Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage (22 page)

‘I’m glad I’ve seen you, Stel, because there’s something I probably should mention . . .’

Then Ian’s car drew up and Stel cut him off. ‘Oh, he’s here. Sorry, Al, you were saying?’

‘Ah, it’s nothing. There’s your man,’ he said as Ian got out of the car. ‘I hope you’ve got a good one this time, Stel.’

‘I hope so too,’ replied Stel. ‘You know me though, Al, too much of a dreamer. I’ve stopped waiting for that knight in shining armour to come riding up the road on his white steed.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have. If you aim low, that’s what you get. As you know only too well.’

Inside, Stel cringed a little with embarrassment that Al knew so much about her shit love-life. He’d seen off one of her dates a few years ago when he arrived drunk as a skunk at the door demanding that she let him in. But she never felt as if he judged her, though she suspected he might have fondly despaired of her a few times.

Ian walked towards her carrying a bunch of pink flowers and a carrier bag in one hand and a jacket over the other arm. He was wearing a smile of greeting, but, had Stel been looking at a photograph of him at that moment, the caption underneath would have read: ‘what is wrong with this smile?’

‘Hello mate,’ said Al, pulling off his leather glove and extending a big paw. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Al, Stel’s neighbour.’

Ian’s hand came out but slowly, dragged into position by politeness. ‘Hello,’ he returned, his tone flat.

If Al noticed that, he didn’t show it. ‘Have a good night, you two,’ he said, slipping his key into the lock and pushing open his door. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

‘Can I take your jacket?’ asked Stel, once they were in the house. She was trying to stay calm but failing. There was an awkward interchange as Ian passed over the flowers just as Stel was reaching for his coat. They both laughed and when the coat was hung up and Stel had cooed over the flowers, she led him through to the kitchen.

‘It looks bigger than the last time I was here,’ said Ian, looking around. ‘Oh, there’s my friend. Hi Boris.’

‘Basil,’ corrected Stel, as Ian bent down to give Basil a stroke, though Basil darted off out of the room and up the stairs.

‘He’s a grumpy old sod,’ said Stel, excusing him and then she felt a little ashamed of herself for lying, as if Basil could hear her, because he wasn’t really.

‘He probably remembers me as that bloke who threw his coat over him trying to catch him,’ said Ian, taking four bottles of wine out of the carrier bag. ‘Two red and two white. Do you think that will be enough?’

Stel trilled a laugh.
So he’s brought his car but he’s drinking. That means he’s probably going to drive home in the morning.

As if he heard the workings-out in her head he put out his hands as though to push those deductions back. ‘Just in case you’re wondering, I’ve brought the car because I don’t like leaving it on my street if I’m not in. I’ll get a taxi and come back for it in the morning.’

‘No worries,’ said Stel, feeling a pang of disappointment. ‘Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.’

‘Is that garlic bread I see?’ asked Ian. ‘Our breath is going to be nice and stinky then.’

Stel closed her eyes against her own stupidity. Just the very thing to cook when she was hoping for a snogging session. And there was loads of it in the pasta sauce too.

‘What a total . . .’ Stel sighed. Ian chuckled and caught hold of her hand. A second later she was in his arms.

‘We better have that kiss now then, hadn’t we?’ he said.

Stel gulped but didn’t have time to say anything because Ian’s lips were already descending. His gentle kiss made Stel feel light-headed and warm, young and desired.

Half an hour after they had eaten pasta, Stel was pulling him upstairs and neither of them seemed to care that they were engulfed in a fug of garlic.

Chapter 45

Stel drifted back to consciousness after a wonderful, satisfying night’s sleep, to find Ian propped up on the pillow, studying her. She was horrified.

‘Don’t look at my morning face,’ she said, covering it up with both hands. She hoped he hadn’t been staring at her for long and seen her snoring or slavering out of the corner of her mouth. She dabbed it to check if it was damp and found, to her relief, that it wasn’t.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Ian, peeling her fingers away. ‘You’re lovely. I actually like you better
au naturel
.’

‘You should get yourself to Specsavers,’ replied Stel with a dry chuckle.

‘No, I shouldn’t. You’ve got beautiful skin, why would you want to cover it in disgusting gunk,’ he said, stroking her cheek gently with a crooked finger. ‘And your lips are lovely and naturally pink.’ He leaned over and kissed them softly. ‘Let me tell you, women look a lot more attractive with natural eyelashes than with big clumps of mascara stuck on them. Women like men to be as they are, but yet men aren’t allowed to think the same, are they?’

Stel opened her mouth to say that she couldn’t even bear to look at herself in a mirror without make-up on, never mind go outside and show her face to the world. People would think Halloween had come early.

‘Tell me, would you prefer George Clooney with his natural hair or dyed dark brown?’

Well, that was easily answered. ‘But he’s a man,’ said Stel. ‘You lot can get away with the natural look.’

‘Okay then, imagine Judi Dench with Chelsea eyebrows and bright red lips.’

‘Yeah, but she wouldn’t go to those measures, would she? She might just use a bit of enhancement; so you hardly notice.’

‘So then what’s the point?’

He had her there. She opened her mouth to argue back but couldn’t.

Ian stroked her hair back from her face. ‘How pretty you are,’ he said. ‘I’m going to make you a cup of coffee and bring it up for you.’

‘Oh.’ Stel’s gasp was in proportion to a declaration that he had bought her Elizabeth Taylor’s big diamond. But it was a big deal for her because no man that Stella Blackbird had ever been out with had brought her a cup of coffee up to bed. It was one of those small considerations that her ideal man would afford her.

He hopped out of bed with enviable confidence in his nudity and Stel saw again the scar on his side where he’d had the knife wound when he’d been in the army. She also saw his little flat bum and wished she hadn’t. What was wrong with her? Why, after a lovely night with an attentive man – and he had made sure she had been more than satisfied – was she being so judgemental?

Hearing him pottering about downstairs, Stel sneaked across to her dressing table and opened the curtains slightly for some light. She looked at herself in the mirror and knew that there was no way she could go out in public without make-up. She would rather not wear knickers. But, she supposed she could tone it down a bit. She had worn bright lipstick for thirty years, maybe it was time for the subtle fairy to wave her wand over her make-up bag.

*

As Viv was driving back from replenishing stocks of teabags and milk at the village shop, something pink darted across the road ahead of her. Intrigued, she pulled up, got out of her car and tried to spot where it had gone, and what it was. She saw it almost immediately; it was some sort of animal, resting in the long grass that grew against the fence. Viv approached it tentatively and it pressed deeper into the foliage. She wasn’t an expert on British wildlife but she was pretty sure none of it was pink. And it was too small to be a disorientated baby flamingo, if indeed the things flew. Whatever it was, was now trapped between the fence and her presence. Viv leaned over and moved aside the grass coverage. It was a rat, a giant rat. She stepped back and squeaked in horror. But it wasn’t the right shape for a rat, it was like a furry ball. Its mouth was twitching. Viv bent down and saw that it was a small rabbit, with no ears. A straight line crusted with blood traversed where they should have been. Someone had cut this little bunny’s ears off and sprayed him bright pink.

Viv didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t leave him there, but she couldn’t pick him up either.
Well, you’ll have to do one or the other,
she said to herself. She peeled off her cardigan, aware that her heart had quickened in pace. She really wasn’t looking forward to this at all.

‘Come on, Viv Blackbird, you can do this.’ She danced on the spot as if she were gearing herself up for the starting blocks of an Olympic sprint. She’d had a psychotic owl’s claw in her hand. This should be a doddle.
One-two-three.
She threw the cardigan over the rabbit and scooped the animal up. It wriggled furiously in her arms and she fought against the urge to drop it. She held on with one hand, opened her boot with the other, and placed it in. Then she shut the lid quickly. Her whole body was shaking.

She floored the accelerator down the drive and flew into the cottage kitchen. Geraldine was up, dressed in one of her floaty frocks and was at the sink, washing up. Heath was just ending a call, probably to the bank because Viv heard his last words just before he slammed the old phone back down on its cradle: ‘Why don’t you shove your temporary overdraft facility up your arse.’

‘Heath, I’ve got an injured rabbit in my car,’ said Viv quickly. ‘I found it down by the gate. I think someone’s cut its ears off.’

Heath followed her out. Viv opened the boot carefully and there she saw the creature properly for the first time, sitting in the wrap of her cardigan, its little white body cruelly dyed with something that made its fur stiff and matted. It was shaking so much it looked as if it were sitting on a power plate.

‘Bastards,’ he said. ‘People are bastards.’ Then, as he leaned over to pick the rabbit up, his voice changed immediately to a calm, low tone. ‘Come here little fella. That’s it, nothing to be scared of.’ Viv watched his long fingers close around the rabbit’s body and it didn’t attempt to struggle as he picked it up and placed it next to his chest, talking to it all the while.

‘Oh no, who the hell would do such a thing?’ Geraldine moved out of the doorway to let them in. She limped over to the table. She was close to tears, but Viv was closer.

Heath gave the rabbit a careful check over. ‘He’s an unneutered male, hard to tell the age but I’d guess not very old. He’s very thin and these ears have been cut off with scissors or a knife. This isn’t an injury from another animal,’ said Heath. ‘This has been done in the last couple of days, by the look of things. How nice of them to dump him and let nature finish him off.’

‘Or he’s come to us because he’s meant to,’ put in Geraldine. ‘Animals gravitate towards those that have a home and a heart for them. And so do people around here. It’s not as if it’s an uncommon occurrence in Ironmist, is it?’

She reached behind her to the dresser drawer and pulled out a camera.

‘We’ll take some pictures for the police,’ Geraldine explained to Viv. ‘Not that they have any chance of catching whoever did this. And even if they were prosecuted, they’d get a slap on the wrist. Oh, I hate this world sometimes.’

‘What the hell will happen when we’re not here, eh, Gerry?’ said Heath, soothing the little bunny with strokes and soft sounds.

‘Don’t talk like that, Heath,’ Geraldine replied. ‘Just don’t.’

‘I think I’m going to have to sedate and shave him when he’s a little stronger. We don’t want him swallowing that stuff. But we need to get some fluids into him. Viv, can you do as much as you can with the outside animals?’

‘Yes of course,’ said Viv. Heath had switched into vet mode, Geraldine into the role of his assistant, one she had played so many times and was at ease with, and would miss with her whole heart. She slipped off her shoes and threaded her feet into her flower-patterned wellies.

‘Viv.’ Heath’s voice arrested her first steps towards the door. ‘Thank you.’

‘No worries,’ she said. She didn’t ask him what precise thing he was thanking her for. It didn’t matter.

*

When Stel walked into work that day, Maria did a double-take. Stel with toned down make-up? Was she ill?

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ said Stel, holding up her hand in a silencing gesture. ‘I’ve just decided to start acting my age a bit more.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Maria. ‘Did you ever see photos of Barbara Cartland? She had full slap on always.’

‘Precisely,’ said Stel, taking off her jacket and hanging it up on the coatstand. ‘And how bloody ridiculous did she look with Towie eyelashes at her age.’

‘Whose mad idea was this?’ asked Maria, resting her bosom on her crossed arms.

‘Mine, of course,’ Stel replied. ‘I haven’t quite gone bare yet, I’ve got a light covering of foundation on and a bit of mascara, but think of all the time I’ll save in the mornings not having to tart myself up. Not to mention the expense. My lipsticks are twenty quid each. You’ll get used to the new me in no time.’

‘Well, as long as you don’t expect me to join you,’ said Maria. ‘I’ve got a complexion not unlike corned beef. If I didn’t wear make-up, this building would empty of people because they’d be running into the streets screaming.’

Stel chuckled. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the window and thought she looked like a ghost. Still, Ian would be pleased that she’d made the effort for him. And that’s all that mattered.

Chapter 46

Iris had told Linda that she was catching the bus into town to go to the library. She had lied. Iris wasn’t disposed to fibbing, seeing as she found most of her fun in telling the truth, but on this occasion, she thought it best to be economical with the facts.

She put on her confused-old-lady act at the bus station. It worked and the bus driver escorted her to the 367 to Maplehill. She then asked the driver of the 367 where she would need to get off for Tennyson Lane and he assured her that he would shout up when it was her stop.

He was good as his word. He even pointed out the bus stop where she should get back on and informed her that they ran every twenty minutes. Iris gave him her best daft-old-biddy grateful smile and got off the bus ten houses down from her destination.

Before knocking on the door, she peeped in the front window. The house was open-plan and the lounge at the front was empty, but she could see Enid Pawson in the kitchen beyond. Iris opened the tall gate that guarded the back of the house as quietly as possible so as not to announce her arrival and stole down the path. She halted before she turned the corner to look with disgust at the ridiculous garden with its ugly bushes clipped, very badly, into various animal shapes. There was a pair of armless romantic nude statues covered in moss and gnomes nestling in amongst plants everywhere. The Pawsons thought they lived in bloody Downton Abbey by the look of things. Tackiest of all was the huge pond complete with a central island where an enormous gnome stood open-mouthed spewing water, pumped up through the middle of him, onto the backs of the Koi carp below. The vomiting gnome was holding a jailer’s bunch of metal keys in one hand and a stone heart in the other with a keyhole carved out of it.
Who in their right minds would have that monstrosity in their garden
, thought Iris. Well, she’d answered her own question there.