A Cottage in the Country

by Linn B. Halton

  "Sarah shouldn't have told you that – it's confidential information. As it happens, I messed up."

  "Was that why your diary was free? You thought Ash Cottage was going to be yours?"

  "Yep. Although I do have other jobs waiting, including one for next door."

  We sip our tea, respectively, both considering the implication.

  "I'm sorry your…um…circumstances meant you missed out. You think I won't get through this?" My voice sounds edgy in the darkness, as if it's an accusation.

  "Look, it's none of my business what you do, but if you change your mind about living here on your own…"

  It's surreal. I don't know this man who's sitting on the bottom of my bed; I only know that people seem to trust him. It's true to say I don't feel unsafe with him here. His body heat has already made a difference to the room and just having that solid human bulk sitting there, talking to me, means more at this particular moment than he could ever know.

  "I'm not afraid of anything – except failure." I have no idea why I'm admitting that, or even what it means. Have I already judged myself as having failed? Hitting fifty, single and living in a wreck, in a place where I don't know anyone? At first I thought gaining my freedom was liberating, but maybe poor decision-making will be my undoing. I could be living in a cosy little flat in Bristol, within walking distance of old friends. Friends? Well, people who now feel uncomfortable around me because they've only ever known me as one half of a couple. A tear starts to trickle down my cheek and I wince to think that I've probably never felt sorrier for myself than I do right now.

  Lewis leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees and his hands cradling the mug. He's unaware that he's feet away from someone who just started a new decade in her life. Fifty is the new forty, or so they say, but I'm sure as hell depressed by the number.

  "Failure, now that's a dangerous word, Madeleine."

  His voice is soft, but shows no emotion whatsoever. Curiosity begins to encroach on my self-pity.

  "Which means?"

  He spins his head to look at me, although we are merely shapes to each other and there's no way I can read his expression.

  "Sometimes failure is the difference between life and death. One little mistake and that's it, a life is lost forever. But it gets worse. It ripples outwards and a family is torn apart by their grief; the word 'hero' makes no difference to their loss. It's cold comfort for changing their lives forever."

  Now I understand.

  "Where?"

  "Afghanistan. But that's irrelevant. We're talking about you. So your marriage failed – what's new? Your sons are grown and you're free to do what you want. Who are you going to fail?"

  "When you're used to having lots of people around you, all fighting for your attention, it's hard to adjust to having no one. Maybe you can't understand the feeling of loneliness, because from where I'm sitting it feels like a kind of failure. Everything I thought I had has slipped through my fingers so easily I now wonder if I ever had anything at all. I always braced myself for the time when the boys were independent and I'd see less of them, but I thought I'd have someone by my side. Someone who wanted to be with me."

  What am I doing? Lewis doesn't want to hear all this…stuff, that's whirling around all jumbled up inside my head. For goodness' sake do yourself a favour and stop talking, Maddie!

  "You don't think you're attractive any more?"

  "I'm fifty and frumpy."

  "Fifty? Really?"

  "Fifty and oh, one hour and twenty-seven minutes."

  He starts laughing.

  "Happy birthday, Madeleine. Here's the thing – you're anything but frumpy, just ask that boss of yours. Guess I'd better leave you to get some beauty sleep, then."

  The bed lifts as he straightens and I watch the hazy shape of him disappearing through the doorway, a chuckle breaking the silence. Is he being sarcastic?

  I put down the mug, roll onto my side and scooping up my pillow I punch it twice in quick succession.

  Just as I lay my head down, my mobile phone kicks into life and a series of pings announce incoming text messages. Why is it that any surge in signal happens in the early hours of the morning?

  "What is that?" Lewis calls out.

  I turn my phone around and look at the screen.

  "Happy birthday messages from the boys and two from this morning announcing the appliances are on the way," I throw back at him, anger reflected in my tone and volume.

  "No need to shout," he replies in a tediously fake hush, "you might wake the neighbours."

  CHAPTER 22

  If you're going to be stranded with someone and you get a choice, pick a man who's an ex-soldier. Lewis insists on cooking me a birthday breakfast of scrambled eggs on his camping stove. The toast is slightly burnt because he didn't check the setting on the toaster, but I was so hungry I would have eaten anything. The thought was touching, even if I was still annoyed with him from last night – for laughing at me.

  The rain eases off and there's even a hint of blue sky behind the clouds, so he suggests we walk down to the main road to see what's happening. The fresh air is wonderfully cold and sharp. It's refreshing and welcome after the dry air that the fan heaters have been pumping out. They are efficient if you stand within range of one, but the moment you walk away the cold pockets of air seem to drag any residual warmth out of your limbs. My fingers, toes and nose seem to be constantly cold.

  As we're about to head out Terence appears, wheeling a small trolley filled with carriers bags. He looks tired.

  "Terence, thank you so much. I now have a fully functioning fridge and freezer. Are you feeling okay? You look rather tired."

  Lewis lifts two carrier bags in each hand and makes his way to the stone store room.

  "Awful night. Joanna has the 'flu and I'm not feeling too bright myself. To be honest, I'm going straight back to bed."

  "I'm so sorry to hear that. I do hope you both feel better really soon. Awful being poorly at this time of the year. If there's anything you need, please do let me know. If I don't have it, I'm sure one of the other people around here will. I know I have painkillers and Vick's Vapour Rub." Goodness! I sound like an old maid.

  "Very kind of you, but I think Joanna has a little stock of winter medicines. Things like this tend to run their course. Looks like it's going to be a quiet Christmas."

  I commiserate, thinking that makes for two of us, as he wearily heads back up the path.

  As we casually walk down to the main road, my mobile rings and it's Logistic Solutions doing just that and explaining that their vehicle can't get through to deliver my kitchen units. Thankfully they are only shut for three days and will try again on the twenty-eighth.

  Lewis takes the news in silence and doesn't attempt to make any sort of conversation. I decide I'm not going to let him get away with it any longer.

  "Failure doesn't really apply to war, does it? Things are taken out of your hands."

  He stops, abruptly. When I look at him and our eyes meet, he looks like thunder.

  "What sort of a comment is that to throw at me?"

  "Sorry, I was thinking about what you said last night. I shared, so I think it's only polite that you do, too."

  "You're paying for my skills, not my memoirs." The words are sharp and his mouth snaps shut. There's visible jaw-clenching going on there.

  "Do you know how rude you are, sometimes? You blow hot and cold. How on earth are people supposed to know how to deal with you?"

  His eyes flash, annoyance plastered all over his face. I feel my cheeks beginning to flame, instantly regretting my attempt to explain why he's so hard to talk to at times.

  "Look, lady, my private life is just that. Private. I'm alone because I choose to be. People tend to get on my nerves and you're doing a good job of reminding me why that is."

  So talking about anything meaningful is out of bounds, unless he says so.

  "You were serious, though, about wanting to buy Ash Cottage. The pro
blem is, I don't intend selling it. Everything will come together and I will be happy here." Even I have to admit I sound way more convinced than I feel.

  "Whatever. Time will tell." Both his comment and his body language are dismissive; clearly he doesn't think this is going to be the life for me.

  We trudge on in silence and I'm glad I've at least made my intentions clear. I wouldn't want him working on the cottage under false pretences. This isn't a project to fix it up and sell it on, in the hope of making a profit. This is going to be my home for the rest of my life. There's a part of me that is gutted by his words and his general attitude. Why I should feel any connection at all to this…Neanderthal of a man, who is not simply rude, but obviously emotionally repressed, I have no idea. Unless…was I naive enough to think that the reason he was beavering away was because he liked me? Unease shifts in the pit of my stomach. His comment about Ryan didn't go unnoticed, but he's wrong. Perhaps a man like that can't understand friendship in all its hues. Maybe he's so hardened and embittered by the career he chose to follow and the feelings he's had to cut off, he can no longer feel much of anything, any more. Can he only relate to comradeship? That struggle to survive when faced with danger and barking orders at people who have been trained to obey without question? How do you integrate back into a world that must seem as unreal as Disneyland in comparison to the battlefield?

  As we round the last bend in the road, the full extent of the flooding is clear to see. It's impossible to get closer than about thirty yards to the main road, but from our vantage point further up the hill we can see along the road in both directions. There are two fire tenders and an assortment of vehicles blocking one end. Clearly, the turn-off for the hill is in a dip; something you hardly notice when you are driving. Looking at it now, all that is visible is a lake of muddy water as far as the eye can see. A whole row of buildings, from the pub at one end to the cottages and houses at the other, are knee-deep in water. In the middle, and at the lowest point in the dip, there is a commercial car-repair centre and you can just about see the tops of the cars that are standing on the forecourt. I'm speechless and Lewis shakes his head in disbelief.

  To the left, if I stand back a little, I can see the heads of a group of workers who appear to be digging.

  Lewis climbs up onto a wall to our right and drops down the other side. He's now on church land, or maybe its common land, as there's a children's slide way up on the bank. The grass slopes gently down to the stone wall, which has probably been there for hundreds of years. The drop the other side of it, down to the road, is probably about twenty-five feet.

  "How's it going?" His voice travels back to me, caught on the wind.

  I can't hear the response from below, but he spends a few minutes talking to the firemen. There are pumps going and the sound seems to fill the air, replacing the usual drone of traffic you'd expect at this time of the morning. He points back up to the top of the hill, nodding his head.

  A few minutes later he makes his way back across the muddy field and, using one hand to steady himself, vaults over the wall to land on the tarmac.

  "It's about five feet deep at the worst point, which is just around the bend," he points back up the road to our left. "It was much higher last night, apparently. The section of culvert that has collapsed means that the water running off the hill can only get so far along the pipe. It's spewing out of a hole in the ground just as you hit the approach to the village. The force of it is eroding the bank alongside the road, carrying a huge amount of soil and stone with it. There's nowhere for this water to go and if they weren't pumping, all of this would be under water, too." He indicates the area where we're standing.

  I'm horrified at the thought of the people whose homes and businesses are filled with that murky, swirling water that seems to have a life of its own.

  "They are going to bring in earth-moving equipment to start digging out the culvert, but it's not going to be easy to replace that pipe."

  We start walking back up the hill just as the sun peeks out for the first time in well over a week. The heavy, grey clouds are menacing and there's more rain to come, of that I have no doubt.

  "What about the top road?"

  He shakes his head.

  "A garden wall and bank have collapsed, apparently, and it's blocking the road. Once the debris is cleared they are going to have to shore it up with gabion cages. It's doubtful the road will be re-opened for at least a couple of days."

  I look in horror, unable to believe what I'm hearing. How can there only be two ways in and out when so many homes are affected? I just can't take it in.

  "Forest life is like that, Madeleine. You can't live in this sort of terrain and not expect problems. Large rock falls aren't common, but it happens in extreme weather conditions. I expect there are quite a few trees down, as well, and a few of those will have fallen across the tracks that traverse the landscape. Fortunately there aren't many access roads to keep clear, but that's also a negative. If one does become blocked, as with the main road through Bybrooke, things begin to grind to a halt."

  "It's frightening. How will those people manage?"

  I was surprised that most of the men milling around seemed to be firemen or workers wearing high-viz jackets.

  "Most of the locals will have been evacuated. A handful might have decided to camp out on the first floor of their properties, but the fire brigade will have tried their best to dissuade them. It's too dangerous, although unlikely the flood water could rise that high. This isn't something they're going to fix today, or tomorrow, Madeleine. If it stops raining then remedial work will speed up once the worst of the flood water is drained away, but it's going to take a week or two to clear the debris that's been carried along the length of the road."

  "And there's no other way out?"

  "Not until that top road is reopened. We're lucky that the water supply hasn't been affected. General supplies are being brought in later today. Is there anything you are going to need?"

  "No, it's just an unsettling feeling being trapped."

  "I hope you weren't planning on having a birthday party."

  One glance confirms he's trying to lighten the moment, but to me this whole thing is alien and shocking. I hate to admit it, but if Lewis wasn't stranded here with me, I don't know how I would have reacted to this news.

  "Don't worry. I have a plan," he looks at me sideways, his mouth curled in a relaxed smile. It really is like being with Jekyll and Hyde. I never know what to expect next.

  "You aren't going to have a kitchen in time for Christmas, but we might be able to get the main bedroom sorted for you. No more sleeping in the dining room."

  My mobile starts to ring, startling me and I stop while I dig around in my pocket to find it. Lewis strides on ahead, seemingly oblivious.

  "Hello?"

  "Mum, happy birthday. How's it going? I've been online reading about the floods. You are safe, aren't you?" Matt's voice is full of concern.

  "Thanks, honey. Another year older, as they say. It probably sounds much worse than it is – the flooding, I mean. I live at the top of a hill, remember?" I make my voice bright and breezy, trying to shrug off any worries.

  "There's a parcel on the way from Nick and me, but at the moment we've been told they can't give us a delivery date. It was a bit of a shock. Apparently you are officially cut off. You do have food and stuff, don't you? To be honest, Nick was on about paying you a surprise visit to check up on you."

  "He texted this morning and didn't mention that. Tell him I'm fine and he's not to make the trip. It's too far and too close to Christmas. I don't want his plans upset when there's nothing he can do at this end. Besides, he'd have to leave the car quite a distance away. Really, I'm fine and, thank goodness, fully stocked-up with food. The builder is also here, so it will be a working Christmas. Maybe not so much fun as I'd expected, but it's more important to tackle some of the big jobs at the moment. How's Sadie?"

  There's no point in telling him how awful thi
ngs really are, and that has nothing at all to do with the rain. But the last thing I want is Nick driving the best part of two hundred miles to end up sitting in a freezing-cold house.

  "She's doing well, but the morning sickness is on and off all day still, so she's finding that a struggle. Her parents are coming over for Christmas Day lunch. I'm cooking – poor them. I miss you, Mum. It doesn't seem right not seeing you on your birthday and it's a landmark one, at that."

  A little tear forms in the corner of my eye as his words touch my heart. Be strong, Maddie. I kick a large tuft of grass with my wellington boot, anger over this whole situation threatening to erupt. I take a deep breath before continuing. Lewis is now almost at the top of the hill.

  "I'm fine, really. It was always going to be a difficult first Christmas here, with so much work to be done. But things are beginning to shape up and working through the holidays will mean another room completed and one less to tackle in the New Year. Fifty is only a number and you know me, I've always thought birthdays were over-rated once you hit twenty-one." The laugh at least sounds light and breezy. It's true, of course; age has never really meant anything to me. But, fifty! I want to turn back the hands of time, because it's a number that scares the hell out of me.

  "Well, it's good to hear your voice. When we catch up we'll have a belated celebration. We put your Christmas presents in with your birthday parcel, so I hope they manage to get it through in time. I wish we'd sent it off a bit earlier, but we had no idea how extensive the flooding was in your area. Thanks for your pressies, by the way. It's way too much, as usual, but Sadie will enjoy spending the vouchers. She's going to use them for the nursery."

  "You're welcome, Matt, and thank you for the parcel. I'll let you know when it arrives, but I suspect that will be after Christmas now. It will be something to look forward to, to brighten up that lull between Christmas and New Year. I'll ring Nick later, but please speak to him and make sure he doesn't attempt that trip. I'm cosy here, everything is fine."

  He clears his throat, an air of awkwardness in his hesitation.