Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage

by Milly Johnson

  She floored the accelerator down the drive and flew into the cottage kitchen. Geraldine was up, dressed in one of her floaty frocks and was at the sink, washing up. Heath was just ending a call, probably to the bank because Viv heard his last words just before he slammed the old phone back down on its cradle: ‘Why don’t you shove your temporary overdraft facility up your arse.’

  ‘Heath, I’ve got an injured rabbit in my car,’ said Viv quickly. ‘I found it down by the gate. I think someone’s cut its ears off.’

  Heath followed her out. Viv opened the boot carefully and there she saw the creature properly for the first time, sitting in the wrap of her cardigan, its little white body cruelly dyed with something that made its fur stiff and matted. It was shaking so much it looked as if it were sitting on a power plate.

  ‘Bastards,’ he said. ‘People are bastards.’ Then, as he leaned over to pick the rabbit up, his voice changed immediately to a calm, low tone. ‘Come here little fella. That’s it, nothing to be scared of.’ Viv watched his long fingers close around the rabbit’s body and it didn’t attempt to struggle as he picked it up and placed it next to his chest, talking to it all the while.

  ‘Oh no, who the hell would do such a thing?’ Geraldine moved out of the doorway to let them in. She limped over to the table. She was close to tears, but Viv was closer.

  Heath gave the rabbit a careful check over. ‘He’s an unneutered male, hard to tell the age but I’d guess not very old. He’s very thin and these ears have been cut off with scissors or a knife. This isn’t an injury from another animal,’ said Heath. ‘This has been done in the last couple of days, by the look of things. How nice of them to dump him and let nature finish him off.’

  ‘Or he’s come to us because he’s meant to,’ put in Geraldine. ‘Animals gravitate towards those that have a home and a heart for them. And so do people around here. It’s not as if it’s an uncommon occurrence in Ironmist, is it?’

  She reached behind her to the dresser drawer and pulled out a camera.

  ‘We’ll take some pictures for the police,’ Geraldine explained to Viv. ‘Not that they have any chance of catching whoever did this. And even if they were prosecuted, they’d get a slap on the wrist. Oh, I hate this world sometimes.’

  ‘What the hell will happen when we’re not here, eh, Gerry?’ said Heath, soothing the little bunny with strokes and soft sounds.

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Heath,’ Geraldine replied. ‘Just don’t.’

  ‘I think I’m going to have to sedate and shave him when he’s a little stronger. We don’t want him swallowing that stuff. But we need to get some fluids into him. Viv, can you do as much as you can with the outside animals?’

  ‘Yes of course,’ said Viv. Heath had switched into vet mode, Geraldine into the role of his assistant, one she had played so many times and was at ease with, and would miss with her whole heart. She slipped off her shoes and threaded her feet into her flower-patterned wellies.

  ‘Viv.’ Heath’s voice arrested her first steps towards the door. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No worries,’ she said. She didn’t ask him what precise thing he was thanking her for. It didn’t matter.

  *

  When Stel walked into work that day, Maria did a double-take. Stel with toned down make-up? Was she ill?

  ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ said Stel, holding up her hand in a silencing gesture. ‘I’ve just decided to start acting my age a bit more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Maria. ‘Did you ever see photos of Barbara Cartland? She had full slap on always.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Stel, taking off her jacket and hanging it up on the coatstand. ‘And how bloody ridiculous did she look with Towie eyelashes at her age.’

  ‘Whose mad idea was this?’ asked Maria, resting her bosom on her crossed arms.

  ‘Mine, of course,’ Stel replied. ‘I haven’t quite gone bare yet, I’ve got a light covering of foundation on and a bit of mascara, but think of all the time I’ll save in the mornings not having to tart myself up. Not to mention the expense. My lipsticks are twenty quid each. You’ll get used to the new me in no time.’

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t expect me to join you,’ said Maria. ‘I’ve got a complexion not unlike corned beef. If I didn’t wear make-up, this building would empty of people because they’d be running into the streets screaming.’

  Stel chuckled. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the window and thought she looked like a ghost. Still, Ian would be pleased that she’d made the effort for him. And that’s all that mattered.

  Chapter 46

  Iris had told Linda that she was catching the bus into town to go to the library. She had lied. Iris wasn’t disposed to fibbing, seeing as she found most of her fun in telling the truth, but on this occasion, she thought it best to be economical with the facts.

  She put on her confused-old-lady act at the bus station. It worked and the bus driver escorted her to the 367 to Maplehill. She then asked the driver of the 367 where she would need to get off for Tennyson Lane and he assured her that he would shout up when it was her stop.

  He was good as his word. He even pointed out the bus stop where she should get back on and informed her that they ran every twenty minutes. Iris gave him her best daft-old-biddy grateful smile and got off the bus ten houses down from her destination.

  Before knocking on the door, she peeped in the front window. The house was open-plan and the lounge at the front was empty, but she could see Enid Pawson in the kitchen beyond. Iris opened the tall gate that guarded the back of the house as quietly as possible so as not to announce her arrival and stole down the path. She halted before she turned the corner to look with disgust at the ridiculous garden with its ugly bushes clipped, very badly, into various animal shapes. There was a pair of armless romantic nude statues covered in moss and gnomes nestling in amongst plants everywhere. The Pawsons thought they lived in bloody Downton Abbey by the look of things. Tackiest of all was the huge pond complete with a central island where an enormous gnome stood open-mouthed spewing water, pumped up through the middle of him, onto the backs of the Koi carp below. The vomiting gnome was holding a jailer’s bunch of metal keys in one hand and a stone heart in the other with a keyhole carved out of it. Who in their right minds would have that monstrosity in their garden, thought Iris. Well, she’d answered her own question there.

  She’s seen enough, it was time for action. With steel in her spine, she turned the corner and rapped on the large glass French door as a matter of courtesy, because it was ajar, then she walked straight into the kitchen.

  ‘Enid. I thought it was time we, as matriarchs, had a little chat. All right to come in?’

  Enid Pawson was wrong-footed. It was easier to agree than to disagree so she shrugged and said, ‘Well, you are in, aren’t you?’ Even if she wasn’t best pleased about it.

  Iris noticed immediately that Enid had placed herself between Iris and the worktop, blocking her view of what stood on it. Not much got past Iris though. But even if she hadn’t seen Enid turn quickly and smuggle the bottle of gin from the worksurface into the cupboard below, she could still smell the perfumed chemical smell hanging around her.

  ‘I’m not stopping so no need to put on the kettle,’ said Iris, which made Enid’s drawn-on eyebrows shoot up her forehead because she’d had no intention of doing that anyway. Iris pulled out a chair and sat at the smoked-glass dining table. It was all very stylish and cold, she thought. And the glass table had sharp pronounced edges. Not that child-friendly for a three-year-old boy.

  ‘I’ve come to talk to you about Freddie.’

  Enid wasn’t going to join Iris at the table, it seemed. She stood leaning against the worksurface, arms folded across her skinny chest.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Have you ever stopped to think what you would feel like if you were denied seeing your only grandchild?’

  Enid’s mouth held fast to the cat’s-arse-like pout on he
r lips.

  ‘You’re not being denied.’

  ‘Who are you trying to kid, Enid? Because it’s certainly not us and you can’t honestly believe that the present set-up is fair.’

  ‘It’s what the law says.’

  ‘No, the law said that Rebecca could change the arrangement in our favour at any time. Wouldn’t it make it easier on everyone if she did? You and I both know that in court she made Andy look like something he most definitely isn’t. Was that really fair?’

  ‘It’s none of my business.’

  Iris was fast losing patience. ‘Of course it’s your business. And it’s ours. That bairn is as much our flesh and blood as it is yours. We want to spend time with him. I want to spend time with him before it’s too late. You’re robbing him of memories.’

  ‘You should be talking to Rebecca about this, not me.’

  Iris wanted to slap that tight little moue of smugness off her face.

  ‘You know as well as I do that Rebecca won’t discuss it. I was hoping you would talk to her. As a fellow grandmother. As someone with some perspective on the matter, a bit of wisdom and sense. Ha!’

  ‘Rebecca doesn’t trust Freddie with his father.’

  Explosions started to go off in Iris’s head. It took every bit of effort she had to keep her tone level as she asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘You hear these stories, don’t you, our Rebecca says. Men kidnapping their kids and running off to Palestine.’

  Iris’s eyebrows Mexican-waved across her forehead as the brain inside tried to compute this and failed. She tried to sound puzzled rather than sarcastic and failed on that front too.

  ‘You think Andy will run off to Palestine with Freddie?’

  ‘You hear stories.’

  ‘Usually when the father is from Palestine. Andy’s from South Yorkshire. He’s a decorated soldier. Why the hell would he run off anywhere?’

  ‘Revenge.’

  There was a large pepper grinder on the dining table. Iris had a sudden image of herself bludgeoning this stupid woman to death with it. She rubbed her temple with her fingers.

  ‘Look, Enid, you know perfectly well that Andy isn’t going to run off anywhere. He wants to be able to take his son off for the day, to the seaside. He wants Linda and Dino to put him to sleep in the bedroom they’ve decorated for him. Dino’s painted jellyfish all over it. And spaceships. You should see it, it’s like the Sistine Chapel for boys. We just want to have some precious time with our little lad.’

  ‘He’s not your little lad though, is he? He’s ours.’ As Iris watched that puckered-up little mouth change shape into a thin-lipped sneer, the brake on her mouth which she had tried so hard to keep wedged on snapped.

  ‘He won’t belong to either of us if you get pissed on gin and let him drown in that bloody fish pond, will he?’ Iris pointed to the glass door leading out to Enid’s garden with the dreaded uncovered pond in it.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Enid’s mouth now fell open in a long O of indignation.

  ‘You stink of bloody gin,’ accused Iris. ‘You hid the bottle as soon as I walked in. I saw you. You and your snooty-knickered daughter talk about us running off with a little boy to the Middle East, well, let me tell you he’d still be safer with us in the middle of Beirut High Street than he is here with you.’

  Iris knew that she would be told to leave as soon as Enid could get a word in, so she stood up so that at least she could jump before she was pushed. ‘And I’ll tell you this, Enid Pawson: if anything, anything, happens to that child whilst he’s in your care, I will personally swing for you. You aren’t fit to look after a stuffed parrot. Gin-soaked with an uncovered pool . . . Freddie would be safer with King Bloody Herod as a childminder.’

  ‘Get—’

  Iris cut short Enid’s low growl. ‘I’m going. But I warn you. No more Mr Nice-Guy. I’m reporting you to social services. And the police. If you want to box dirty, Mrs, then you better get your gloves out ready.’

  Iris snatched up her handbag and walked as fast as her arthritic knee would allow her. She didn’t want the adrenaline flooding through her to stop because it was blotting out everything but her fury at the Pawson Two. Once it subsided, she would realise what she had done. Linda was probably going to put her on the first plane to Palestine.

  Chapter 47

  Stel looked through the window to check if Ian had arrived yet. This time there was no doubt that he would be staying the night because they’d had a cheeky kiss in the hospice garden at lunchtime and he’d asked if he could come over that night, with fish and chips, and he’d cook her breakfast the next morning. He’d also said that she looked so much better without ‘all that gunge’ on her face.

  And, ‘Next stop you need to sort out your wardrobe.’

  She’d replied to that with a laugh of confusion.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she’d asked, thinking that it was a bit harsh for a joke, and he’d rubbed his mouth with embarrassment.

  ‘Stel, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  But he had, and she needed to know what he meant. She looked down at herself and wondered what was so wrong with her black trousers and blue shirt ensemble.

  ‘It’s just that . . . no, no, ignore me . . .’ he had said, but she’d pressed until he answered.

  ‘Okay, on the line, I just like to see women in skirts, that’s all. You’ve got a cracking figure and you cover it up.’

  She’d hooted with laughter then. ‘Cracking figure? Me? Don’t be so ridiculous.’

  ‘Don’t laugh at me,’ he’d said and just for a second, a split second, before his smile broke out, Stel’s sensors picked up something that flashed the briefest amber alert.

  ‘Look, forgive me. What do I know about women’s fashions, eh? I’m a leg man – I can’t lie.’ He held out his arms at the side of him, a gesture of what you see is what you get. ‘And a bum man and a breast man,’ he carried on and she giggled. Then he kissed her and said he would see her at about seven and she grinned all the way through the afternoon.

  Now she was standing by the window in a skirt and a V-necked top, peeping from behind the curtain and watching him get out of the car. Al from next door had pulled up on his bike and raised his hand in greeting. Stel saw Ian walk towards Al and talk to him. That was sweet, she thought. Friendly. They must have been talking about her because Ian thumbed backwards towards the house. He isn’t letting Al get much of a word in, she thought. She backed away from the window in case they saw her spying, and she checked her face in the mirror. She thought she looked bloody awful without make-up.

  ‘Hello, hello,’ called Ian, letting himself in through the front door. ‘Delivery for Miss Blackbird.’

  ‘Oh lovely,’ said Stel, feeling her cheeks colour as Ian took in her outfit and mouthed the word ‘wow.’

  ‘Come through.’ She bashfully kissed him on the cheek before teetering down the hallway in her heels, letting her bottom swing a little. She did feel quite sexy, especially as he obviously approved of what she was wearing.

  ‘I saw you talking to Al,’ said Stel.

  ‘Yeah, we just said hello,’ replied Ian, opening up the parcel of fish and chips. ‘He was asking me how we were getting on and I told him that things were getting pretty serious.’

  Serious, after a week? thought Stel, though that was immediately replaced by a rush of excitement. A whirlwind romance. How could that fail to make her feel special.

  ‘What did Al say to that?’

  ‘Just good luck,’ replied Ian. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about your fat neighbour, Stel. Come on, lass, chop chop. Get the cutlery out.’

  Stel scurried to the cutlery drawer, cursing herself for not having it ready. Al wasn’t fat, but something stopped her making the point. She wouldn’t like it if he started talking about Minging Meredith, would she? Minging Meredith. She’d given her a derogatory nickname because a little part of her was jealous. Meredith was blousy and blonde, curvy and confident and all too
aware of the effect that she had on men. That’s why Ian had called Al fat. He was jealous. Stel sighed. Ian was falling for her. She’d given up hope of that ever happening to her again.

  Chapter 48

  ‘Geraldine, will you please sit down and rest,’ said Heath, watching Geraldine attempting to wash up. ‘You’re a nightmare. Do as you are told.’

  ‘Oh Heath, I’m not used to doing nothing. There must be some way I can help,’ said Geraldine, conceding. Her bones must be knitting together, as her mother always said, because that was when things became painful. Her hand was especially tender today. Her leg just felt tight, although when she positioned it right, she gained some respite, but her hand ached constantly.

  ‘Let me make you a cup of tea,’ said Heath. ‘And you can look through the new feed catalogue. You can work out how much their prices have gone up for me. Will that make you feel better?’

  ‘Lots,’ said Geraldine, brightening immediately.

  She watched him as he strode across the kitchen with the kettle. If she’d ever been lucky enough to have a son, she would have wanted one just like Heath Merlo: a hard-working, honourable lad with solid values and a good heart that she thought sometimes beat for everyone but himself. It crippled her to think of him wrenched from this place, the house he grew up in. Like her he would be lost, floundering. He’d get by because he’d have to but it wouldn’t be the same. How could it be? Wildflower Cottage was built on land protected and watched over by spirits. It was special.

  Heath put the kettle down on the Aga and sat at the table with Geraldine. He slumped into the chair as if bowed down by all the weight on his shoulders. Geraldine could have cried for him.