A Good Yarn had been a thriving business once, surely it could be again. It just needed a modern-style management. And there was no doubt Katie would infuse the place with up-to-date ideas.
Mattie jumped as the shop doorbell jangled and Leo appeared.
‘Morning. You look deep in thought,’ Leo said.
‘I was trying to reassure myself that I am doing the right thing by Katie,’ Mattie said. ‘Don’t want to lumber her with a business that is beyond saving.’
‘I doubt that Katie would take it on if she didn’t think she could make a go of it,’ Leo said. ‘I’d have thought it’s got lots of potential. The idea of starting a Stitch and Bitch club is a good one too.’
Mattie winced as the noise of banging and shouting from next door resonated through the shop.
‘Seems like the developers are back. Been quiet in there for months. Must have got an injection of cash,’ she said. ‘Hope they don’t cause too much disruption but it’d be good to see the Old Salt House get a lick of paint. Even if it is being turned into yet more flats. Right – ideas for this place?’’
‘Katie mentioned lots of white paint and an open-plan space,’ Leo said.
‘Think that old dresser could do with pulling out,’ Mattie said.
Part open shelves and part glass cupboard, it completely filled the wall behind the counter. ‘It’s been there forever. Maybe now is the time to take it out? Put something more modern in.’
Leo shook his head as he moved behind the counter. ‘Got to disagree there. This distressed dresser is perfect as it is.’
Mattie looked at him. ‘Distressed? Don’t know about that. It looks downright miserable to me and in need of a good coat of paint – or burning.’
‘Trust me on this one. It’ll be fine. A modern fashion statement. Think that utility unit over there needs to come out though. What’s this?’ Leo bent down and gently pulled at a photograph trapped between the wooden shelves of the bottom dresser cupboard. Closing the dresser door he handed a faded, grainy, black and white photograph to Mattie.
A boyish-looking man in uniform, his arm around the shoulders of a pretty young woman, was laughing at the camera, while a young girl clung to his back, her arms flung tight around his neck in a determined effort not to fall off.
‘Isn’t that you with Aunt Clara and her American boyfriend during the war?’ Leo asked. ‘You all look as though you were having fun.’
‘Oh, we were,’ Mattie said. She handed the photo back for Leo to have a closer look.
It had been such a happy day. Gallants Bower out by the castle had recently been classified as out of bounds to the locals but Hal had sneaked them through for a picnic in the woods.
He’d even brought candies and a bottle of lemonade. Sworn to secrecy Mattie had never told anyone about that afternoon when, for a couple of hours, the small corner of her world had been such a happy place.
The row that broke out two nights later between Clara and their parents was a bitter one, ending with Clara being forbidden to see Hal ever again. From then on not only was there war with Germany, there was full-out war between Clara and their parents.
Nobody explained to Mattie what the row was about. Even Clara had wearily responded with the usual, ‘You’re just a child; you wouldn’t understand. I’ll explain one day when you’re older.’
But that day had never arrived. Instead Operation Tiger had happened in Start Bay and the light went out of Clara’s eyes before she left home, never to return.
Leo gently tapped Mattie on the shoulder and gave her the photo back. ‘You OK?’
Mattie nodded. ‘Yes. Just remembering and wishing things could have turned out differently for Clara. I’ll pop this in with the family photos when I get home.’
‘Now, what are we going to do to surprise Katie?’ Leo said and the two of them spent the rest of the day preparing the shop for its makeover.
Tired when she reached home that evening, Mattie made herself manhandle the loft ladder down before climbing up into the attic. If she didn’t put the picture in a safe place straight away she might lose it.
She pulled the box containing all that remained of Clara’s belongings from under the eaves and took it downstairs. She rarely opened the box these days, the memories it stirred were still too painful. Taking the lid off, the remembered miscellaneous collection of things met her gaze.
A few photos, a couple of paperbacks, ornaments, a silver-backed hairbrush, a passport, a ration book, some old school notebooks, bits of jewellery and a 1943 guide to American towns. A sealed A4-sized envelope lined the bottom of the box.
How her parents had selected such a random collection of items as a memento of their elder daughter’s life was beyond comprehension. What criteria had they used? The only truly personal item in the box was Clara’s hairbrush.
Mattie brushed a tear away. Forbidden by her parents to ever mention Clara’s name to them again, she’d cried herself to sleep night after night. From the day she’d learnt of Clara’s death she’d masked her feelings about her sister from everyone. It had been easier that way and now it was too late to change.
Mattie took the photograph out of her bag. ‘Oh, Clara,’ she said, gently stroking the image of her sister’s face. ‘The past is past but I so wish you’d had a future too. We both deserved so much more.’
With one last look she carefully placed the photo in the box along with the others before closing it again and pushing the box underneath her bed. It could stay there for a while. She was too tired to climb up into the loft to put it away.
TWO
‘A wool shop? That’s for grannies. You’re too young to bury yourself in the country. What’s happened to your career plans?’ Patrick ran his hands through his dark, foppishly cut hair. ‘I can’t believe you’re serious about this.’
‘Redundancy happened,’ Katie said. ‘Perhaps a change of direction is what I need. Besides, Mattie needs me. I’m doing this for her as much as me.’
Patrick shook his head in disbelief. ‘Because some old woman has played on your conscience you’re going home to run a doomed business.’
‘Mattie is my godmother – not some old woman,’ Katie snapped. Whatever reaction she’d expected from Patrick it wasn’t this rhetoric against Mattie. ‘She didn’t play on my conscience. We’ve agreed I’ll give it a year and if it doesn’t work out, A Good Yarn will be sold.’
‘What about us? When are we going to see each other?’
‘I’ll only be two hours down the motorway – one and a half, the way you drive,’ Katie said. ‘You can come for long weekends once I’m settled in the flat.’
‘That’s something else – I thought we could look for a new place for the two of us up here in Clifton. Finally move in together, show the world we’re a couple. But now we’re breaking up.’
‘Patrick, we are not breaking up – unless that’s what you want to happen. I’m just going to be working away but I’ll be popping back from time to time. Anyway, without a job there’s no way I can afford to contribute to a new place.’
‘Still sounds like the death knell to our relationship, to me,’ Patrick said. ‘Well, I’m warning you – don’t expect me to stay in and meditate. I shall still have a social life with or without you.’
‘I expect you will,’ Katie said. ‘So shall I when I’m not working. I’ve got lots of friends down there still,’ she added, her fingers crossed behind her back.
Well, Lara and Dexter would be down sometime in the summer. Most of her other friends had, like her, left to find work and rarely returned. Anyway she’d be too busy with the shop to bother about much of a social life in the beginning.
In the end Patrick had thrown up his hands in despair. ‘I give you six months at the most before you’re bored out of your mind and back up here looking for a job.’
When Katie phoned Lara to tell her about Patrick’s attitude, Lara had reacted with her typical bluntness.
‘What d’you expect from a selfis
h prick like him? He’s not thinking about you – just how inconvenient it will be for him when you leave.’
‘Don’t hold back, will you?’ Katie protested.
‘You know I’ve never liked Patrick,’ Lara said. ‘I think it’s great you’re ditching him and going back to live in Devon.’
‘I’m not ditching him. He’s going to come and see me when I’m settled in the flat.’
‘Well, you’ll never get a better opportunity to ditch him. New start. New boyfriend. Perfect.’
It was Patrick’s words, though, that were ringing in Katie’s head as she drove down to Devon on Sunday afternoon. Did she have totally unrealistic hopes for this new life of hers? Was she making a huge mistake? Would she find herself failing and returning up country to try to re-establish a career in the media? She could imagine how many times Patrick would delight in saying, ‘Told you so’.
She’d hoped they would have had supper together last night but Patrick had claimed he was too busy. He’d finally wished her all the luck in the world. ‘Because boy, are you going to need it.’
Driving down College Way and seeing the river dazzle in the afternoon sunlight, Katie pushed all thoughts of Patrick and his gloomy predictions out of her mind. This afternoon it felt good to be coming home. She’d make things work out.
To her surprise Leo was waiting for her at the shop. The strong smell of fresh paint hit her as she walked in.
‘Mattie organized a cleaner. You’d already said you wanted open plan and lots of white paint everywhere, so I thought I’d give you a head start.’
‘Gosh, Leo. I’ve only been gone six days,’ Katie said. ‘You must have lived here to get all this done in that time. I owe you.’
Leo shrugged. ‘Come on, let’s get your stuff in. Where d’you want it put?’
‘Oh, let’s just dump it in the stockroom,’ Katie said. ‘I can sort it out from there. I’m sure you need to get back to the farm.’
Leo shook his head. ‘No. Life’s a lot easier since I stopped milking. Not such a rigid structure to the day with sheep. Besides, I’m invited to join you at Mattie’s for tea.’
Between them, Katie’s possessions were soon stacking up on the stockroom floor.
‘What are you doing with your car?’ Leo asked as he carried the last of the boxes in. ‘Yellow lines everywhere. No parking up at Mattie’s at all.’
‘Hadn’t thought about that,’ Katie said. ‘I guess it’ll be the main car park. I’ll have to organize a season ticket.’
‘Doubt you’ll be using the car much,’ Leo said. ‘Reckon it’ll be safer up in one of my barns. Come on. We’ll take it up and walk back to Mattie’s. You remember the way?’
‘Of course I remember the way. I grew up down here, remember. And I’ve been back lots of times to see Mum and Dad before they went to Spain.’
‘Christmas and the occasional week in summer hardly count in my book.’
‘I was a working girl. I had a life away from here,’ Katie said. Leo’s attitude to her leaving home and doing a media course at college had always been disapproving – and annoyed her now as much as it always had.
‘And now you’re back. Incidentally, you’ve just missed the Newcomen Road turn. You’ll have to go round the one-way system now.’
Driving out of town up Weeke Hill towards Leo’s farm, Katie remembered the fight Leo had faced to convince his family he wanted to be a farmer and not run the family boat business. Michael, his father, had been incensed that Leo had no intention of following the family tradition and becoming a river pilot. Harsh words had been said, disinheritance threatened, but Leo had been adamant. He wanted to be a farmer and a farmer he would be.
Mattie had told her these days Castle Farm was a thriving concern, Leo’s younger brother Josh was the river pilot and family squabbles had been buried.
‘You did your own thing as much as I did,’ Katie said. ‘Only you stayed put to do it – apart from going to agricultural college.’
‘True,’ Leo acknowledged. ‘But then I could never imagine living anywhere else. Still can’t.’
‘Oh, aren’t the primroses beautiful,’ Katie said as she turned on to the farm track and saw the carpet of dainty yellow heads lining the bank. ‘My favourite flower. They’ve always reminded me of down here.’
‘If you make for the far barn,’ Leo said, ‘I’ll open the doors and you can drive straight in. Look out for Meg – she’s a bit deaf these days.’
Once she’d parked alongside a gleaming green tractor, Katie wandered out to the farmyard to wait as Leo closed and padlocked the barn doors. Near the duck pond in front of the farmhouse, Katie bent down to stroke Meg, Leo’s old collie, who greeted her with much tail-wagging.
The old granite farmhouse, with its mullioned windows and ivy-covered walls nestling in a dip in the hillside, was in sharp contrast to the modern outbuildings around the farmyard that had replaced the original derelict sheds and pigsties she remembered.
‘It must be five years since I’ve been up here,’ Katie said when Leo joined her. ‘You’ve certainly improved things out here. What about the house? You still camping out?’ she teased, remembering how shocked she’d been the last time she’d been in the house.
Leo had been too busy getting the farm to work, he’d said, to do anything about the old house. It was there to simply provide a roof over his head in between his labours.
‘Take a look around,’ he said now, pushing open the heavy oak front door. ‘I need to change out of these clothes. Can’t go to Mattie’s reeking of turps.’
The kitchen Katie remembered, with its chipped stone sink, camping stove and tatty armchair, was no more. Walls had been knocked down, windows realigned, a stable door added. A large scarlet Aga stood in the old inglenook, its gentle heat an invitation to linger nearby. Katie placed a hand on the warm lid, wondering what sort of meals Leo cooked these days. It would be a waste, she thought, not to use this cooker.
‘I make a mean lasagne,’ Leo said, reappearing in black jeans and a black polo shirt and seemingly reading her thoughts. ‘You must try it one evening. Right now though, it’s time to get back to Mattie’s.’ Leo took some keys off a board by the door.
‘Be quicker if we take the bike – fancy riding pillion? Or are you too sophisticated these days?’
Katie glared at him. ‘Fine – so long as you’ve lost your desire to die young by doing stupid things like wheelies at sixty miles an hour with me on the back.’
Leo grinned. ‘That was a fun ride, wasn’t it! No, these days I use the bike mainly to get to fire-shout call-outs. Retained fireman,’ he added, seeing Katie’s blank look. ‘Doing my bit.’
The flashy BMW motorbike Leo switched on before handing her a helmet and inviting her to ‘Jump on, then’ was far removed from the ancient bike he had loved in his teens. This one was definitely made for speed.
Katie hesitated before swinging herself onto the pillion, putting her arms around Leo’s waist, closing her eyes and waiting for the inevitable noise and rush of speed. By the time she opened her eyes, the bend at Warfleet was approaching fast, so she promptly closed them again and tightened her grip around Leo’s waist.
Katie’s every waking moment for the next two weeks involved the shop. She finished the decorating Leo had started, assembled new display shelves, met with suppliers and talked to Mattie about her plans.
‘Need some crafty things to appeal to holidaymakers – local pottery, paintings of local scenes, that kind of thing. Know of any local artists?’ she asked.
‘Woman in Brixham makes felt bags,’ Mattie replied. ‘And my neighbour makes beautiful shell and pebble jewellery. There’s a couple of local artists too who would probably appreciate some extra gallery space.’
‘Great. I’ve ordered some tapestry sets, candle-making kits and some fun kits for the kids to try. Thought I’d start a Knit, Stitch and Listen book club in the back room too, rather than a Stitch and Bitch. Think they’re a bit passé now. A sort of craf
ty book club. I could sell stuff the members make if it’s good enough.’
‘You could hold the occasional workshop,’ Mattie said thoughtfully.
‘That’s an idea. Fancy teaching an Aran knitting class? I’ve still got the sweater you made me before I went off to uni.’
‘After my holiday maybe,’ Mattie said. ‘Which reminds me – I’ve got an appointment with the travel agent. Can I leave Bert with you for half an hour?’
‘Sure. We’ll walk to the travel agents with you and then I’ll give him a run in the park. I need some exercise and fresh air,’ Katie said.
Leaving Mattie at the travel agents, Katie walked through Avenue Gardens towards the North Embankment. Holding Bert’s lead firmly, she stopped to watch the Higher Ferry disgorge its latest load of passengers.
A scarlet, low-slung sports car, carefully negotiating the bump between the wooden ferry ramp and the concrete terra firma slope, reminded her of Patrick and his beloved classic Morgan car. He’d have been totally paranoid about dragging the exhaust of his precious car on the ramp.
Patrick. Was he missing her? Doubtful – she hadn’t heard from him since she left. Not a text, an email or a phone call to even check she’d arrived safely. He always could sulk for England. Maybe he was waiting for her to offer the proverbial olive branch?
Taking her mobile out, she typed: ‘Hi. U OK? Evrthg gd hr. Ms u. L K8.’ She pressed send and waited, anticipating an immediate reply. Zilch. Her phone remained stubbornly silent. Oh, well. She’d tried.
When she and Bert returned from their walk Leo was outside the shop having a heated discussion with an elderly man. As she approached, the man glowered at her before muttering to Leo, ‘Mark my words; this isn’t the last of it. Family’s family. Blood should be thicker than water.’ With a spiteful look in Katie’s direction, he marched off towards the Lower Ferry.
Shadows of Conflict Page 2