‘Back in the country for two minutes and he has your mobile number,’ she gave me a teasing look.
‘Sshh! Hi, Ben!’ I answered, as we turned on to High Street.
Grace was trying to earwig in on the conversation but stopped as soon as she saw the puzzled look fleet across my face. ‘Yes, I can come now.’
‘What was all that about?’ asked Grace, the second I hung up. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘I’m not entirely sure but he’s asked if I can nip over to the farm now.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Grace.
I shook my head, ‘No, I won’t be long. I’ll see you back at the cottage.’
‘Okay, if you’re sure.’
‘What were you just about to tell me about Sam?’
‘Don’t worry, that’ll keep for later.’
I nodded and began walking towards Honeysuckle Farm. As I sauntered up the drive towards the farmhouse, the familiar smells were wonderful. The underlying aroma of the cows, the straw from the stable and the burning of rubbish in the bottom field. I felt a bubble of happiness rise in my chest every time I was here, but thoughts of Mum were never far from my mind. How could she give all this up?
I felt at home here, and right now, this second, my heart was telling me that Brook Bridge was where I needed to be, but I knew that choice was going to have devastating consequences for my mum.
In the shrubs, the chickens were pecking around and the cockerel puffed out his plumage before letting out a throaty crow. The barn doors were thrown wide open and Billy was in his stable gnawing at the hay bag. After giving him a quick pat, I glanced around and spotted Ben whistling to himself up the top of a ladder while painting the guttering.
‘Hi,’ I called, and Ben spun round. He was dressed in overalls which were tied around his waist by the sleeves, and his T-shirt was splattered with speckles of paint. A smile crept across his face and he began to climb down.
‘Perfect timing, I was due a break.’ He slipped a hand on the small of my back. ‘You look nice.’
Today, I’d chosen an ordinary outfit: denim jeans, a pale-blue T-shirt and my tatty old grey pumps. ‘Thanks.’
‘So, what’s all this about?’ I asked with intrigue.
Ben took off his gloves and placed them over a rung of the ladder.
‘Over there,’ he nodded towards the brick wall that ran around Grandie’s sun garden. ‘There’s another building behind that wall.’
My eyes darted over to where Ben was pointing.
‘No, there can’t be.’
‘Honestly, I was up the ladder and spotted it.’
‘That wall separates the farmhouse from the annexe. There can’t possibly be another building anywhere there,’ I said, puzzled. ‘You’ve probably mistaken the roof of the annexe or something.’
‘Seriously, there’s something there. Here,’ he held the ladder steady, ‘climb up and see for yourself.’
I smiled at Ben wanly and shuffled restlessly before I stepped on to the bottom rung.
‘Keep calm, Alice,’ I said to myself, knowing I wasn’t at all keen on heights.
‘Don’t let go of that ladder,’ I instructed in a firm tone as I looked up towards the sky.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you.’
Putting one foot above the other, my heart was in my mouth as I began to climb.
‘Stop around there,’ I heard Ben call up.
Holding on for dear life, my knuckles were white as I carefully swung my head round. ‘Whoa! That view, it’s amazing.’
‘I never tire of that view,’ Ben laughed. I wasn’t sure whether he meant the view over the valley or the fact that he was looking straight at my backside.
‘Now look towards the wall.’
Shaking my head in disbelief, I saw that Ben was right. There was some sort of roof draped in overgrown ivy and what looked like a small courtyard.
‘I don’t believe it. There’s definitely something there,’ I said, staring for a moment before lowering myself down slowly and gratefully, planting my feet firmly back on the ground.
‘Connie and Jim must know something about it,’ I said. ‘Is Jim around?’
Ben shook his head, ‘Market day, won’t be back until 6 p.m.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s certainly well hidden.’
Ben raised an interested eyebrow, ‘A secret room, very mysterious and exciting. What’s the plan of action?’
‘Find the way in,’ I said without hesitation.
‘I’ll start this end, you start over there,’ suggested Ben and immediately the pair of us set to work, trailing the length of the wall, thrusting our hands behind the entwined ivy, searching for a way in.
‘It’s just stone here,’ I said, disappointed, tapping at the wall.
‘Keep moving along, there has to be a way in somewhere,’ reassured Ben with an encouraging smile.
For the next five minutes, we carried on prodding behind the shrubbery until I heard Ben shout from a little further up, ‘Here, over here, this part isn’t brick, it’s wood.’
I looked over with a sharp intake of breath and the skin on the back of my neck prickled.
‘There’s definitely something here … come and feel.’ Ben’s voice had risen by a thrilled octave.
My heart was thumping as I arrived at his side. He tugged at the ivy, ripping it straight off the wall to create a small opening.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ I breathed excitedly, feeling the wood, ‘and that’s definitely a handle of some sort.’
‘Go to the far barn, there’s a pair of shears hanging on the wall. Let’s get this cut back, see what’s behind,’ he ordered, still ripping away at the overgrown plant with his hands.
My heart raced as my legs powered towards the barn and I yanked the shears from the wall.
‘Here,’ I said, panting, a little out of breath, thrusting the shears into Ben’s hands. He began to snip back the trailing plant. I watched in amazement, cupping my hands around my face as the wooden door became visible.
‘What is this place?’
‘I’m not sure, but we are about to find out.’
Ben cleared away all of the ivy and we stood and stared at the peeling duck-egg-blue painted wooden door with a huge, tarnished brass knob.
‘After you.’
My heart was hammering against my chest as I took a huge deep breath and grasped the knob with my unsteady hand.
Nothing.
It was locked.
Damn.
We stared at the lock beneath the knob.
‘Well, that’s that then, it’s locked. Looks like the mystery is going to stay just that, a mystery, unless you’ve learnt how to pick locks while living in New York?’
I shook my head, ‘Unfortunately that was never on my list of things to do.’
I sighed, my mind whirling. I didn’t want to be beaten now.
‘I’d say that was quite a big key too, not your run-of-the-mill mortice lock,’ said Ben.
Once more I grasped the knob and bumped my shoulder against the door. ‘Not quite as easy as it looks in the movies,’ I sighed. The door didn’t budge an inch.
‘You’ll hurt your shoulder if you carry on like that,’ said Ben. ‘Why don’t you just ask your grandfather about it? Ask him for the key.’
‘Key … that’s it, you are a genius,’ I beamed. He looked at me with bewilderment as I began to frantically rummage around in my bag which I’d thrown to the ground earlier.
My hands were visibly shaking as I held up a bunch of keys. ‘It’s got to be this one. I’d no idea where it was for.’
We both stared at it, then the lock.
‘It definitely looks like it would fit. Come on, what are you waiting for?’ asked Ben impatiently.
Feeling apprehensive, my heart was thumping and my breath caught in my throat as I placed the key in the lock and turned it.
Click.
Both Ben and I locked eyes before I turned the knob and
pushed.
‘OMG,’ I muttered under my breath as we walked in. I shot Ben a quizzical look. ‘What is this place?’
The air was dusty and it smelled damp.
He simply shrugged.
As I edged forward slowly, my eyes widened. It looked like some sort of office-come-dance-studio, which was enclosed inside a small walled garden. The huge, smeared, dirty windows at the far end let in a little light and there was another wooden door leading into a very small courtyard.
In the corner was a small desk with numerous papers stacked in a pile, adorned with dust. A pair of abandoned spectacles lay on top. A ballet barre ran along the far side of the office with mirrors from floor to ceiling, and hanging on the wall were numerous framed photos of ballerinas alongside some very famous ballet production posters.
‘There’s everything here from The Nutcracker to A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ I said in awe, staring at the posters.
On the small wooden table in the corner of the room sat an old-fashioned tape recorder. I blew away the dust from the top of the black machine then opened the cassette compartment.
‘Gosh, they used these things back in the days of the dinosaurs,’ I said with amazement, taking out the cassette tape and flipping it over.
‘Plug it in, see if it still works.’ Ben placed the tape recorder on top of the desk, and switched on the socket.
‘There’s a red light on it,’ I exclaimed, hurriedly stuffing the tape back inside the player. ‘It’s working.’
As I pressed play we waited in anticipation. There was a click followed by a whir and I gasped as the truly timeless classic, The Nutcracker composed by Tchaikovsky, began to fill the room.
The music brought back memories and immediately, happy tears filled my eyes. It was such an emotional piece of music and I remembered one Christmas, curling up under a blanket on the settee with Grandie in front of the roaring log fire. We watched the ballet on an old video cassette. I’d been mesmerised, it was pure magic.
Lost in my memories, I sat down on the old dusty chair, closed my eyes and let the music envelop me.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ I said, my body lifting as though it were being controlled by some invisible force. All of a sudden, I found myself standing in the small cramped space in the middle of the room.
I balanced on one leg and stretched the other leg out behind. Holding my back upright, I gracefully reached both arms out in front. For a split second, I let the music take over, a feeling of floating on air captivated my whole body. Turning myself elegantly in tune with the music, my arms and legs began to glide and spin. Everything was in sync, even my breathing, but as I spun I locked eyes with Ben and halted.
‘Don’t stop … don’t stop!’ urged Ben. ‘That was amazing! Absolutely amazing.’ Ben’s praise was coming thick and fast.
I could feel myself breathing in and out, my chest rising and falling.
‘More … more,’ he said in a playful chant. ‘That was breath-taking. You, Alice Parker, were born to dance.’
‘I can’t,’ I said, suddenly feeling inadequate. I thought back to all those rejection letters and emails. My shoulders drooped and I slumped into the chair.
‘I don’t understand, what do you mean, you can’t?’
He balanced on the edge of the desk and waited for me to speak.
‘Are you okay?’ A worried look was now written all over Ben’s face.
I wanted to open up to Ben, he was one of my oldest friends in the village.
‘It’s just … for a split second, I felt like the old me again.’ I sighed.
‘What do you mean, the old you?’
‘I’m not quite what I seem,’ I admitted, pressing the stop button on the tape machine and switching the socket off at the wall. ‘I feel like a phoney.’
Ben looked puzzled.
A little sheepishly I revealed the truth to him about my life in New York and the fact that I’d never made it as a dancer or even performed on Broadway.
He blew out a breath, ran his hands through his hair and gave a low whistle. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘People always seem to assume I’m something I’m not, and I wish I was that person, I really do, but … I’ve never made it past the audition stage. I’ve never been good enough to land a role that was of any significance. Everyone else is of a higher standard, or their face fits. I stopped attending auditions because I couldn’t face another rejection letter landing on the doormat.’
‘You’ve got a skill, a gift you should be proud of. Have you ever asked for feedback? Asked for help?’
I shook my head. ‘Grace is trying to talk me into going for an audition with her next week but, how can I? I’ve messed up every audition so far. Why would this one be any different?’ I sighed.
‘That would mean you’d be here for a while. I thought you were only here for a holiday?’
‘I was … I am … but those questions I was asking you, about business, working for the family … I was asking because Grandie has offered me the dance school.’
Ben’s face flashed with excitement. ‘What an amazing offer!’
‘Mmm, it is and it isn’t. I live on the other side of the world and so does Mum,’ I answered, wanting to join in with his enthusiasm.
‘But if you don’t give it a go?’
‘But what if I fail? What if I can’t teach dance?’ I said, hearing the frustration in my own voice.
A slight smile spread across his face. ‘I’m not good at this type of stuff, me being a builder, but as my gran used to say, always believe in yourself. Things happen for a reason. It will work itself out. It always does.’
Silently, we walked over towards the windows at the back of the room.
‘Have you seen out here?’ he asked, changing the subject.
There was a small tranquil courtyard with two wrought-iron chairs and a table. A purple-and-blue flowering climber clambered over the wall while the ivy toppled over from the other side. Even now, there was a burst of colour in this little hidden space.
I caught Ben’s eye. ‘Do you think this was Grandie’s office?’
‘It appears that way, maybe he ran the dance school from here and used this space to choreograph routines or something.’
As Ben was talking, I turned around and my eyes flickered towards a rusty old filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a sneaky peek inside there. Pulling open the drawer, I shuffled through some of the papers.
‘This paperwork goes back years. There’s still invoices in here from way back for every student that danced at the school … and accounts too. Why would all this stuff still be here after all this time and why let this place get so overgrown that it becomes hidden?’
‘Who knows?’ Ben spun another glance around the place.
‘It’s an absolute mystery,’ I said, perching on the dusty chair and rifling through an old newspaper that was stuffed in the back of the drawer. ‘It just seems such a shame. Maybe when the dance school closed down that was it, he just turned his back and shut the door.’
I sat down at the desk and began to thumb through the ancient newspaper. My eyes locked on the headline on page five which was boldly staring back at me. My heartbeat quickened, promptly followed by a queasy feeling which swirled in the pit of my stomach.
I bit down on my lip and could feel myself beginning to tremble, my eyes filling with tears.
‘Alice, are you okay? What’s wrong?’
Ben looked towards me and waited for me to answer.
I turned the paper towards him.
‘Dancer killed on opening night,’ Ben read out loud.
‘My grandma, according to this,’ my voice faltered.
A tear slid down my cheek as I read the story in the paper:
Oscar Bennett has been convicted for his part in a conspiracy to commit burglaries and robberies across the West Midlands and cause death by dangerous driving.
At Stafford Crown Court on Wednesday (J
une 3rd) it was revealed that the men were involved in stealing prestige vehicles and using them to commit a string of violent crimes.
On the night of May 6th the court heard that Oscar Bennett had stolen a car and lost control of the vehicle, mounting the pavement and instantly killing Ballerina Florrie Rose Grant on the opening night of The Nutcracker at the Birmingham Hippodrome, Birmingham. Florrie Grant was married to dancer Ted Grant, leaving behind one daughter, Rose. The married duo, who both danced The Nutcracker in the very same theatre over twenty-five years ago, were attending as guests of honour.
Oscar Bennett was found guilty and sentenced to ten years in prison.
‘It was a dreadful tragedy,’ Ben offered in a sympathetic tone. ‘My own grandma told me the story, I can’t remember why it came up in conversation but she said it affected so many people in this village.’
Through my blurred eyes I looked up at him. ‘What, you knew?’ The knots in my stomach took my breath away.
He solemnly nodded. ‘Everyone in Brook Bridge knows. Your grandma is truly missed in this village. Ted and Florrie were the heart of this community. I take it you didn’t know?’
But Ben replied to himself before I could draw breath, ‘By the look on your face you didn’t have a clue.’
‘No, I didn’t know.’ My voice was shaky.
I was distraught, the tears flowing freely. This was tragic. Why did no one think to tell me? Distressed didn’t come close to the way I was feeling. Crushed to the core, I re-read the article. Poor Grandie, poor Mum. Florrie ripped from their lives by a senseless crime.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I said, ‘I didn’t know a thing, all I knew was that she died before I was born, and I suppose when I was old enough to ask questions, I couldn’t because we’d left, and Mum never spoke about either Grandie or Grandma again.’
‘Here, take this,’ he said, passing me a tissue from his pocket, ‘It must have come as shock to find out this way.’
I managed a nod and let out a long breath, my blurry eyes still staring at the newspaper article. That day must have shattered Mum and Grandie’s entire world.
‘What am I going to do now?’
A Home at Honeysuckle Farm Page 12