the good might just outweigh any darkness.

  ‘I’m chilly,’ said Serena after a couple of minutes outside. ‘Let me just grab my coat.’ She left the men chatting and went back into the kitchen and through to the scullery to find her parka. Max and Ashna were talking in
the kitchen.

  ‘I love your dogs,’ Ashna was saying. ‘I used to have a black lab. Briefly, anyway. Snoozy, I called him, as he loved a nap.’

  ‘They’re the best, aren’t they?’

  ‘Gorgeous. I found him – he’d been abandoned and I took him in, but my father had him put down.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Max, looking shocked.

  ‘He’d been away on business and when he got back and found I’d taken in a stray dog, he was furious. Said he’d have fleas and all kinds of diseases. I begged him just to take the dog to the shelter, but he said he was doing the animal a favour. I couldn’t stop him,’ she explained.

  ‘Of course not – he sounds like a beast. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s cruelty to animals . . . Sorry, I’m sure he’s got his good points, but sheesh . . .’ Max puffed out his cheeks, reeling from the story, shock and empathy in his eyes.

  ‘No need to apologise. He doesn’t really. That’s why I’m here . . .’ Ashna began, explaining that she was new to the village.

  ‘I only moved to Cattlebridge a few months ago too. I lived in Tunbridge Wells before – that’s where my family’s from. But when I started my painting and decorating course at a college in Hastings, I wanted to move a bit nearer. Always fancied living in a village and the cottage I’m renting on the high street is lovely. Tiny, but fine for just me. Well, me and the dogs. There’s a little garden, so it’s perfect.’

  ‘It sounds lovely,’ smiled Ashna.

  ‘Not too shabby, especially now I’ve used all my newly acquired painting skills on it! Now, tell me more about you. How did you end up in the village?’

  Ashna gave him a summary of what had led her to the Vicarage before turning the questions back to him.

  ‘Why did you want to leave the town you’re from? Was it just so you’d be nearer to college or was there something else?’ she asked.

  A cloud passed over Max’s face and his cheerful smile vanished. But before he could answer, Serena disturbed them, having finally located her coat under a mound of other jackets.