Chapter 3
‘I can’t believe this,’ said Helen, shaking her head in disbelief as I sat on the end of her bed the next day and explained what had happened. ‘You leave the house a pauper and come back a princess.’
‘Hardly,’ I said, rolling my eyes and inwardly wincing at her strange analogy.
I hadn’t known Helen for all that long, having only moved into the house a few months ago, but I knew she sometimes had a very strange way of putting things. I hadn’t particularly wanted to share my news with her at all, but shock could do funny things to a normally private person and it had all tumbled out before I could stop myself.
‘But this is the sort of thing you read about in books,’ she said, pointing to the pile of pastel-packaged romance paperbacks stacked next to her bed. ‘A proper rags-to-riches story.’
I decided not to further feed her fantasy by rushing to the kitchen, grabbing the broom and twirling around like Cinderella.
‘No one gets this lucky IRL.’
‘IRL?’
‘In real life,’ she expanded.
At that particular moment, still tired out from the funeral, the unbearable sense of loss and all the information I was trying to assimilate, I wasn’t actually feeling all that ‘lucky’.
‘Believe me,’ I said harshly, ‘I’d far rather have Gwen in my life than her house.’
‘Of course,’ said Helen, her face flushing crimson as she realised her faux pas. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . ’
‘Oh, I know,’ I sighed. ‘And I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just going to take me a while to get my head around all of this.’
‘I can imagine,’ she sighed, a faraway look in her eye. ‘But just so I can start advertising for a new housemate, when do you think you’ll actually be going?’
Mr Miller and I had been in almost daily contact since Gwen’s funeral, but our frequent conversations didn’t seem to have any impact on hurrying proceedings along. During the first couple of weeks, as the details of the gargantuan bequest gradually sank in and I began to think seriously about packing up my few belongings and working my notice, I had expected every phone call to be the one telling me it was time to collect the keys, but I soon realised it wasn’t going to happen like that. According to Gwen’s solicitor, even though the legacy was incredibly straightforward, I wouldn’t be going anywhere fast.
‘These things always take time,’ he reassured me. ‘It doesn’t mean that anything is wrong, it’s just how the system works.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘I see,’ but I didn’t really.
‘Look,’ he added, no doubt picking up on my lack of understanding. ‘Why don’t you come back to Wynbridge and have a look around the place? Surely if you could be planning any remedial work that might need doing or considering how you want to redecorate, it might help the time pass more quickly.’
‘Redecorate?’ I gasped, not then picking up on his suggestion that the cottage might need more than a quick spring clean. ‘Update! I won’t be changing anything.’
Clearly, and in spite of what I had worn to Gwen’s funeral, her solicitor had no inkling of my passion for all things authentically vintage, or as plain-speaking Gwen would have put it, ‘old’.
‘Sorry, Lottie,’ he said, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘I just assumed you would want to change things a bit.’
‘I’ve always loved Cuckoo Cottage exactly as it is,’ I said firmly, ‘so thank you for the suggestion, but no, as I explained before, I’d really rather wait, if it’s all the same to you.’
Every day I was feeling more and more grateful for the wonderful gift Gwen had bestowed upon me, but the last thing I wanted to do was cross the threshold before I’d signed on the dotted line and had the keys in my pocket. I guess a part of me was still holding back just in case something went wrong.
Even though I knew everything was legal and above board, I was finding it hard to believe that I really could be this ‘lucky’. As Helen had so keenly pointed out, it was exactly the kind of thing that happened in the pages of a book, not in real life.
‘As you wish,’ he sighed, ‘and besides, I’m certain things won’t take too much longer.’
‘Yes, well,’ I reminded him wryly, ‘you said that last week.’
It was the beginning of August, just over four months after Gwen’s funeral, and when the sunshine was only occasionally capable of rivalling what we had enjoyed in April, that moving day finally dawned. Heading back to Wynbridge on the bus again, this time I was more suitably attired and wearing footwear that was fit for purpose.
I had somehow managed to cram my eclectic mix of clothes, along with everything else I wanted to keep, into two old suitcases which had belonged to Gran and Grandad, and a gargantuan camouflage rucksack which I had picked up from the army surplus store in town. Admittedly I didn’t have a lot in the way of material possessions but, I reminded myself stoically, this was a fresh start and Cuckoo Cottage was already packed full of wonderful things.
I hadn’t found it at all difficult parting company with my tiny bedroom, or Helen who had hardly bothered with me once she knew I was moving on, but saying goodbye to my bosses, Eric and John, was harder. I had joined the pair in their bespoke business when I ditched my waitressing job looking for a change of scene where I could indulge my passion for renovating and recycling and they had become my only real tie to the town.
We had worked together for the best part of four years, remodelling and restyling all manner of campers and caravans, and I had enjoyed every minute. The pair had furnished me with all the skills I needed to complete a total interior renovation and refit and sometimes I even got to help the owners with the decorative finishing touches, which I absolutely loved.
Had I not been moving, this would certainly have been an aspect of the business I would have wanted to develop and I imagined, had Gwen not given me the opportunity to renovate my life, I would have happily worked alongside my two kind and generous employees forever.
‘We really are sorry to see you go,’ said Eric as he and his twin, John, helped me unload my luggage from the back of their van at the bus station.
‘Although we’re pleased about the cottage and everything, of course,’ John quickly added.
‘Yes,’ said Eric, ‘delighted for you in that sense, but we’re really going to miss your side of the business, Lottie. Your creative input has been second to none and the customers love your clever styling.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll find someone else who can match cushions and curtains as well as I can,’ I told them with a dismissive wave of my hand. ‘It’s hardly rocket science after all.’
John and Eric shook their heads in perfect unison.
‘But they won’t have your artistic flair,’ said John, ‘or your finesse.’
‘You have such a good eye,’ added Eric.
‘Well, thank you,’ I blushed, feeling awkward about accepting the compliment.
‘Is that what you’re going to do at your new place?’ quizzed John.
‘Perhaps you could set up your own business doing something similar,’ suggested Eric. ‘Although I’m not sure I should be encouraging you to become the competition.’
I hadn’t actually worked out what I was going to do once I was settled, but I would certainly have the space to set up a similar business if I wanted to.
‘I might,’ I said, biting my lip as I considered the potential of the three empty barns.
Perhaps that was what Gwen had in mind for me when she drew up her will. She had always been keen to encourage me to take the plunge and go it alone and now, thanks to her, I had the perfect space to establish my own business, should I want to. My heart gave an excited little flutter at the prospect of offering a complete renovation package, and adding the possibility of sourcing, supplying and fitting the decorative touches into the mix made it thump all the harder.
‘Well good luck,’ said Eric, giving me a swift hug as his brother lugged my bags on to the bus.
‘Yes, good luck,’ echoed John, rejoining him to wave me off.
The bus station was as chaotic as ever and as I lost sight of them in the crowds I couldn’t help thinking that, with Gran and Grandad gone and all connections now severed, it didn’t feel like I was actually leaving anything behind. In fact, it felt more like I was going home.
The miles flashed quickly by, my eyes eating up the East Anglian summer landscape and towers of fluffy, soft billowing clouds. I could see that in spite of the recent dreary weather some of the fields were ripe for harvesting and my thoughts wandered back to happy afternoons spent eating warm raspberries and tart gooseberries plucked straight from the rows and bushes Gwen had tended for years. Assuming they were still there, they were all mine now. I dozed for a while and then, true to form, just as the coach drew to a halt and the doors opened revealing the bustling market square, the clouds parted and the sun began to beat down.
‘You sure you can manage that lot?’ asked the driver, making no attempt to leave his station behind the wheel and give me a hand.
‘Yep,’ I puffed, hauling the second suitcase out of the luggage rack and in the process almost pulling my arms out of their sockets. ‘I’m good.’
I staggered down on to the pavement and stood for a minute to catch my breath and take in the scene before me. On the day of Gwen’s funeral I hadn’t had a chance to look about the place properly, but now it was my turf I was keen to re-familiarise myself with the territory.
The town was busy, but comfortably so, and there were definitely more shops than I remembered from my expeditions when I was younger. I made a mental note to check out The Cherry Tree Café as soon as I was settled, and I could see some sort of second-hand store a little further along. The market was pleasingly heaving, but I could still easily pick out the top of Chris’s head as he bobbed about among his customers, no doubt generously overfilling waiting shopping bags full of fresh local produce.
Turning my back on the lively scene, I clumsily weaved my way along the path to the solicitor’s and lugged the heavy cases up the steps, cursing my lack of height and upper body strength. As I pushed open the door with my rucksack and reversed inside, my ears were subjected to a barrage of insults and an argument which, unbelievably, seemed to be coming from mild-mannered Mr Miller’s office. Granted, he wasn’t the one doing the shouting, but it was still something of a surprise.
‘You haven’t heard the last of this!’ shouted a man’s voice menacingly. ‘This is a bloody joke, an outrage.’
‘It really isn’t, you know,’ was the only response I heard to the heated allegation.
I tried to get out of the man’s way as he stormed through the lobby, taking a childish swipe at a stack of papers on the secretary’s desk in the process, but I wasn’t quick enough and before I knew it he had sent both me and my cases flying into the door frame.
‘Hey,’ I retaliated, levering myself upright with the help of the weighty pack on my back and drawing myself up to my full, but still diminutive, height. ‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going?’
‘And why don’t you get out of the way?’ he yelled, barging through and slamming the door behind him.
‘Well now, that’s a fine welcome to Wynbridge,’ said Mr Miller, rushing forward to help me manoeuvre the suitcases so they weren’t blocking the doorway. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘I’m fine,’ I told him, feeling determined not to let the man’s unexpected outburst spoil the much anticipated moment.
‘I bet you had no idea the place could be so lively, did you?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I didn’t.’
‘Well, never mind him. Come on through and we’ll get things sorted. You can leave those there,’ he added, pointing to the cases as he swept up the now muddled pile of papers from the floor. ‘And could you boil the kettle please, Iris?’ he asked the poor secretary who looked more than a little alarmed by what had just happened. ‘I’m absolutely parched.’
I didn’t get the chance to ask what all the fuss had been about because it was immediately obvious that Mr Miller was keen to get my own business all wrapped up. The second I had wriggled the pack from my back and taken the seat he offered, he was equipping me with the relevant paperwork and a pen. We read through the sheets together and then I signed on a plethora of dotted lines.
‘Is that it, then?’ I asked huskily as I watched the ink dry.
‘It is,’ he smiled. ‘You are now the owner of Cuckoo Cottage, and I hope you will be very happy living there, Lottie.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will,’ I sniffed, not really believing that the legalities had happened without so much as a single bell or whistle, let alone a fanfare.
I reached up my sleeve for a tissue.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Mr Miller kindly. ‘I’m afraid I do this kind of thing day in, day out, so I take it all a bit for granted really.’
‘I’m fine,’ I nodded, whilst noisily blowing my nose. ‘This is just mixed emotions, I suppose. I mean, I’m delighted to have the cottage and everything, but I’d far rather Gwen was still there.’
He was just about to answer when the secretary knocked and came in with the tea tray. I was grateful for her timely interruption because what would have been the point in getting all maudlin about the situation? I may have lost Gran and Gwen but crying more tears and risking further dehydration wouldn’t bring them back, and besides, I had the distinct feeling there would be plenty more opportunities for a good howl when I arrived at the cottage.
Mr Miller thanked his secretary for the tea and by the time she closed the door I had regained my composure.
‘I thought we could go to the bank tomorrow,’ he suggested, passing me a cup. ‘If that suits you, of course.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘That will be fine.’
On the day of the funeral, when he had first told me of Gwen’s extraordinary generosity, I had been in such a state of shock that I had tuned out and missed some of the finer details of what he had been saying. Subsequently, during the weeks that followed, we had gone through it all again and I was amazed to discover that Gwen had also left enough financial provision for me to settle in and not have to rush into making any hasty decisions about how I was going to earn my keep.
‘That way,’ he continued, ‘I thought you would have the rest of the day to unload your lorry and at least make a start unpacking, although how you’ll fit another houseful of furniture into that tiny cottage is quite beyond me,’ he added, scratching his head. ‘Perhaps you could store everything in the barns for now. What time are you expecting them to arrive?’
‘Sorry,’ I frowned. ‘What time am I expecting who to arrive?’
‘The removals people with the lorry,’ he said patiently.
‘There is no lorry,’ I told him, helping myself to another lump of sugar.
‘Van then,’ he said.
‘No van either,’ I shrugged.
‘So where are all your things, Lottie?’ he asked.
‘In this,’ I said, patting the packed rucksack, ‘and in the cases out there,’ I added with a nod to the door.
‘You mean to tell me that you’ve actually managed to pack all your worldly goods into three bags.’
‘I have,’ I confirmed. ‘But they’re rather big bags.’
He didn’t say anything, just blinked and stared.
‘Is that all right?’
‘Well yes,’ he swallowed, fiddling with his teaspoon. ‘Of course, just a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘Well, I have a houseful of things now, don’t I?’ I smiled. ‘Up until now I’ve preferred to travel light.’
Mr Miller looked at me and smiled and then he began to laugh.
‘Do you know,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘I think Cuckoo Cottage might have just bagged itself another very unique owner.’
I felt myself blushing, not sure whether he was paying me a compliment or teasing me, but a quick glance at his face confirmed that he was actually in earnest.
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ he went on.
‘What’s that, Mr Miller?’
‘I think it’s high time you started calling me David.’
‘Well thank you, David,’ I smiled, ‘for everything.’
We finished our tea and I was just thinking it was time I called a taxi when we heard more shouting in the lobby.
‘Has she been?’ hollered a familiar voice. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve bloomin’ well missed her!’
Without any further preamble the office door was flung back on its hinges and there stood Chris, red-faced and panting.
‘As you can see,’ scolded Iris, over his shoulder. ‘You haven’t missed her at all.’ Forcibly she pushed her way into the office. ‘Apologies for the second intrusion of the morning, Mr Miller, only Mr Dempster here was another one reluctant to wait.’ With a curt nod she disappeared back through the door, leaving Chris shaking his head.
‘Have you had a bit of bother this morning, David?’
My solicitor, professional as ever, said nothing.
‘Come on,’ encouraged Chris. ‘Who is it this time? Someone looking to make a few quid out of some unsuspecting soul, I’ll bet!’
‘Well now,’ I said when Chris couldn’t elicit a response, ‘do I sense intrigue? And there was me thinking I was moving to a sleepy little backwater.’
‘Oh no,’ boomed Chris. ‘There’s never a dull moment in Wynbridge, Lottie. If it’s excitement you’re after, you’ve certainly moved to the right place.’
‘Oh yes,’ said David, finally finding his voice and rolling his eyes. ‘Our little town is a veritable hotbed of espionage and exhilaration, but I’ve already nipped this particular little upset in the bud.’
I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Well, I’m relieved to hear it,’ nodded Chris, not picking up on the irony in David’s tone.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘as enthralled as I am, you’ll have to fill me in another time.’ I stood up and reached for my rucksack. ‘I’ve got far more exciting things to enjoy today than local tittle-tattle, so if you don’t mind . . . ’
‘And I haven’t even said a proper hello!’ shouted Chris, pulling me into a suffocating hug. ‘I came over especially to say welcome to Wynbridge, Lottie, and I’ve gone and got sidetracked already.’
‘Its fine,’ I gasped, taking a lungful of air when he finally released me. ‘Actually I was going to come and find you and Marie to say thank you for keeping an eye on the cottage for all this time.’
‘Not a problem, my lovely,’ he sniffed, looking a little teary.
He certainly was a big softy.
‘Well, I really appreciate it,’ I told him, ‘and I’m sure Gwen does too. I bet she would hate knowing the place has been empty for all these months.’
‘You can say that again,’ agreed Chris. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed hearing her radio blaring out, and not dropping in on a Sunday for my cup of tea has taken some getting used to, I can tell you.’
‘Well, now you’ll have to stop and have tea with me,’ I smiled.
‘I will,’ he beamed, ‘but let’s get you settled in first!’
‘Yes,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Point me in the direction of where I can find a taxi and I’ll be off.’
‘Oh no,’ said Chris, taking my rucksack and throwing it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. ‘That’s what I’m here for. I’ve come to give you a lift.’
‘You don’t have to do that, Chris.’
‘I know I don’t, but I want to.’
‘But what about your stall,’ I reminded him. ‘You can’t just abandon it.’
‘Marie’s there and she’s happy to manage on her own for a bit,’ he insisted. ‘Now come on, or the better part of the day will be gone.’
‘Keys!’ called David as Chris headed for the door. ‘You won’t get far without keys, Lottie.’
He handed over the small bunch and warmly shook my hand.
‘I really do hope you will be very happy at Cuckoo Cottage, my dear. I have a feeling exciting times are on your horizon now.’
‘Thank you, David,’ I said, blinking hard. ‘I think you could be right.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the bank,’ he called after me as I rushed to catch up with Chris, who was already through the door with my suitcases in tow. ‘Enjoy your new home!’