by Alice Ross
An incomprehensible bolt of relief shot through Chrissie. Blimey. She must deem him more interesting than she’d first thought.
‘More than okay,’ she replied, spirits floating up from the gutter where they’d languished most of the morning. Then, it suddenly occurring to her that this wasn’t the ideal environment to entertain guests, she added, ‘As long as you don’t mind your food – and just about everything else - sprinkled with dust. And sitting at a table I bought for a tenner in a charity shop – complete with chairs – to see us through the building phase. All our decent stuff is in storage.’
Olly chuckled. ‘Believe me, a bit of dust and a charity shop table are luxury compared to some of the camps I’ve stayed in.’ He pulled out one of the chairs, then, noting the inch-thick layer of grime on it, snorted with laughter. ‘Now that’s what I call impressive dust.’
Chrissie pulled a face. ‘Sorry.’ She swiped up a damp rag from the back of another chair. ‘You really don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,’ she said, scurrying over and frantically brushing off the dust. ‘The place is a bit of a health hazard. An old lady lived here for over ninety years before I bought it, so, as you can imagine, it’s taking quite a bit of updating. Which is exhausting on its own. But, just to make things even more interesting, we now have a Brazilian exchange student staying with us, who I’m supposed to feed, supervise and entertain. And who, after only a couple of days in the country, is already proving quite a handful.’
‘Ah. The girl you thought I was, um… with my binoculars.’
‘Yes.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘My fault entirely,’ he chuckled, lowering himself onto the now-relatively-clean chair. ‘Can I conclude from all of this, that you don’t do things by halves?’
Chrissie shook her head in mock despair as she washed her hands at the sink – taking great care to protect her dressing. ‘It would appear not. But I won’t bore you with the details. To be honest, they’re not that interesting.’ Then, drying off her hands on a towel, ‘So tell me about you. How long are you staying with Carl and Sally?’
He shrugged his impressive shoulders. ‘I have no idea. I’m supposed to be going to Guatemala next, but there are all sorts of problems with the funding. So, it looks like I’ll be hanging about a lot longer than the couple of weeks I’d originally planned.’
‘I see,’ remarked Chrissie, not having the faintest idea why that news had cheered her up immensely.
Unfortunately, Chrissie’s “chat” with Valentina on the perils of smoking later that evening, hadn’t proved nearly so entertaining.
‘And,’ Chrissie concluded, having rhymed off the usual list of why it was a nonsensical habit – placing much emphasis on wrinkles and discoloured teeth, ‘I’m sure your father would be horrified to learn that you smoked.’
Valentina didn’t appear remotely fazed by this veiled threat. ‘He already know,’ she drawled, before thrusting to her high-heeled feet and strutting out of the room.
Chrissie gaped after her, unable to believe what she’d just heard: Valentina’s father knew his daughter smoked. And, from the girl’s blasé tone, appeared not to care. Well, if Chrissie had needed any further justification for not allowing Jess to honour her part of the exchange, Valentina had just handed it to her on a gilt-edged plate. There was no way she’d entrust her daughter into the care of a man who allowed his child to smoke. And if the cancellation of Jess’s reciprocal visit meant the exchange programme fell apart, then so be it. Chrissie wouldn’t shoulder any of the blame. She’d dump the entire lot at the door of Valentina’s banker father. A fact she’d have absolutely no qualms emailing the man about.
Chapter Five
The following morning, after mentally composing several stonking emails to Valentina’s father during the hours she’d lain awake, Chrissie had calmed down slightly and decided – for the sake of the exchange programme - to hold off contacting the man just yet. She would grant Valentina one more chance. After all, she’d reasoned, the girl had most likely just been showing off to her new audience; testing the boundaries. And now she had a clearer idea of where they lay, she’d hopefully settle down.
Despite this spurt of magnanimity, though, Chrissie’s resolve to prevent Jess from honouring her part of the programme remained resolute. But she’d save the communication of that bombshell until after Valentina’s departure, when Paul was around to offer support. For now, she had more than enough to focus on surviving the next three weeks with their guest - without, hopefully, any further dramas.
Breakfast was a sombre affair, Valentina sulking following the previous evening’s smoking lecture, and Jess sulking in sympathy. The pair pouted and puffed over their cereal – and lack of organic honey - scarcely uttering a word. The joys of teenage hormones, Chrissie mused, resisting the urge to plant a big sloppy kiss on Harry’s cheek for his welcome, incessant chatter about the feeding habits of slugs. The topic also presented the perfect opportunity for her to forward some positive news: for Harry, as he’d love the opportunity to talk to a real, live zoologist; and for her, as it would give her an excuse to talk to their new neighbour again.
‘I’m sure Olly will be able to tell you lots more about slugs,’ she said. ‘He’s staying at Mulberry Lodge for a while with Sally and Carl. He’s a zoologist and travels the world researching plants and animals. He’s just back from the Amazon.’
Harry’s eyes bulged. ‘Wow. Do you think he’ll have seen a piranha bite someone’s toe off?’
Chrissie wrinkled her nose. ‘Er, I have no idea. You’ll have to ask him.’
‘Awesome. I will.’
Chrissie took some solace from that affirmation, that perhaps she wasn’t the world’s worst mother after all. It didn’t last long. Upon the discovery of Valentina’s lip gloss floating in the toilet bowl, the ensuing scowls fired in her direction implied that it was all her fault.
Relieved to wave the trio off a little later – Harry, once again, being the only one to reciprocate – Chrissie donned her dusty overalls and, with her bandaged finger thankfully proving no hindrance, set about knocking out the remainder of the attic walls.
Part-way through her task the doorbell chimed.
It was Olly.
In his duffel coat, beanie hat and scarf, clutching a paper bag.
‘Hi,’ he said, lips stretching into another of his shy smiles which, she’d noticed yesterday, crinkled the corners of his eyes. ‘I just, um, wanted to see how your finger was.’
Chrissie returned the smile, holding up the affected digit. ‘Still attached, thanks to you.’
‘Good.’ Then, two spots of colour appearing in his cheeks. ‘I… bought this for you. I thought it might come in useful.’ He handed her the bag.
Peeping inside, Chrissie discovered a first-aid kit. ‘Goodness. Thank you,’ she gasped, aware of a flush now spreading over her cheeks as she met his bespectacled gaze. ‘I’ve been meaning to buy one for ages, but only ever remember when I’m nowhere near a shop. That is incredibly thoughtful. How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing. It’s a present.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘No. Honestly, it is. But, I have to admit, not completely out of the goodness of my heart. I wanted to ask you a favour.’
‘Of course. Fire away.’
He pulled a face. ‘Just say no if I’ll be a nuisance, but – and I’m aware this probably sounds a bit weird - I wondered if you’d mind if I hung about your garden with my binoculars. You see, that bird I was looking for the other day, I think it’s a yellow-rumped warbler.’
By the animated expression now sweeping over his features, Chrissie sensed she was supposed to demonstrate a similar display of excitement. Or a flicker of interest, at least. The most she could summon, however, was a rather unenthusiastic, ‘Right.’
Olly furrowed his forehead. ‘You probably haven’t heard of a yellow-rumped warbler, have you?’
‘Not really,’ she confessed.
He gave a self-deprecating tut. ‘Sorry. I get so carried away sometimes that I forget birds aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. Just so you don’t think I’m completely barmy, though, I should tell you that there have only ever been thirty sightings of yellow-rumped warblers in the UK and Ireland. So, you can imagine the reaction if there is one in your garden and word got out.’
Chrissie couldn’t.
‘Lovelace Lane would be swamped with birdwatchers,’ he explained. ‘They’d come from all over the country – and overseas.’
‘Goodness,’ gasped Chrissie, who couldn’t begin to imagine why.
‘I know.’ He grinned at her. ‘So… would you mind?’
Chrissie awarded the matter a few seconds’ contemplation. ‘Well, I don’t know. It might be a bit distressing for the poor bird if a load of folk descended on the street. And parking would certainly be an issue as there’s only really enough space for—’
Olly’s mouth began twitching. ‘I meant if I hung around the garden.’
Not for the first time in his presence, Chrissie awarded herself a monumental kick. ‘Of course you did,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘How stupid of me. And no, I don’t mind at all. Especially as I have a favour to ask you. My son is obsessed with nature and—’ She broke off as she spotted two figures bustling up the drive: Gwen from next door, and Ruth Dutton from the Big House at the end of the lane.
‘Morning, Chrissie,’ chirped Gwen. ‘And morning, Olly. How are you, love? Not finding life too dull here, I hope, after all your overseas adventures.’
‘Not at all,’ chuckled Olly. Then, flicking a glance at Chrissie, ‘I’m thoroughly enjoying it actually.’
For all the look lasted no more than a fraction of a second, it increased Chrissie’s flush dramatically. Something she desperately hoped the two older women hadn’t noticed.
It appeared not.
‘Now, I hope you don’t mind, Chrissie,’ Gwen ploughed on, ‘but I’ve brought Ruth with me.’
‘Yes. So I see.’ Chrissie smiled at Ruth, wondering why she’d been brought along. Unless, of course, she and Gwen had also spotted this yellow-bottomed bird and were aware of its apparent importance.
‘Are you here on a nature matter?’ she ventured.
Gwen shook her head. ‘Heavens, no. I’ve only had two cups of tea this morning. And I paid a little visit before I came out. No, we’re here about something rather delicate, actually.’
Chrissie arched an eyebrow as her thoughts executed a swift about-turn to Valentina. Had she done something to upset the neighbours? If so, then an email would definitely be fired off to her father. Post-haste.
‘Right,’ she said, bracing herself for the worst. ‘Well, in that case, you’d better come in.’
The two women did not need asking twice. In a flash, they’d scampered past her into the hall, where they began sniffing furiously.
Chrissie and Olly exchanged a look, before Chrissie, having the sinking feeling she might have dislodged a pipe with all her hammering, ventured, ‘Is there a gas leak?’
‘Oh, no. Nothing like that, dear,’ replied Gwen - between sniffs. ‘We’re just checking something.’
Chrissie’s brows knitted in confusion. ‘What exactly?’
Gwen stopped sniffing. ‘Now, don’t be alarmed, but do you remember that smell of parma violets when I was here the other day?’
Chrissie nodded.
‘Well, Maisie – the previous owner who died here in the summer – always smelled of parma violets.’
Chrissie gaped at her neighbour, completely nonplussed as to the direction the conversation was heading.
Olly’s patently sharper brain, meanwhile, had leapfrogged ahead. ‘So you think Maisie is haunting the house?’
‘Yes, dear,’ replied Gwen triumphantly. ‘Which is why I’ve brought Ruth. She was very close to Maisie.’
‘I was,’ confirmed Ruth. ‘And I can definitely smell parma violets.’
Thirty more minutes of vociferous sniffing followed, before Gwen and Ruth toddled off, fully convinced of ghostly goings-on in Yew Tree House.
‘Well, that was interesting,’ sniggered Olly, as he and Chrissie stood at the open front door, watching the pair scuttle down the drive. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned up tomorrow in full Ghostbuster regalia – helmets and all.’
‘Don’t,’ tittered Chrissie. ‘I’ve been struggling to keep a straight face the entire time they’ve been here. Gwen sniffing Harry’s trainers, then doing her best not to gag, was the funniest.’
Olly roared with laughter. ‘You know, to be honest, I had thought I might be a bit bored when I came back to the UK, but there’s not much chance of that on Lovelace Lane.’
‘I know,’ agreed Chrissie. ‘I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, but it does seem like there’s always something going on.’
‘Maybe it’s just as well I’ll be off on my travels again soon. I’m not sure I can cope with all the excitement. The jungle isn’t half as entertaining. Anyway, best get my skates on. I have a meeting at the university this afternoon, when I’ll hopefully find out what’s happening with the funding for Guatemala. Namely, whether or not there’ll be any.’
‘I hope they let you know one way or the other. You must feel like you’re in limbo.’
‘Unfortunately, I’m used to it. It goes with the territor—'
His mobile trilled.
Tugging it out of his coat pocket, he glanced at the screen. ‘My girlfriend, Diana. She’s an oceanographer, working in Bali. Terrible phone signal over there but she’s obviously got through now. I’d better answer it. Speak to you later.’
Then, heaving a weary sigh, he flashed her an apologetic smile and loped off, leaving a bewildered Chrissie staring after him.
Back at the wall a few minutes later, bashing away with more force than necessary, Chrissie couldn’t believe her dumbfounded reaction to the news that Olly had a girlfriend. She should, she realised, have been more astounded if there hadn’t been a lady in his life. After all, he was good-looking, clever, funny, well-travelled, interesting... Everything Chrissie wasn’t. He and oceanographer “Diana” – just like Paul and Meg - sounded made for one another. And what did it matter anyway, she reasoned, watching an after-dinner mint wrapper float out from between the bricks. It wasn’t as if she was interested in Olly in that way. No, she was very pleased they’d all found such perfect partners, she assured herself, giving the wall such an almighty whack, the whole lot tumbled down.
For all she suspected it would take more than an encounter with The Other Side to scare Valentina, Chrissie opted to reveal nothing of the haunted house theory to the three teenagers when they arrived home. Particularly as she still had to broach the subject of Valentina’s attire – or lack of it – with the girl. In the meantime, she determined to keep the household calm – permitting a brief spell of euphoria for the day’s Skype call from a certain affianced couple.
Paul and Meg’s elated, suntanned faces popped up on the laptop screen just after tea, both babbling away with plans for the wedding ceremony the following day. Jess and Harry, almost as excited as the happy couple, insisted on being shown the exact beach spot where all the activity would take place. The dazzling white sand, glittering turquoise sea and smattering of palm trees, could not have looked more appealing to Chrissie if Brad Pitt had been lounging there on a sunbed with only a bottle of suntan lotion covering his modesty. But, for all it grieved her to admit it, her genuine joy for the couple was tempered with an emotion she’d experienced little in her life: that of envy, as it occurred to her that while Paul had Meg, and Olly had Diana, the only person keeping her company in the darkened hours was a deceased one who smelled of parma violets.
Chapter Six
The next day being Saturday, Chrissie, not normally an advocate of lie-ins, was more than a little relieved not to set eyes on any of the house’s younger residents until almost lunchtime.
Unfortunately, their extra slumber appeared to
have had a negative effect on their mood.
‘Mum, there’s a pervert in the garden with binoculars,’ huffed Jess, stomping into the kitchen in her tartan pyjamas.
‘It’s not a pervert. It’s Olly - Carl’s brother from Mulberry Lodge,’ Chrissie replied. ‘He’s the zoologist I told Harry about the other day. He’s looking at birds.’
Harry, who’d skulked down ten minutes earlier – in his I’m not lazy. I just enjoy doing nothing pyjamas, hair sticking out at all angles - looked up from the second bowl of cereal he was demolishing. ‘Cool. Can I go and talk to him after breakfast?’
‘I suppose so. If he doesn’t mind,’ replied Chrissie flatly. She, conversely, had no intention of speaking to Olly. Tossing and turning in bed all night, feeling weird after a) the Skype session with Paul and Meg, and b) the discovery of Olly’s girlfriend, it had hit her – with cringing mortification – that the only reason super-intelligent, well-travelled Olly was being nice to her was because he wanted to use her garden to observe the whatever-colour-it-was bird. And that she – still not fully reconciled with Paul remarrying, and clinging onto any scrap of male attention hurled her way - had read far more into it than she ought. Which was why, with immediate effect, she vowed to spare Olly the need to pretend to be interested in her mundane life, and to let him get on with his birdwatching.
Besides, she had far more important things to think about.
Namely, what to do with the kids that weekend.
One of the conditions of the exchange programme was that the host families enhance their guest’s “cultural experience” by taking them out and about. The very last thing Chrissie wanted to do. Not only was she dog-tired, but the various disruptions she’d experienced during the week meant her work schedule was falling further and further behind. If she didn’t remove all the earmarked walls by the end of the following week, she’d have to put off the trades, and lord only knew when she’d be able to get them back again. Still, conscious that Valentina’s first few days in Blighty had not been a roaring success, and that the girl’s accommodation was less than ideal, she concluded that a trip out might do them all good.