Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage (8 page)

‘I know, I know, but if I start playing hardball, she won’t come around at all. Bloss, you shouldn’t have shouted that.’

‘Well, it’s
not
fair,’ screeched Iris. ‘It was the sorriest day ever when Andy met her.’

‘Then we wouldn’t have Freddie at all now, would we, Bloss?’ Dino had always called Iris Blossom, which had shortened to Bloss over the years. Even though she was more triffid than delicate flower, the nickname had stuck. ‘She said that she’ll drive past on her way to Freddie’s swimming lesson so he can deliver my card. At least she’s bought one to give me. I can’t remember her doing that before.’

‘I’d better keep out of the way when she comes,’ snarled Iris. ‘Otherwise I might not be responsible for my actions.’

None of them could understand what their strapping soldier son Andy Hewitt had seen in the older, streetwise Rebecca Pawson. She had a face that could have soured milk but still, they welcomed her into the family since Andy was a grown man after all. A huge flash wedding was hurriedly planned, Rebecca fell pregnant with Freddie then Andy got cold feet and asked for a delay. Rebecca took umbrage – and her newborn – and left him. In a right old financial mess, too. And she’d been punishing the whole Hewitt clan ever since. Rebecca had fought with claws extended, twisted facts and lied until the courts had decreed that the two-hour weekly access between Andy and his son, whenever Andy was home on leave, had to be under her supervision, unless she agreed that he was fit to have Freddie in his lone care. Andy could have fought harder and nastier, but for Freddie’s sake he did not want it on public record how much of a bitch his son’s mother really was – although Rebecca clearly didn’t share his consideration.

Andy could have gone back to court but he didn’t have the thousands it would cost in solicitors’ fees. Iris would have given him the money gift-wrapped but Dino warned that if they lost, Rebecca would withdraw even the scrap of goodwill she dangled in front of them. They were all trapped under her control until the lad was old enough to make up his own mind.

What worried them most was the way that Rebecca left three-year-old Freddie in the care of the elderly mother whose house she shared. Enid Pawson had never been noted for her reliability, plus she had an ornamental lake in her back garden. The combination of deep water and small boy terrified Linda. She was convinced that it was an accident waiting to happen. She couldn’t wait for the day when she could tell the Pawsons exactly what she thought of them. She would make Iris look like Shirley bloody Temple.

‘She’s not going to let Freddie come around for his birthday this month either, is she?’ said Linda mournfully. ‘Just an hour, so he can open his presents here and spend some time with us.’

‘It won’t always be like this, love,’ said Dino. ‘Freddie will grow up and come and see us when he wants.’

Linda couldn’t help saying, in a low whisper she hoped Iris wouldn’t hear, ‘That might be too late though.’

Then she felt fingers curl around her own and looked down to find Iris’s wrinkled hand there. Linda was a rock-hard matron, in charge of umpteen wards and staff, and whom many doctors deferred to, but suddenly she was whizzed back in time fifty years, feeling the comfort of that same hand, then smooth and plump and warm. She didn’t want to let it go, she didn’t want to go into that big scary school. Her mother was safe and familiar. Always there when she needed comfort, reassurance, an injection of maternal-strength. Iris was a spiky, loose-mouthed old bugger but she would never let anyone harm the ones she loved.
How dare Rebecca Pawson keep Freddie from her, more than any of us?
thought Linda with a sudden spurt of rage.

Linda closed her eyes and sent a short silent prayer upwards:
Please God, I don’t care how You do it, but help us.
She needed to go straight to the top with this one.

Chapter 10

It took Viv three full days to sort out the office, but by the end of them, the files were in order, receipts were sorted and there was a box of old papers which might or might not need shredding – Viv needed the authority of the boss on that one. He had still not made an appearance but she expected him any minute.

Getting the office sorted had taken her mind off being away from her mum and Basil. She liked spending time with Geraldine in the evenings. Geraldine worked so hard both inside and outside the farmhouse. She mucked out the animals and fed them all. Feed was expensive and they were grateful for local donations that helped them get by. The nearby farm sent food, the supermarket in nearby Mawton rang up with offers of fish for the sea eagle and the local police informed them if they’d had to dispose of a deer. The birds loved a bit of venison and playing with the bones.

What Geraldine cooked for herself and Viv was far more palatable. But the previous night Viv had insisted on taking her turn. She had planned pasta cooked with pesto and cream and lots of Parmesan cheese but Mr Mark, the shopkeeper of Ironmist Stores, had asked her what the bloody hell pesto was, so she’d had to leave that ingredient out. It didn’t matter – the pasta and the crusty bread from the bakery was perfect. Pilot had laid over her feet under the table as they ate. He was a lovely old fella and despite her initial unease at the size of him, she very soon realised he was as gentle a dog as God could make. Viv liked Geraldine’s company. She filled her in on some of the people in the hamlet – who sounded eccentric at best. There was Mrs Macy who knitted teddy bears, all day, every day, and wine-making Selwyn Stanbury who had a forest of Bonsai trees in his barber’s shop. Then there was Mr Mark and Mr Wayne, the Ironmist Stores owners who were like psychic twins because they always finished off each other’s sentences. Mr Wayne had recently been in hospital to have part of his lung removed and the whole hamlet had rejoiced that he was on the mend. And, of course, Armstrong who was building a rocket in his garden so he could visit his dad in heaven.

Geraldine opened the door with a mug of coffee and a plate of biscuits to find Viv cleaning underneath the desk with a wet sponge.

‘My, my, I can hardly recognise the place. Heath is going to be very impressed with you,’ she said with a genuine gasp of admiration.

Viv got up from the floor and surveyed her handiwork. She wasn’t prone to self-praise, but even she had to admit that she’d done a mighty fine job.

Geraldine dropped a long sigh. ‘Oh Viv, I feel so guilty about not telling you when you applied that we don’t know how temporary this job is going to be. It was wrong of me, but I knew no one would answer the advert if I had. I’m still surprised you did anyway. But we need to be organised now more than ever. I thought that somewhere in this room there just might be some piece of paper that would help us fight our corner. I don’t suppose you saw anything like that, did you?’ Her big grey eyes were full of hope.

‘I have to say, I didn’t,’ replied Viv. ‘Surely you at least have squatters rights? Surely if this has been Heath’s family’s home for generations . . .’

‘Leighton was going to give Heath one of his new builds, but you can imagine what he said to that offer. Leighton has a team of lawyers costing God knows how much to make sure we’re history, because he can afford to do that. There are no listed buildings, no rare species of toad or butterfly living here and needing protection which can save us . . . I’m just hoping that being away from us for a few days has made Heath think of something we might have overlooked.’

‘I hope so too, for you all,’ said Viv. She hadn’t expected this mess when she applied for the job.

Geraldine smiled. ‘You’re such a lovely girl. I can feel it. Just try not to fall in love with him though.’

Viv’s head twisted round sharply and she laughed. ‘What?’

‘Heath. He’s a bit of a mixed-up bunny. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.’

Viv sipped her drink and brought to mind the cranky old man she had pictured Heath to be. Maybe she needed to rethink that image. Geraldine obviously thought him attractive; a big fish in the small pond that was Ironmist. But Viv hadn’t come here to fall in love with anyone.

‘You can trust me on this, Geraldine, I won’t fall in love with Heath Merlo,’ she said, taking a biscuit and snapping it in two with her teeth.

Chapter 11

Stel got in from work, looked at Basil’s still-full food bowl of biscuits and burst into tears. He was dead, she knew it. Al had come round to tell her that he’d rung the council a couple of times now on her behalf but there were no reports of dead ginger cats being picked up by them, which didn’t give her any comfort. What if the binmen couldn’t be bothered to file a report? What if he’d been hit by a car but crawled off to die in some undergrowth? He would definitely have been home by now if he were still alive. What was she going to tell Viv when she next called? She wished she could at least know where his body was so she could bury him in the garden. She wanted him home, where he belonged, one way or another. Her lovely big friendly boy. Viv would be heartbroken. The house felt different without him. She wanted to pick him up and bury her face in his fur and hear his pneumatic purr. Her brain had gone into overload: he was lying beside the road somewhere unable to get home; he had fallen in Pogley Stripe and couldn’t get out of the water; he had been picked up by scientists for medical experiments; he was suffering, he was cold and hungry and meowling for his nice, comfortable bed.

Stel couldn’t face cooking so later she walked to the chip shop at the corner of the road but when she sat down to eat it, even the crisp batter of the cod straight from the fryer couldn’t tempt her appetite. Absently she started breaking it up with her fingers to put in Basil’s bowl. He always wolfed down leftovers from her fish suppers. Tears pricked her eyes and she let them fall without wiping them up. They plopped onto the table one by one in a sad rhythm.

Then there was an unexpected heavy rap on the front door. Stel hurriedly wiped her hands and cheeks before setting off down the hall. She could see a tall male figure through the frosted glass, and she slipped the chain on just in case before she opened the door.

There on her front step struggling with a blanket that appeared to be alive was Ian Robson.

‘Quick, let me in, Stel,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve found your cat.’

Stel fumbled with the chain, just in time as a ginger cat wriggled out of the blanket and launched itself from Ian’s arms onto the floor. The meow was unmistakable.

‘
Basil
.’ Stel scooped him up from the floor and hugged him to her. As he rubbed his cheek on her hair, Stel thought her heart would burst with love for him. Ian was still standing outside.

‘Come in, Ian, come in.’ She pulled him by the sleeve over the threshold. ‘Oh, where did you find him?’

‘I went looking for him,’ said Ian. ‘I know that if cats are scared they’re more likely to come out at night. I just tramped over the fields at the back and found him looking very sorry for himself up by Elvhurst’s farm.’

‘Elvhurst’s farm? But that must be a mile away.’ The farm was at the other side of the thin ribbon of river that the locals called Pogley Stripe.

‘Well, he’s had time to wander, hasn’t he?’ said Ian. ‘I expect he’s ready for a feed.’

‘Come through, Ian. Please. Oh my, I can’t thank you enough.’

Stel almost bounced with joy into the kitchen where she ripped open a pouch of Basil’s food and also gave him the rejected fish which he dived onto immediately whilst she watched him like a proud mother. He broke off only to lap greedily at his water as if he hadn’t drunk for a month.

‘That is one hungry cat,’ said Ian. Stel smiled at him and he smiled back.

‘Can I get you a coffee? Tea?’

‘No, I don’t want to keep you from your dinner,’ he said, nodding at the plate of chips on the table.

‘I couldn’t eat,’ said Stel. ‘Please, the least I can do is make you a cuppa for finding Basil for me.’

‘I’ll be honest, I could kill for one if it’s no trouble,’ said Ian. Stel noticed he had taken off his shoes in consideration for her carpet.
He didn’t have to do that
, she thought. She would have forgiven him walking in with manure-covered wellingtons. She scurried over to the kettle.

‘Please sit down, Ian. I can’t tell you how I feel at this moment. How long have you been out there looking for Basil?’

Ian sat down at the dining table and tilted his wrist so he could read his watch.

‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ he said.

Stel knew he must have searching for ages. Hours even. What a lovely, kind thing to do. What a lovely, kind man.

‘Can I get you anything to eat?’ she said.

Ian laughed. ‘No, honestly, it’s fine.’ He could see that she was desperate for him to take something from her, to thank him. His arms were resting on the table as she brought him a mug of her best tea over. One of them was bleeding.

‘That looks nasty,’ she said. He followed her eyes to the long scratch. ‘Did Basil do that?’

‘He wasn’t happy being cornered by a stranger. You can’t blame him. Still, it’s worth it now he’s home.’

‘I am just so happy. You’ve no idea. I hadn’t a clue what I was going to tell my daughter.’

‘Well, she need never know now,’ smiled Ian.

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ said Stel, wiping a happy tear as it spilled from her eye.

‘I do,’ said Ian. ‘Come to the pictures with me to see that new James Bond film on Saturday.’

How could Stel refuse?

Chapter 12

Viv’s phone rang just as she was about to leave the folly and join Geraldine for a meal. The name ‘Mum’ showed on the screen. Viv had barely said hello when Stel started bubbling over.

‘Viv, I promised myself that I wouldn’t bother you but I’ve got something to say and I feel really bad about it but I lied to—’

‘Mum, calm down,’ laughed Viv. ‘Take a deep breath before you start hyperventilating.’

At the other end of the line, Stel was super-annoyed with herself. That hadn’t come out as planned at all. ‘I wish I hadn’t rung now. I said I wouldn’t say anything. Well, to cut a long story short . . .’

‘What’s up?’ asked Viv, sitting down and making herself comfortable on the arm of the sofa. Her mother couldn’t cut a long story short to save her life.