Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Good. It’s about time you had someone who looked after you.’ Caro applied her elbows again. What the hell had happened to make Stel’s back as pliant as a gravestone?

  Stel dared to open up a little. ‘I’d forgotten what real sex was like. You know, the cramp when you get in the wrong position, the mess. I think I’ve been watching too many romantic films.’

  ‘Plenty of sex then, eh?’

  ‘Plenty.’ Too much, Stel wanted to say. He wanted it every night. Even when she didn’t.

  Cajoled. She wasn’t even sure if it was the right word but that’s what came into her head yesterday when they were in bed. He had cajoled her into sex.

  ‘He must fancy you rotten then.’

  ‘He says he does.’

  Caro reached for a bamboo stick. ‘Let’s see if I can roll some of that tension out. That’s lovely to hear. I’m so pleased for you, Stel.’ Caro knew how much Stel wanted to be part of a couple. A good couple, like herself and Eamonn. A couple who loved and respected and looked out for each other.

  ‘He wouldn’t let me look at the dessert menu last night,’ Stel blurted out. ‘He said we’d eaten enough.’

  It sounded puerile when the words were spoken, so it came as little surprise when all Caro said was, ‘Cheeky sod.’

  Stel tested her. ‘Would Eamonn have ever done that?’

  ‘He’s committed his fair share of faux pas. Men can be very clumsy,’ laughed Caro, remembering once when he forbade her from having a dessert. But then again, she had been doing the Atkins diet and had warned him before they went to the restaurant that he must, under no circumstances, allow her to cave into temptation. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t talk to him until the next morning.

  Stel lay still as Caro rolled the bamboo stick around her muscles and considered her situation. She had landed a loving man who fancied her like mad, took her out – and paid for her – loved her company and wasn’t selfish in bed. He hadn’t forced himself on her last night. If she’d said no and sounded as if she really meant it, he would have left her alone. Must be taking a bit of getting used to though, dating again, Caro must have thought. And even wonderful, considerate Eamonn had told Caro that she shouldn’t have a dessert. Oh Stel Blackbird, you are so stupid for worrying. Did she want to split up and for Ian to move on to waiting-in-the-wings Meredith? No, of course not. Then she just needed to stop pressing her panic button and relax.

  She felt so much happier as she left Caro’s salon, less crunched up physically and mentally lighter. What better start for a relationship could there be than a man who was kind and nice to her? had been the lesson for today. She walked back into the hospice with a less troubled smile on her face.

  Chapter 67

  ‘Okay, Viv, this is the big one,’ said Heath, clapping his large square hands together. ‘Today you are going to stroke Ursula.’

  ‘What?’

  Viv, securing the rabbit leg between the fingers of her stiff glove, looked round at him with an Elvis lip of disbelief.

  ‘She’ll let you. I think she trusts you enough now. Call her over.’

  Viv made her ridiculous parody of a whistle. She didn’t flinch when Ursula flew to her glove and started picking at the meat.

  ‘Okay, try,’ said Heath.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Viv.

  ‘She needs to learn that she shouldn’t be afraid of your hands,’ explained Heath.

  ‘Will it hurt if she bites me?’ asked Viv, looking at Ursula’s beautiful but cross face.

  ‘Yes, very much,’ replied Heath.

  ‘You aren’t selling this to me at all,’ mumbled Viv. She looked round to see he had a twinkle in his eyes.

  He likes and trusts me, she knew. He had no idea.

  ‘Touch her wings, Viv. If she lets you do that, try the chest.’

  Viv’s right hand made a tentative journey to the bird. Her fingers smoothed down the freckled soft feathers of her wings and Ursula allowed it without missing a beat from eating.

  ‘My God, look at me, Heath, I’m doing it.’ Viv reined in the shriek that was threatening to burst out of her.

  Viv’s hand touched the bird’s breast.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ she said, her voice trembling, and Heath realised that tears were rolling down Viv’s face. He didn’t need to ask why she was crying. He knew the swell of emotion she must be feeling; it spread like a warmth in the chest and flooded outwards. He felt so proud of her. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and tell her so and would have, had he the slightest inkling that she would have wanted him to. Ursula hadn’t got it wrong, she had picked someone special to put her faith in. Viv Blackbird was lovely.

  Chapter 68

  Stel called in at the supermarket on the way home from work. Ian had gone back to his house to collect some more of his belongings. After the weekend they’d both be able to use his car to travel to work and save petrol, he’d said. She batted away any ridiculous suggestions that she’d have her wings clipped if that happened. She’d have to ask his permission to borrow it if she wanted to go out at lunchtimes. She didn’t consider that she wasn’t being silly and that her intuition was spot on.

  She picked up an extra bottle of wine and a card because it was Al’s birthday and they always bought each other a little something. They usually shared a glass in each other’s kitchen too, but that couldn’t be the case this year. She didn’t think Ian would like that.

  Ian’s car was parked up when she got home and so was Al’s bike, so she knew he was in. She left the shopping in the boot until she’d delivered his card and present. She rat-tatted on his door knocker and saw his silhouette through the frosted glass of the door. When he opened it, his face wore the same expression as the last time she’d seen him to talk to: uncharacteristically chilly.

  ‘All right, Stel,’ he said. There was no invitation to come in. But then he probably felt that would be inappropriate now that she was with Ian.

  Stel extended her hands, with the card and the present in them, towards him.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Al.’

  There was too much distance between them for her to give him the customary birthday kiss on the cheek. And he wasn’t making any attempt to bridge it.

  ‘You shouldn’t have,’ he said, accepting them with reticent politeness.

  He’s never said that before, thought Stel.

  ‘Well, it’s your birthday. I always get you a bit of something.’ She smiled, wondering why he was acting so oddly with her.

  Al’s head cocked towards her door. ‘I see he’s moved in then.’

  ‘Well, it’s a trial run,’ Stel said, relieved that he was at least conversing with her.

  ‘Bit quick.’ Al’s expression remained impassive.

  ‘Well, we’re not getting any younger,’ she said with an awkward laugh.

  He looked down at the card and the bottle. ‘Thanks anyway,’ he said and stepped back inside to close the door. Stel instinctively put her hand flat on the glass to stop it.

  ‘Al, what’s up? Have I upset you in some way?’

  An expression of gobsmacked disbelief took over his features. ‘After all these years, Stel and . . .’ He broke off what he was going to say. ‘Forget it, just forget it. I hope you’re really happy.’

  And with that he shut the door firmly in her face.

  Stel stared at it as if she expected it to open again and for Al to appear and tell her what was going on, but instead it was her own door that opened and Ian appeared.

  ‘What are you doing, Stelly?’ He didn’t look amused.

  ‘I was just giving Al a birthday card. I’ll go and get the shopping in.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he said. ‘You make a start on tea.’

  Stel stepped over the low fence separating her garden from Al’s and she walked into a house that she barely recognised. There were cardboard boxes everywhere, black bin liners and battered suitcases. There were old electrical appliances covered in dust that looked as if they had been
dragged out of a loft after being stored there for years, a stained ironing board, five pairs of big boots, a stack of sheets and towels and a cheap-looking quilt covered with blooms of stains.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ said Ian, carrying in the Tesco bags. ‘I’m going to car boot a lot of this stuff but for now I’ll store it in the spare bedroom.’

  Stel bristled with annoyance. ‘You mean Viv’s room,’ she said, making the point that she didn’t have a spare room. There was Viv’s bedroom across the landing and Viv’s workroom in the attic. And that’s how it would be until she said she didn’t want them any more.

  ‘It was Viv’s room,’ said Ian. ‘I’m going to need it now, unless you want to live like this forever.’ He put the shopping bags down on the kitchen floor and pulled out the packet of slow-braised beef. ‘We’ll have this tonight,’ he said and tossed it across to Stel.

  *

  Geraldine insisted on making everyone a simple tea. Oven chips, tinned peas, fried eggs and hunks of doughy white bread and they opened up a bottle of Selwyn Stanbury’s parsnip wine which was as sweet as the afternoon had been, and strong enough to take the edges off the reality of their situation. Pilot sat at Heath’s feet as they ate and laughed and talked at the table, Bub was curled up on the sofa imitating a furry black cushion, Piccolo sat with his eyes closed in his cage, balancing contentedly on one leg and Jason Statham was safe from harm in his hutch. There was such a feeling of contentment in the cottage that Geraldine’s hope that all this would come right in the end powered up again.

  Goodnight and may your dreams take flight, she whispered as she lay in bed later and blew a kiss upwards to Heath in his room and across to the folly for Viv.

  Viv watched the sun melt into the sky from the downstairs window in the folly. She had been blending oils to remind her of this perfect day. The tang of her leather glove, the snuff of Ursula’s aviary, Geraldine’s perfume, soft bread and sweet wine, the ever-present love-in-a-mist, the sunshine over Wildflower Cottage – and him. It would bring his green eyes to her mind when her business was completed and she was gone. If only she were someone else who could stay.

  *

  In bed, Ian pulled playfully at Stel’s nightie. They’d both had wine but Stel felt far drunker than she should be. She should have some water and a couple of ibuprofen; she knew she’d have a headache in the morning otherwise.

  ‘What’s this, a suit of armour?’ he laughed. ‘Get it off.’

  ‘I’m cold,’ said Stel, making a fake shiver. All you have to do is say no.

  ‘What was all that about earlier with Fat Al then?’ He was pushing up her nightie, his hands were everywhere.

  ‘I told you,’ said Stel. ‘I was giving him a birthday card.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just post it through the letter box?’

  ‘I wanted to say Happy Birthday in person.’ It came out as happy birdie. She couldn’t talk properly.

  ‘He fancies you,’ said Ian. ‘He’s got the hump now that I’m on the scene.’

  He had manoeuvred her nightdress nearly over her head. Her limbs felt too heavy to stop him.

  ‘Don’t. I don’t want to.’

  The room was spinning. There was something wrong. This wasn’t normal drunk.

  Ian’s hand cupped her face. ‘Just a word of warning, Stelly. I don’t share.’

  His fingers were as tight as a clamp on her cheek.

  ‘Ian, get off.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Stel,’ he said.

  Chapter 69

  Stel swam to consciousness the next morning with the hangover from hell. She felt as if someone had emptied out her head and replaced her brain with rocks that crunched painfully together at the slightest movement. Sound hurt her ears, light hurt her eyes, her mouth was bone dry and her breath smelled foul when she exhaled.

  Her eyes focused on Ian standing at her side holding a mug of tea.

  ‘Morning, love. How do you feel?’ His voice was smooth as honey.

  Stel didn’t answer. How could he behave as if nothing had happened?

  He laughed. ‘What are you looking at me like that for with your lip all curled up?’

  ‘You . . .’ she coughed up something thick and nasty. She reached over for the box of tissues on the bedside table.

  ‘How very attractive,’ Ian tutted. ‘Now, what were you saying?’ He sat down on the side of the bed.

  ‘I didn’t want sex last night,’ said Stel.

  ‘I know, you said,’ he replied.

  ‘So why did you . . .’

  ‘Why did I what?’ He looked as if he had absolutely no idea where this was going.

  ‘You made me,’ Stel yelled and then wished she hadn’t because her head thrummed as if someone was hitting it with a drumstick.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Ian crossly.

  ‘You heard,’ said Stel.

  He put the mug down on the cabinet so roughly that the tea slopped over the top and into the tissues.

  ‘Now wait a minute. What exactly can you remember about last night, Stelly?’

  ‘I remember you stripping me,’ she hissed, her voice gravelly in her throat.

  Ian snatched the bedclothes down. ‘You’ve still got a nightdress on.’

  Stel smoothed her hand down and felt her pants were in place too.

  ‘Do you remember being sick, Stelly? Do you remember me holding your hair back and you screaming at me to get off? Do you remember doing this?’

  Ian stuck his cheek next to her eye and she saw the long red scratch. ‘It bloody hurt as well.’

  She couldn’t remember any of that.

  ‘It was like you were having a nightmare,’ Ian said. ‘You came for me like a fucking tigress shouting, “I don’t want sex tonight, I don’t want sex tonight.”’ His parody of her voice make her sound pathetic. ‘And I’m sorry but I didn’t want sex with you anyway in that disgusting state.’

  Could she have got all this mixed up? That scratch on his face looked nasty but her nails were bitten down. Her head hurt when she thought. She wanted a drink so badly.

  ‘Stelly, I’m going to tell them at work that you’ve had a migraine.’ His finger came out to tenderly nudge a wave of hair out of her face, then he handed her the cup of tea. ‘You drink this and get back to sleep. I have to say you shocked me last night.’ His eyebrows rose and he shook his head as if recalling a particular incident. ‘I’m not used to being labelled a rapist.’

  The word hung in the air and felt too big for the room.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ said Stel.

  ‘It’s what you meant,’ Ian barked. ‘Remind me next time you’re chucking up your guts to leave you to get on with it. I think if you can’t handle your drink, Stel, that you should give it up. You’ve obviously got a problem with it. I didn’t recognise you last night.’

  Stel was horrified. There were big holes in her memory. She could remember being in bed, but she couldn’t remember climbing up the stairs to get to it, or putting on her nightie. She usually had a shower, but she couldn’t remember taking one. She certainly couldn’t recall being sick or scratching him. After insisting that she didn’t want sex with him and trying to fight him off, her mind was a total blank.

  Ian stood up. ‘I’ll see you after work,’ he said and left the room after giving her a look of such revulsion that she felt ashamed. And when she struggled out of bed to shout after him and caught sight of herself in the mirror, she slipped further down into a well of self-loathing – baggy, panda eyes, whey-face, hair like a busted sofa. She looked like the sort of feral woman who would have attacked a man.

  ‘Ian,’ she called. ‘Listen. I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t usually drink that much.’ She suddenly felt sick, really sick. Her hand flew up to her mouth.

  ‘Into the bathroom,’ ordered Ian, appearing at her side, pushing her quickly in there where he managed to flick up the toilet lid just in time. Wine-red vomit pumped out of Stel’s stomach and Ian held her hair, rubbe
d her back and said, ‘This is becoming a habit.’ She felt turned inside out at the end of it and she sat on the side of the bath hunched and limp whilst he patiently wiped the loo seat and floor tiles with toilet paper. Then he ran a cold cloth under the tap and pressed it to her forehead and it felt like heaven.

  ‘Get some sleep, Stelly,’ he said and led her like a child back to bed. Stel felt as near death as she had ever been.

  Ian kissed her cheek and checked his watch.

  ‘I’ve fed Basil and changed his litter. I’ve got to go because I’m late so I’ll see you later, okay? I’ll ask Pete if he’ll get out of my house and I’ll move back over the weekend because this obviously isn’t going to work, is it?’

  Stel’s brain went into reverse thrust. She must have got this whole situation wrong. A man who treated her as lovingly as this could not have done what she thought he had. She’d had too much to drink and it had all become distorted. She couldn’t bear that it would end like this and that he’d tell people they split up because she was an unhinged, violent drunk. What was going on inside her head? Was she having a mini-breakdown because of the mixed bag of things that had happened to her in such a short time: Basil’s disappearance, Viv leaving home, the romance with Ian?

  ‘I don’t want that,’ she said. ‘I really don’t.’ She felt drained. Tears were sliding down her face, and her head and her stomach were aching so much.

  ‘Just get some sleep,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a good think about it all at work and I suggest you do, too.’

  She heard him talk softly to Basil just before he left: ‘Look after your mum, Bassy, because she’s a bit poorly in the head today.’ And Stel thought there wasn’t a better description to suit.

  Chapter 70

  Linda stared at the pile of cards and presents wrapped up in jellyfish- and spaceship-themed paper and the tears sprang to her eyes. It was Freddie’s fourth birthday today but they wouldn’t be able to see him till Andy came home. Whatever Dino said to pacify her, Linda knew that at some point in the future, Freddie would recall how he didn’t end up with his birthday presents from his paternal grandparents until well after the event. She hadn’t been able to sleep thinking about it and she woke up in the sure and certain knowledge that she had to see her grandson today. It was a compulsion that would not be put to bed.