Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage

by Milly Johnson

  His accent wasn’t local. Stel credited the slight sing-song cadence in it to the Derby or Nottinghamshire area.

  ‘Can I make you a cup of coffee?’ Stel asked, hoping he wouldn’t see that as a sign that she wanted anything other than to put the kettle on for him.

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

  She knew how he took it because she’d made him one often enough – weak and very white with two sugars. She wasn’t thick, she knew that he timed his breaks to tie in with hers.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ replied Maria, giving Stel a mischievous wink as she put her upturned empty cup in the dishwasher, and flounced out as quickly as her legs could manage. Stel could have throttled her. She could feel Ian’s eyes on her back as she refilled the kettle and plugged it in.

  ‘So how’s you then, Stel?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m okay thanks, Ian,’ said Stel, glancing over her shoulder and throwing him a smile. It was true what they said about watched pots. This kettle was taking an age to boil.

  ‘Daughter all right?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your daughter? Has she settled in her new place?’

  So he knew about Viv then. Probably through Maria, arming him with information which might get him an ‘in’ with her.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Stel with an absent sigh, which Ian heard.

  ‘That was a big sigh.’

  ‘Did I sigh?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Stel swallowed hard on the sudden tears that threatened to come tumbling down her cheeks and embarrass her. Basil still hadn’t come back home and none of the local vets or animal centres had had notice of him. One tear escaped the barricade, followed by another which she wiped quickly away.

  ‘Here, let me make us both a coffee.’ Ian’s hands came gently on Stel’s arms and he moved her away from the kettle. ‘Sit down.’ He took the spoon out of her hand and took two clean mugs out of the cupboard. He remembered how she took hers and didn’t need to ask.

  Stel sat down at the dining table in the middle of the kitchen and watched Ian preparing the drinks. He had a good physique from the back. Tall, very slim, short dark hair in a military crew cut. She felt shallow that she’d regarded him as unfanciable earlier just because his eyes didn’t fit her ideal.

  ‘I haven’t got any kids, so I can’t talk from experience,’ he was saying. ‘But I know what a state my mum was in when I left home to go into the army.’ He pronounced it ‘Ormy’. It made her smile, even though she didn’t feel much like smiling.

  ‘Our cat has gone missing as well,’ Stel blurted out, not sure why she was taking him into her confidence. ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’

  ‘Oh dear. Maybe he’s out hunting, enjoying these lovely summer nights.’

  ‘He’s too lazy to hunt anything. He hardly ever goes out and I’ve got visions of him locked in someone’s garage just before they’ve gone on holiday for a fortnight . . .’

  ‘Hey, hold on, hold on,’ he said, pressing his hands down as if attempting to apply a manual brake on her words. ‘My mum had a cat that was always going walkabout. She used to get all worked up and then he’d come strolling back in fatter than when he went out. That’s what cats do.’

  ‘Not Basil,’ said Stel. ‘And I lied to Viv and told her that he’d come home.’

  ‘Do you want me to help you look for him? Four eyes are better than two. Or six if I wear my glasses.’

  Stel smiled. ‘Thanks, but I’ve looked everywhere.’

  ‘Where do you live?’ He put a mug of coffee down on the table in front of her.

  ‘Thank you. Horton Lane, Pogley Top.’

  ‘You’ve got fields at the back up there, haven’t you?’

  ‘And the woods. And a stream. I’ve walked around them all and called and called and he hasn’t returned.’

  Ian mused. ‘You’ll have rung around all the vets and that, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Ian scratched absently at his arms, criss-crossed with red lines.

  ‘You should wear gloves,’ said Stel.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gardening gloves.’ She pointed at the lattice-work on his skin.

  ‘I know.’ He raised up his arms and studied them. ‘They look like something off a Frankenstein movie, don’t they? I don’t think I’d win an arm beauty contest but I’m a gardener, I like to be close to the earth.’

  The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He was quite attractive when he smiled, and that comment about getting close to the earth was ever so slightly sexy.

  Stel’s eyes flicked upwards to the clock on the wall. ‘Oh blimey, I’d better get back to my post,’ she said, standing hurriedly and lifting the mug. ‘Thanks for the coffee, and the ear. Sorry if I got a bit emotional.’

  Ian waved his hand airily to dismiss the notion. ‘Oh don’t worry. Perfectly understandable in the circumstances. You should try and find something to take your mind off things. There’s some good films on at the cinema at the moment.’

  Nooo. Alarm bells started ringing in Stel’s head. She didn’t want to be put in the sticky position of turning him down face to face.

  ‘Never really liked the cinema,’ she lied, trying her level best to look as if she hadn’t noticed his words were anything other than a casual observation. ‘I think I’ll get the girls round and have a few drinks.’

  ‘You do that,’ he replied, standing up to go. ‘Catch you later. And keep that chin up.’

  Stel went back to her seat at the reception desk grateful that she had avoided what could have been an awkward situation. Then again, shouldn’t she have been flattered that a fine figure of an ex-soldier had taken an interest in her?

  Chapter 9

  ‘Please, Rebecca. Please let us have Freddie for an hour. For his grandad’s birthday. We’re all desperate to see him.’

  On the other end of the phone there was a moment’s silence, into which Linda read a touch of hope; only for it to be felled by the axe of that one word: ‘No.’

  ‘I’m absolutely begging you.’ Behind her, Dino tapped her on the shoulder, gesturing for her to hand the phone over to him.

  ‘Rebecca,’ he said. ‘Just an hour, love. It would be the best present I could have.’

  ‘He’s got a swimming lesson.’ Rebecca’s voice came tinnily down the phone. ‘I’ll let him run up the path to deliver your card but then we will have to go. I don’t want to turn up late.’

  Iris was gesticulating madly at Dino so he turned his back on her in order not to be distracted. ‘It’s not fair,’ she shouted.

  On the other end of the line, Rebecca huffed. ‘Tell her life isn’t fair.’

  ‘Look, ignore her,’ said Dino with dignity, fighting to reclaim some ground. ‘We will be glad to see you both. You’re very welcome anytime.’ But he was speaking into the ether as the phone had been put down on the other side.

  Iris and Linda both exploded then, Iris with expletives, Linda with tears. Dino put his arms around his wife and pulled her into his shoulder.

  ‘I know, I know, but if I start playing hardball, she won’t come around at all. Bloss, you shouldn’t have shouted that.’

  ‘Well, it’s not fair,’ screeched Iris. ‘It was the sorriest day ever when Andy met her.’

  ‘Then we wouldn’t have Freddie at all now, would we, Bloss?’ Dino had always called Iris Blossom, which had shortened to Bloss over the years. Even though she was more triffid than delicate flower, the nickname had stuck. ‘She said that she’ll drive past on her way to Freddie’s swimming lesson so he can deliver my card. At least she’s bought one to give me. I can’t remember her doing that before.’

  ‘I’d better keep out of the way when she comes,’ snarled Iris. ‘Otherwise I might not be responsible for my actions.’

  None of them could understand what their strapping soldier son Andy Hewitt had seen in the older, streetwise Rebecca Pawson. She had a face that could have soured milk but still, they welcomed her into th
e family since Andy was a grown man after all. A huge flash wedding was hurriedly planned, Rebecca fell pregnant with Freddie then Andy got cold feet and asked for a delay. Rebecca took umbrage – and her newborn – and left him. In a right old financial mess, too. And she’d been punishing the whole Hewitt clan ever since. Rebecca had fought with claws extended, twisted facts and lied until the courts had decreed that the two-hour weekly access between Andy and his son, whenever Andy was home on leave, had to be under her supervision, unless she agreed that he was fit to have Freddie in his lone care. Andy could have fought harder and nastier, but for Freddie’s sake he did not want it on public record how much of a bitch his son’s mother really was – although Rebecca clearly didn’t share his consideration.

  Andy could have gone back to court but he didn’t have the thousands it would cost in solicitors’ fees. Iris would have given him the money gift-wrapped but Dino warned that if they lost, Rebecca would withdraw even the scrap of goodwill she dangled in front of them. They were all trapped under her control until the lad was old enough to make up his own mind.

  What worried them most was the way that Rebecca left three-year-old Freddie in the care of the elderly mother whose house she shared. Enid Pawson had never been noted for her reliability, plus she had an ornamental lake in her back garden. The combination of deep water and small boy terrified Linda. She was convinced that it was an accident waiting to happen. She couldn’t wait for the day when she could tell the Pawsons exactly what she thought of them. She would make Iris look like Shirley bloody Temple.

  ‘She’s not going to let Freddie come around for his birthday this month either, is she?’ said Linda mournfully. ‘Just an hour, so he can open his presents here and spend some time with us.’

  ‘It won’t always be like this, love,’ said Dino. ‘Freddie will grow up and come and see us when he wants.’

  Linda couldn’t help saying, in a low whisper she hoped Iris wouldn’t hear, ‘That might be too late though.’

  Then she felt fingers curl around her own and looked down to find Iris’s wrinkled hand there. Linda was a rock-hard matron, in charge of umpteen wards and staff, and whom many doctors deferred to, but suddenly she was whizzed back in time fifty years, feeling the comfort of that same hand, then smooth and plump and warm. She didn’t want to let it go, she didn’t want to go into that big scary school. Her mother was safe and familiar. Always there when she needed comfort, reassurance, an injection of maternal-strength. Iris was a spiky, loose-mouthed old bugger but she would never let anyone harm the ones she loved. How dare Rebecca Pawson keep Freddie from her, more than any of us? thought Linda with a sudden spurt of rage.

  Linda closed her eyes and sent a short silent prayer upwards: Please God, I don’t care how You do it, but help us. She needed to go straight to the top with this one.

  Chapter 10

  It took Viv three full days to sort out the office, but by the end of them, the files were in order, receipts were sorted and there was a box of old papers which might or might not need shredding – Viv needed the authority of the boss on that one. He had still not made an appearance but she expected him any minute.

  Getting the office sorted had taken her mind off being away from her mum and Basil. She liked spending time with Geraldine in the evenings. Geraldine worked so hard both inside and outside the farmhouse. She mucked out the animals and fed them all. Feed was expensive and they were grateful for local donations that helped them get by. The nearby farm sent food, the supermarket in nearby Mawton rang up with offers of fish for the sea eagle and the local police informed them if they’d had to dispose of a deer. The birds loved a bit of venison and playing with the bones.

  What Geraldine cooked for herself and Viv was far more palatable. But the previous night Viv had insisted on taking her turn. She had planned pasta cooked with pesto and cream and lots of Parmesan cheese but Mr Mark, the shopkeeper of Ironmist Stores, had asked her what the bloody hell pesto was, so she’d had to leave that ingredient out. It didn’t matter – the pasta and the crusty bread from the bakery was perfect. Pilot had laid over her feet under the table as they ate. He was a lovely old fella and despite her initial unease at the size of him, she very soon realised he was as gentle a dog as God could make. Viv liked Geraldine’s company. She filled her in on some of the people in the hamlet – who sounded eccentric at best. There was Mrs Macy who knitted teddy bears, all day, every day, and wine-making Selwyn Stanbury who had a forest of Bonsai trees in his barber’s shop. Then there was Mr Mark and Mr Wayne, the Ironmist Stores owners who were like psychic twins because they always finished off each other’s sentences. Mr Wayne had recently been in hospital to have part of his lung removed and the whole hamlet had rejoiced that he was on the mend. And, of course, Armstrong who was building a rocket in his garden so he could visit his dad in heaven.

  Geraldine opened the door with a mug of coffee and a plate of biscuits to find Viv cleaning underneath the desk with a wet sponge.

  ‘My, my, I can hardly recognise the place. Heath is going to be very impressed with you,’ she said with a genuine gasp of admiration.

  Viv got up from the floor and surveyed her handiwork. She wasn’t prone to self-praise, but even she had to admit that she’d done a mighty fine job.

  Geraldine dropped a long sigh. ‘Oh Viv, I feel so guilty about not telling you when you applied that we don’t know how temporary this job is going to be. It was wrong of me, but I knew no one would answer the advert if I had. I’m still surprised you did anyway. But we need to be organised now more than ever. I thought that somewhere in this room there just might be some piece of paper that would help us fight our corner. I don’t suppose you saw anything like that, did you?’ Her big grey eyes were full of hope.

  ‘I have to say, I didn’t,’ replied Viv. ‘Surely you at least have squatters rights? Surely if this has been Heath’s family’s home for generations . . .’

  ‘Leighton was going to give Heath one of his new builds, but you can imagine what he said to that offer. Leighton has a team of lawyers costing God knows how much to make sure we’re history, because he can afford to do that. There are no listed buildings, no rare species of toad or butterfly living here and needing protection which can save us . . . I’m just hoping that being away from us for a few days has made Heath think of something we might have overlooked.’

  ‘I hope so too, for you all,’ said Viv. She hadn’t expected this mess when she applied for the job.

  Geraldine smiled. ‘You’re such a lovely girl. I can feel it. Just try not to fall in love with him though.’

  Viv’s head twisted round sharply and she laughed. ‘What?’

  ‘Heath. He’s a bit of a mixed-up bunny. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.’

  Viv sipped her drink and brought to mind the cranky old man she had pictured Heath to be. Maybe she needed to rethink that image. Geraldine obviously thought him attractive; a big fish in the small pond that was Ironmist. But Viv hadn’t come here to fall in love with anyone.

  ‘You can trust me on this, Geraldine, I won’t fall in love with Heath Merlo,’ she said, taking a biscuit and snapping it in two with her teeth.

  Chapter 11

  Stel got in from work, looked at Basil’s still-full food bowl of biscuits and burst into tears. He was dead, she knew it. Al had come round to tell her that he’d rung the council a couple of times now on her behalf but there were no reports of dead ginger cats being picked up by them, which didn’t give her any comfort. What if the binmen couldn’t be bothered to file a report? What if he’d been hit by a car but crawled off to die in some undergrowth? He would definitely have been home by now if he were still alive. What was she going to tell Viv when she next called? She wished she could at least know where his body was so she could bury him in the garden. She wanted him home, where he belonged, one way or another. Her lovely big friendly boy. Viv would be heartbroken. The house felt different without him. She wanted to pick him up and bury her face in his fur and hea
r his pneumatic purr. Her brain had gone into overload: he was lying beside the road somewhere unable to get home; he had fallen in Pogley Stripe and couldn’t get out of the water; he had been picked up by scientists for medical experiments; he was suffering, he was cold and hungry and meowling for his nice, comfortable bed.

  Stel couldn’t face cooking so later she walked to the chip shop at the corner of the road but when she sat down to eat it, even the crisp batter of the cod straight from the fryer couldn’t tempt her appetite. Absently she started breaking it up with her fingers to put in Basil’s bowl. He always wolfed down leftovers from her fish suppers. Tears pricked her eyes and she let them fall without wiping them up. They plopped onto the table one by one in a sad rhythm.

  Then there was an unexpected heavy rap on the front door. Stel hurriedly wiped her hands and cheeks before setting off down the hall. She could see a tall male figure through the frosted glass, and she slipped the chain on just in case before she opened the door.

  There on her front step struggling with a blanket that appeared to be alive was Ian Robson.

  ‘Quick, let me in, Stel,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve found your cat.’

  Stel fumbled with the chain, just in time as a ginger cat wriggled out of the blanket and launched itself from Ian’s arms onto the floor. The meow was unmistakable.

  ‘Basil.’ Stel scooped him up from the floor and hugged him to her. As he rubbed his cheek on her hair, Stel thought her heart would burst with love for him. Ian was still standing outside.

  ‘Come in, Ian, come in.’ She pulled him by the sleeve over the threshold. ‘Oh, where did you find him?’

  ‘I went looking for him,’ said Ian. ‘I know that if cats are scared they’re more likely to come out at night. I just tramped over the fields at the back and found him looking very sorry for himself up by Elvhurst’s farm.’

  ‘Elvhurst’s farm? But that must be a mile away.’ The farm was at the other side of the thin ribbon of river that the locals called Pogley Stripe.