Amelia Grey's Fireside Dream

by Abby Clements

  ‘God, if Dad had told me you were all the way out here, I’d never have agreed to come,’ Mirabel said, swiftly dumping her things on the floor of the spare bedroom and checking her hair in the mirror. Black out of a bottle, it fell past her shoulders in shiny waves. Her eyes, grass-green and piercing, were hooded by shadow-heavy lids.

  A week on from Jack leaving, my ears were still ringing from the shock. I felt numb. I’d sat with him that Sunday in the bedroom, watched him pack his bags with clothes and essentials, neither of us saying a word. I’d wanted to tell him to stop, that there was a way round this, that we could fix things. But I hadn’t said a word. Instead I’d walked with him to the front door, and watched him leave.

  Mirabel had shown her displeasure that we weren’t heading towards London this time during the car ride.

  ‘This is where we live now, simple as that,’ I said firmly.

  ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere. And this room is a dump.’

  ‘That’s exactly what you’re going to be helping with.’

  She didn’t seem to hear me, or at least didn’t register what I was saying. She pulled back the curtains and caught sight of Spencer and Callum out on the patio having a tea break.

  ‘Ooh, but perhaps things are looking up. Who are they?’ She let out a quiet wolf whistle.

  ‘Their names are Spencer and Callum. They’re helping us out with some of the work.’

  ‘They definitely look like the most interesting thing to do around here.’

  ‘To “do”? Did you really just say that?’

  Mirabel tilted her head and shrugged.

  ‘I thought you had a boyfriend, anyway?’

  ‘Is that what Dad told you?’ She threw me a cutting look. ‘Argh, drives me crazy when he talks about me behind my back. I’m not with anyone, OK? Jesse and I broke up. Mum and Dad don’t know – I couldn’t deal with them being smug about it. I knew how badly they wanted me to dump him.’

  ‘Sorry things didn’t work out.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Mirabel replied flippantly. ‘I was getting bored with him anyway. I’m too young to be tied down.’

  ‘Fair enough. Sounds like perhaps it was a good time for a trip like this.’

  ‘I thought it would be fun to visit you. But that was when I thought we’d be going out on the town together like last time, with Jack and his friends. Not stuck in a rural backwater. Where is he, anyway?’

  ‘Jack’s away. He’s staying in London for a few days with a friend.’

  ‘Great. So it’s going to be even more boring around here. Did you two fall out?’

  I flinched, unsettled by the way she’d seen right through me. ‘No,’ I lied. ‘He just has a lot on at work. Anyway, your stay is going to be a bit different this time. Did Dad tell you what you’d be doing while you were over here?’

  ‘What do you mean, doing? I’m here for a break, to have a holiday. I brought some stuff with me to chill out with.’ She unpacked some things from her bag – an iPad, magazines and a copy of a Fifty Shades of Grey knock-off. I averted my eyes from the handcuffs on the front cover. Christ, I thought. She’s only sixteen.

  ‘You’re not here to chill out, no. I need some help with doing up the cottage.’

  ‘You are kidding,’ Mirabel said, her finely arched and pencilled eyebrows rising.

  ‘Nope, I’m definitely not.’

  ‘Me? What a nightmare.’ Mirabel sighed.

  ‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘A bit of painting, that’s all. I’ll show you what I mean.’

  ‘I bought this nautical print wallpaper for the two side walls of the spare bedroom,’ I said, unrolling part of it to reveal a blue anchor print on a white background. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Cute,’ she said. ‘And you’ll have the other two walls, what, painted white?’

  ‘Yes, that was what I was thinking,’ I said, running my fingers over the tired red-and-green striped wallpaper that had bubbled in places. ‘I’ve got some fabric to run up pale blue curtains, and then I’d like to set up a little table in the corner, so that when people aren’t staying I can have my sewing machine in here.’

  ‘You still into that stuff?’

  ‘You could say that.’ I smiled. ‘I think it’s got worse with age, actually. I’m going to make a few cushion covers too. So, do you think you could help with the painting and wallpapering?’

  ‘Sure.’ Mirabel shrugged. ‘It should be easy enough. But I’m not starting today – it’s the weekend,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘That’s fine. Today we can have a wander into the village and then tomorrow we’ll start work.’

  ‘The village,’ she said. ‘Wow. That sounds unmissable. I can’t believe Mum and Dad didn’t say a word to me about the manual labour they’ve contracted me out for.’

  ‘Dad was happy enough to agree to it, so take it up with him if you want.’

  ‘Maybe I will,’ she said. ‘And if I really do only have one day of rest, I’m going to get on with enjoying it. You don’t mind if I go and get to know the guys downstairs, do you?’

  *

  In the afternoon I took Mirabel into the village to show her around. We crossed the village green in the direction of the high street. A brass band was playing on the bandstand, the notes ringing out in the crisp, cool air, and a small crowd had gathered next to it. Brown and yellow leaves lay across the path, and the flowers that had bloomed so brightly in the summer had all but gone now. I was grateful for my thick woollen scarf.

  ‘There aren’t many shops, are there?’ Mirabel said, eyeing the newsagent and post office.

  ‘Good thing,’ I said, ‘because I doubt you’ve got much money to spend in them. But you’re very lucky that you’ve got a big sister who’s going to treat you to some cake.’

  I led her past the flower shop and into Sally’s. It was warm, and a welcome escape from the chill in the air outside.

  ‘Hi, Amelia,’ Sally said with a smile. ‘Come in and get warmed up, you two. Good to see you again. Pot of Earl Grey, is it?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I said. ‘What do you fancy eating, Mirabel? This is my sister, by the way. Mirabel, this is Sally – she’s a cake-making genius.’

  ‘Hi, Sally,’ Mirabel said, taking off her duffel coat and putting it on the back of her wooden chair. ‘Nothing for me, thanks – I’m on a diet.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders.

  A couple of older ladies in the cafe swung round in their seats, aghast. Sally looked at Mirabel as if she’d just let loose the foulest of swear words.

  ‘Not in here you’re not,’ she said firmly. ‘That word doesn’t exist between these four walls. What will you have?’

  A tiny smile spread from the corners of Mirabel’s full lips. ‘A Bakewell tart it is then.’

  Mirabel and I drank our tea at a table near the door.

  Sally brought over the treats. Out of the window I saw an elderly woman in a navy coat and white woollen hat walking past, holding on to the arm of a man in his twenties. Her green eyes gazed straight ahead. Her face, fine-featured, and her white hair in a pleat were familiar – it was Mrs McGuire. Eleanor.

  When I’d first seen her in the window of Brambledown Cottage she’d had that same expression on her face, as if she was only partly present. I thought of the bonnet and photos I’d seen, then tidied back into the tin and put away.

  ‘Why are you staring at that old lady?’ Mirabel said.

  ‘She used to live in our cottage. She’s Callum’s grandmother.’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘No,’ I said, thinking of the things of hers that I had in my possession and should give back. I shook my head. ‘No, not at all.’

  Mirabel was tucking into the Bakewell tart hungrily.

  ‘You know you don’t need to be on a diet, don’t you?’ I said.

  She tilted her head and shook it. ‘I do. I feel fat. Jesse used to say it to me sometimes.’

  ‘Charming. You’re best rid of him then. Feeling fat doesn’t mean that you
are. If anything, you could do with putting on a bit of weight.’

  Sally walked back across the cafe and pulled up a chair with us. ‘How long are you staying, Mirabel?’ she asked.

  ‘A week. My sister here’s trying to rope me into some manual labour in the cottage.’

  ‘A bit of light painting and decorating,’ I corrected her.

  ‘Ah, the grand cottage makeover.’ Sally smiled. ‘Well if you get a spare moment, you should pop over to my parents’ farm – they’ve got horses and alpacas. They love having visitors.’

  ‘That sounds OK,’ Mirabel said. ‘I quite like horses.’

  I met Sally’s eyes and smiled appreciatively.

  ‘We’d like that.’

  *

  When we got back to the house that afternoon, I bumped into Spencer standing in the hallway. It was usually Callum I chatted to, and now it was almost as if I was seeing Spencer for the first time. I noticed his slightly lopsided smile.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Everything going OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ve nearly finished the dining room flooring now, and we’ve got the living room ready for when you’re ready to begin staining.’

  ‘Great. We’ll need to change the window frames first, but once that work is out of the way we’ll get to it. Should be really cosy. Thanks for all your help, I’m so grateful that you to have been able to stay on.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Spencer said. ‘We’ve enjoyed it.’

  He hovered awkwardly in the doorway, not saying anything, just shifting from one trainer-clad foot to the other.

  ‘Anything else you wanted to talk to me about?’ I ventured.

  ‘There is, actually.’ His bright blue eyes met mine.

  ‘Go ahead then.’

  ‘It’s about your sister.’

  ‘Mirabel? Sure. What about her?’

  ‘There’s a band playing in the village tonight, and with no friends here I thought she might enjoy it.’

  ‘OK, sure. Fine with me, if she wants to,’ I said. ‘It would be good for her to see a bit of village life while she’s here.’

  ‘Great,’ Spencer said, his whole posture lifting and straightening.

  ‘I’ll give her a shout.’

  I found Mirabel in her room stretched out on the bed reading a magazine, dressed in jeans and one of my favourite tops, a bright red one with black trim. Her hair hung in damp strands, leaving a patch of darkness on the sheets and on the shoulders of my top

  ‘Are you coming to tell me the Wi-Fi’s back up again?’ she asked, hopeful.

  ‘Sorry, not yet. Don’t know what’s up with it today. But if you’re bored, I’ve got some good news. Spencer’s just asked me if you want to go out this evening – there’s a gig in town. He’s downstairs now. I said it was fine with me.’

  ‘Spencer,’ she said, looking slightly interested. ‘The fit one?’

  ‘Depends what you mean,’ I said, feeling awkward. ‘He’s the younger one, lighter hair.’

  ‘Not the fit one,’ Mirabel said, turning back through her magazine and flicking through it.

  ‘Don’t be harsh,’ I said. ‘He’s a perfectly nice guy. It’s not like he’s asking for your hand in marriage.’

  ‘OK, I’ll talk to him.’ She got to her feet, taller than me now. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra under the top she’d borrowed without asking. Better to choose my battles, though.

  A few moments later I could hear Mirabel’s laughter drifting up the stairwell, and the buzz of chatter coming from the kitchen.

  *

  ‘I said yes,’ Mirabel said, putting her head round my bedroom door. ‘We’re going out in half an hour. I can wear this, right?’ she said, pointing to the top.

  ‘OK. But check with me next time, would you?’

  ‘Fine.’ She pouted, and turned to leave the room.

  ‘Mirabel.’

  She turned back to look at me.

  ‘Maybe don’t mention this to Dad and Caitlin. I don’t want them to think I’m letting you run wild.’

  ‘Do you really think I tell Dad anything about my life?’ Mirabel said dismissively. ‘He wouldn’t let me do anything if I did.’

  I would have liked it if Dad had cared what I was up to when I was a teenager. It wasn’t that I’d kept anything from him, but I’d only seen him a few times a year, when he came over to England, usually with Caitlin, once she was on the scene.

  ‘You couldn’t lend me twenty quid, could you?’ Mirabel said. ‘Just in case I have to get a cab at the end of the night.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, getting a crisp note out of my wallet. ‘Be back by midnight, OK?’

  ‘I feel like Cinders,’ Mirabel said, taking the money with a cheeky grin. ‘Thanks.’

  At that moment I saw my father in my little sister. The charm that I couldn’t stand up against.

  ‘You’ll be good, won’t you?’

  *

  ‘Are you sure you won’t join us?’ Spencer said, downstairs in the hallway that evening. ‘Callum’s coming along for a drink too.’ Mirabel was standing beside him, putting her black fake-fur-trimmed coat on.

  ‘You should come along, Amelia,’ Callum said, his voice warm and husky. He was dressed in his work jeans and a long-sleeved navy top. ‘It’ll be fun. They’re a great band.’

  His grey-green eyes rested on mine, and I felt my cheeks grow hot. I could go out. There was no reason not to.

  ‘Oh, she won’t,’ Mirabel said. ‘I can tell she’s moping around at the moment, with Jack away.’

  And there, in an instant, the moment passed.

  ‘You have a good time. Mirabel’s right: I feel like a night in tonight.’

  ‘OK,’ Callum said. ‘Have a good evening.’

  ‘Thanks. Midnight, remember!’ I called out after Mirabel, as she disappeared into the darkness.

  I closed the door after the three of them and stood for a moment, facing the empty hall. I went to the downstairs toilet, then washed my hands and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tired and felt old.

  What would Jack be doing right now? Was he with friends, or alone somewhere, like me? Was he distracting himself, ignoring the divide that was growing between us, or thinking how we might bridge it? I wondered about the woman he worked with: Sadie, with her fresh graduate eagerness, sleek bob and trendy trainers. Was I the only one wondering if there could be another life out there for me?

  By the side of the basin, I saw the locket I’d found in the drain and had meant to give to Callum to return to his grandmother. I opened it again and looked inside: a handsome man with dark hair and brooding dark eyes. Her husband? I thought back to the wedding photo up in the attic: the bride, Eleanor, next to her groom, fair-haired and wearing glasses.

  The man in the locket was someone different altogether.

  Chapter 15

  The Spare Bedroom – Finishing

  On the Mood Board

  Nautical theme, white cushions with anchor print, fluffy white rug. Driftwood picture frames. Navy and white pouffe. Swatches – colours of sand, watery shallows and stormy grey seas.

  Sunday, 27 October

  Mirabel appeared in the kitchen doorway, fresh from her bath, her make-up smudged.

  ‘Good night?’ I was pretty sure I’d heard the door go at one or two in the morning, after the curfew I’d set her, but I didn’t feel like having an argument. ‘You’ve got panda eyes, by the way.’

  ‘It was, actually,’ she said, rubbing at the make-up under her eyes. ‘Considering we’re in the arse-end of nowhere, I mean.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Let’s get some breakfast. I’ve been up for hours and my stomach’s starting to rumble. You got on well with Spencer?’ I asked. I hoped she had at least been kind to him.

  ‘I got on better with Callum. But then I already knew that would happen.’

  I tried not to feel anything, but a smidgen of jealousy wrestled its way into my consciousness.

  ‘The gig was OK – a bi
t lame really,’ Mirabel continued. ‘Then I went on to a club.’

  ‘There’s a club in the village?’

  ‘There are clubs everywhere, if you know where to look.’

  She slouched down in a wooden chair and unwrapped her hair from a towel turban, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. ‘What’s for breakfast?’

  ‘Whatever you’re making. There’s bread and cereal on the worktop. Coffee’s just brewed. I’d love a cup, thanks.’

  She went over to the side to get a mug, dragging her slipper-clad heels.

  My phone rang, and I picked it up from the kitchen table. Mum. Mirabel spotted the name on the display and for a moment looked nervous.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Hello, love. I don’t want to interfere, but has Mirabel told you anything about last night?’

  ‘What about last night?’

  ‘About what she was doing.’

  ‘Doing? Yes, a bit. She’s just surfaced. Mine’s milk, no sugar, Mira.’ Mirabel pushed the plunger in the cafetière and poured out two cups.

  ‘I expect she will have needed a lie-in.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘I just had the neighbours round, telling me about a teenage girl causing a disturbance in town. Something about her running around with some local boys, drinking out on the village green and then scrawling graffiti on the railway bridge. I didn’t want to believe it was Mirabel, but from the description – well, it has to be.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I said. I looked at Mirabel again – her pale skin – yep, she was definitely hungover. ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘I can only tell you what I heard. And I don’t want this to sound like I’m judging your sister – I know she can be a lovely girl, but she’s your responsibility for the time being and I thought you should know. I’m afraid people are gossiping – and of course I’ve done my best to put them straight – but, love, this seems to be rubbing off a bit on you, too.’

  ‘OK, Mum. Look, don’t worry. Leave it with me – I’ll sort it out.’

  I put the phone down and looked at Mirabel, whose eyes flicked up this time and caught me watching.