by Jan Ellis
“They still tease me down at the bowling club for stepping out with a ‘page three’ girl,” said Harold with a chuckle.
“Oh, you are cheeky.” Connie batted him playfully on the arm. “You know very well that my topless-modelling days are long gone.”
“Enough, Mum. You’ll be giving me nightmares.” Eleanor cringed at the alarming picture forming in her head. “You were very lucky not to be arrested for threatening a police officer.”
“You do exaggerate, dear. My foot didn’t connect with the PC’s shin and, anyway, I was wearing my wide-fitting moccasins. You can’t do much damage with those.”
“Your mother’s quite right, they’re very soft shoes,” said Harold, thoughtfully. “Did you know that moccasin is a Native American word? Algonquin, I think it is.”
“Is that so?” said Eleanor, before turning back to her mother. “Okay then Pocahontas, what is this exciting news Harold has promised us?”
“Did someone mention news?” Erika put down the box of books she was quietly unpacking and came over to join them from the back of the shop.
“It’s still very hush-hush.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Connie.”
“I know you’re not one to gossip, Erika, but I’m not sure about my daughter.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Are you going to tell us this news or not?”
“As I was about to say,” said Connie, patting her curls, “while Beryl was doing my hair, she mentioned she’d heard from the vicar that Bill Widget has agreed to open the summer festival. There,” said Connie looking pleased with herself, “what do you think about that?”
“I think it’s splendid, so long as your friend promises not to sing.”
“Don’t be unkind, Eleanor. Bill has a lovely singing voice. It only sounds harsh and screechy because he has to shout over the noise of his band.”
Having helped to defeat Bill Widget’s original plans, Connie had become one of the singer’s fiercest supporters and wouldn’t hear a word said against him.
“And will his bandmates be making an appearance, too?” asked Eleanor. “I’m not sure how the good burghers of Combemouth would cope with their brand of ear-shattering rock music.”
“No, I don’t think Bill will have the rest of Tryll Spigot with him. They’re taking a creative break and are unlikely to reform for a while yet.” Connie picked up her handbag, preparing to leave. “And I’d say they were more thrash metal than rock.”
Eleanor was always amazed by the random stuff her mother knew. “I’m sure you’re right.” Connie had become something of a rock music connoisseur since Bill’s move to the area. “In any case, having ‘Fingers’ Widget involved is bound to bring in people to the event, which the vicar and his team will be pleased about.”
Harold put his arm around Connie’s shoulder. “I don’t want to rush you, but we’d better be off now, love. I have a Skype date with the French grandchildren in an hour.”
“How is Rachel?” asked Eleanor. “Is the guesthouse doing well?”
“The Tournesol Guesthouse seems to be flourishing, I’m pleased to say. Though I’m not so sure about my daughter’s erratic love life,” added Harold with a frown.
Connie squeezed his hand. “Rachel’s a free woman again and she’s having some fun.”
Rachel was recently divorced and her father couldn’t help worrying about her and the children. “I suppose so,” said Harold, “though I’ll feel better when she settles down with a nice man.”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport. In any case, your daughter has plenty of friends to look after her if anything goes wrong.”
“As usual you’re right, sweetheart,” said Harold, beaming at Connie. “Shall we go?”
“Bless them,” said Eleanor, watching the elderly pair leave the shop, hand in hand. “What you see there is true love.”
Erika nodded a little wistfully. “Maybe there’s hope for the rest of us.”
* * *
Eleanor’s mother had met Harold thanks to a silver surfers’ computing course at the village hall. Having mastered email and online shopping, Connie quickly advanced to cruising dating sites and it wasn’t long before the virtual Harold caught her eye.
Her daughters had been alarmed by this development. Buying your groceries online was one thing; hooking up with a strange man was not what they expected of their sensible, seventy-something parent. Connie had tried and rejected a few no-hopers along the way but, when she spied Harold, she declared that this was the man for her and they were off on a mini-break together.
Feeling she needed backup, Eleanor had dragged Jenna all the way from Islington to Devon to speak to Connie in person. Eleanor vividly remembered giving their mother a stern talking to over a pot of tea and a slice of lemon drizzle at Ye Olde Tea Shoppe while Maureen hovered in the background pretending not to listen.
“For once I agree with my little sister,” said Jenna. “You can’t go on holiday with a man you’ve never met in the flesh.”
Connie folded her arms across her chest – a sure sign that her mind was made up and she wouldn’t be shifted. “I distinctly remember your father and I letting Eleanor go off to stay with a pen pal in Germany – Brünhilde or whatever her name was – and I didn’t complain about that.”
Eleanor spluttered. “That was completely different. She was called Anna, she was a fourteen-year-old girl and I was staying with her family.”
“The point,” said Connie, stirring her tea, “is that Harold and I are pen pals and I don’t see why we shouldn’t have a little holiday together.” Maureen caught her friend’s eye and nodded surreptitiously.
“How do you know he’s what he says he is?” asked Jenna, reading Harold’s dating profile which she had printed out in preparation for the showdown. “I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if that mop of silver hair and those twinkly eyes were a front and you’re actually exchanging billets-doux with a Gambian teenager in his bedroom. I’ve seen a documentary about these guys: soon he’ll be coming out with a stream of hard-luck stories so he can get his mitts on your savings. He’ll tell you he needs £5,000 for a new mobility scooter or a stair lift, when in fact the Gambian Harold will be using your cash to open a beach bar in Banjul.”
“Really, Jenna, you do talk nonsense. Harold and I have exchanged emails and spoken on the telephone several times and he’s plainly not an African gentleman. And I will meet him before our trip to check we are compatible – I’m not foolish enough to go away with someone without first checking their table manners.” Aware that her daughters were still not convinced, Connie paused to reapply her lipstick then closed her compact with a snap. “Answer me this: would someone from the Dark Continent suggest meeting for tea and an Eccles cake at Loxley Garden Centre?” Seeing that her daughters were too stunned to find words to counter this, Connie smiled. “I rest my case.”
Not even Jenna could argue with the logic of trial by Eccles cake, so Connie was give permission to meet Harold – on condition that she promised to take a mobile phone (preferably switched on) and call them if the topic of beach bars arose.
After one garden centre, two stately homes and three nights at a B&B in the Cotswolds, Connie and Harold were most definitely an item and had been inseparable ever since.
Chapter 13: Dan Finds a Solution
Eleanor pressed her cheek against Daniel’s warm skin, enjoying the sensation of the steady beat of his heart and the slow rise and fall of his chest as they dozed in bed. It was a Sunday morning at the beginning of May and Eleanor was sure there were subtle changes in the sounds outside their window. As she closed her eyes to listen, the seagulls’ calls were as strident as ever but the blackbird’s song was definitely more joyful, as though it could sense the approach of summer.
Daniel was propped up against a pillow, a hand behind his head, staring silently at the ceiling. Neither of them had said anything yet that morning, so it was a surprise when Dan spoke as though continuing a conversation. “I’v
e come to a decision: if I can’t persuade you to move, I guess we’ll have to think about reorganising this place.”
Eleanor sat up, suddenly wide awake, and turned to look at him. “Really?” she said, hardly believing what she’d heard. “Would you mind staying here?”
“I won’t lie, El – I hoped we would start afresh somewhere that was completely new for both of us, but as we can’t seem to agree on anywhere at the moment, I suppose we’ll have to find a way to make it work.”
She chewed her lip, guiltily. “I wish you loved the cottage as much as I do.”
“I’m very fond of it, El, you know I am. We’ve had some wonderful times here. But it is a squash for two grown-ups – three if you count Joe – with a lifetime’s worth of gear or what’s left after losing half of it in a divorce.” Dan shrugged. “But I love you and want you to be happy, and that’s what matters most. And maybe, in a few years’ time, you’ll feel differently and be ready to move.”
A smile lit up Eleanor’s face. “Thank you, darling,” she said, kissing her husband.
Daniel caught her hand in his, squeezing it for emphasis. “But, you will need to make a few changes – maybe swap rooms around and get rid of some books, clothes, furniture and other stuff to make space for the rest of my things.”
“Of course,” said Eleanor, nodding eagerly. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done to make the cottage work for all of us.” She beamed, taken by surprise by the sense of relief and happiness that washed over her. “I’m so happy at not having to move. I know you think I’m unduly fond of this place – and you’re probably right – and I can’t really explain why it means such a lot to me, but it does.”
“I know.” Daniel caught her in his arms and gently pulled her towards him. “Come here, woman, and show me how grateful you are!”
* * *
Eleanor didn’t bother to ask what had made Daniel change his mind; she was simply delighted it had happened. If she had asked, Daniel might have been a tiny bit embarrassed to tell her.
The previous evening he had been out for a meal with friends in the same business as him, a group jokingly calling itself the AA or “Architects Anonymous”. Eleanor had been to a couple of get-togethers at the beginning of her relationship with Daniel, but had soon come to the conclusion that she was happier at home with a fat paperback and a bar of chocolate. Dan’s friends were charming and welcoming, but Eleanor had found the conversations about planning regulations, tenure-blind housing and energy targets hard to follow.
The subject of Daniel’s living arrangements had come up the night before because his friends could see he was increasingly unhappy. Dan tended not to talk about personal things, but that evening he gave the group the low-down on the house-hunting trials and tribulations. “We’ve scoured the entire area and I’ve come to the conclusion that the perfect house doesn’t exist,” he said, gloomily. “We’ll be stuck in separate homes forever.”
His friend Michael tapped a fork against his glass and called everyone to attention. “Okay ladies and gents, our mission this evening is to solve the Pearce housing crisis.”
So Daniel described his sea-front house and Eleanor’s cottage while his friends made notes and scribbled drawings on napkins. Eventually, Michael’s colleague Angela sat back in her seat and smiled. “At the risk of stating the bleeding obvious, couldn’t you simply rearrange the rooms at the bookshop cottage? It’s clearly in the ideal location and you could perhaps do something with the loft. I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t potential for another bedroom up there.”
“Of course!” said Daniel. The answer had been staring him in the face all the time. “Thank you,” he said, raising his glass to them. “You guys are the best.”
* * *
Having made up his mind that they would stay in the bookshop cottage, with typical efficiency Daniel set to work planning how to make the available space work for them. After breakfast, he went from room to room taking measurements, tapping on walls and jotting everything down in a notebook.
Downstairs was their kitchen, a pantry and the sitting room. Above was Eleanor’s bedroom, two smaller bedrooms and cupboard space. On the landing, Daniel stopped and looked up at the ceiling. “What’s in the attic, El?”
“Gosh, I really don’t know.”
“You’ve never been up there?”
She shook her head. “Not all the way inside. When I bought the house, the surveyor got out a stepladder for me and I popped my head through the gap and shone a torch around, but I didn’t actually climb into the loft and explore.”
“Right,” said Daniel, shoving the notepad in his back pocket. “Where can I find this stepladder?”
“Follow me.” Eleanor led the way back through the kitchen and into the garden. Along the side of the house was a small shed full of clutter.
When the stepladder was eventually disentangled from the hosepipe, garden tools and flowerpots, Dan frowned. “This is far too short. It’s no wonder you weren’t able to see anything. I’ll pop next door and see if Graham can sell me a decent set from the hardware shop.”
The shop was closed, but Anton was around and happy to help. Daniel gingerly carried the shiny new ladder back through Eleanor’s cottage and up the narrow staircase, sending wobbly piles of books skidding down behind him.
Eleanor stayed on the landing while Daniel climbed into the loft space and disappeared from view. She watched the beam from his torch flicker across the square of roof visible from where she stood craning her neck upwards. Above her head she could hear her husband’s tentative footsteps and some knocking sounds.
“What can you see? Is there anything interesting up there?”
“Lots!” Daniel’s face reappeared in the gap, his cheeks now streaked with dust. “It’s a big space and the floor has been boarded and the roof looks sound.”
“Good.” Eleanor nodded. “That’s what the surveyor said when I bought it.”
“Did he or she survey the shop as well?”
“No,” she said, slowly. “I seem to remember someone else checking out the shop.”
Daniel had switched off his torch and was climbing down the stepladder backwards. “I think we need to check out the attic next door.”
Fortunately, the loft space at the shop was more easily accessed because Mr Williams had had proper drop-down ladders fitted some time in the past. Climbing inside, they switched on the light and Eleanor went ahead, followed by Daniel who again jotted down measurements on his pad. “Very good, yes.” He muttered. “Just as I thought.”
“What is it, Dan? You look pleased with yourself.”
“I am pleased – very pleased!” He walked across to one end of the room. “This,” he said, patting the rough stone, “is the end wall. Good and solid.” He walked over to the other side. “And this is the division between the shop and the cottage. Knock here – can you hear it?”
Eleanor knocked and listened. “What am I supposed to be listening to?”
“The sound of nothing or, to be more precise, the sound of a wooden screen between this space and the next.”
“Oh, very Star Trek. But what does it mean?”
Daniel came across and hugged her. “It means, my darling, that this must have been one building at some time in the past and no one bothered to divide up the loft spaces properly when the bookshop was created. There’s no load-bearing wall to worry about, so we can take down the partition and open up the whole area.” He put the pencil behind his ear and threw his arms wide. “This space goes right across the length of the shop and the cottage: it’s huge.” His enthusiasm had returned and he could see the design potential in the space. “We could put a window in that end and more windows along the back of the building overlooking the sea. It’s going to be impressive. What do you think?”
Eleanor grinned, delighted to see her husband so excited about the project. “It sounds wonderful. But won’t we need planning permission to do something like that?”
“Probably a
nd it could take months to come through, but it’ll be worth it in the end because you won’t need to leave your beloved cottage.”
“Months? How many months?”
“Well, it’s almost May now so, if we get permission this summer, we’ll be able to start work in the autumn and have it done by the end of the year.”
“But that’s not for ages!”
Daniel shrugged. “It’s the way it works, I’m afraid. And until then, we’ll keep doing what we’re doing.”
Eleanor’s heart sank. The solution was perfect and she could see the new room in her mind’s eye, so she was disappointed they might not be allowed to begin work for such a long time.
Seeing his wife’s gloomy expression, Daniel smiled. “I could be wrong and it may come through much faster, but it’s best to be cautious in my experience. Anyway, can you dig out the floor plans and the original surveys so I can double-check I’ve got this right?”
“Sure – once I’ve remembered where they are.”
After lunch, Eleanor dug out the paperwork for the shop and the cottage and plonked four box files on the kitchen table. “Red’s the shop and blue’s the house. Enjoy!”
“Thanks,” said Daniel. “I’ll have fun checking them out tomorrow.”
The next day, while Eleanor was busy in the shop, Daniel examined the floor plans for both properties: as he’d guessed, the attic space ran across the length of the building and there was no solid division between the two parts. Then he turned to the paperwork. “Well, what do you know!” Packing the papers into a folder, he jogged downstairs and went into the bookshop next door.
“Can you take a break, El? I’ve got something to show you.”
Eleanor looked at Erika who nodded. “Go ahead.”
Once they were sitting in the office, Daniel took out the papers and spread them over the desk in front of Eleanor. “This is perfect,” he said, grinning. “Your Mr Williams already had permission in principal to adapt the loft space over the house.”
“Did he? Gosh, I must have forgotten that.”