Chapter 4
As I got back into the van and pulled out onto the open road, I pushed away my disappointment over the chair. But no way was I breaking the law over a simple piece of furniture. Whacking up the heater to warm myself after being out in the cold, I resolved to return another day.
I had plenty of time to scout the area for stock. Unlike most people it wasn’t as if I had a busy Christmas ahead of me. As usual, I had no friends or family about to descend and no big day to get ready for, leaving me with ample opportunity to focus on my new venture, interruption free. Even if I didn’t see another yellow skip again during my stay, I still had lots to be getting on with. I envisaged ticking off items on my long to-do list. Sorting out a website, setting up relevant social media accounts, coming up with a fabulous name for my business and locating suitable storage and workshop space. My flat in London was way too small to house other people’s discarded furniture, and even if I did try to squeeze a couple of bits in, I doubted my landlord would approve.
The road suddenly veered to the left and I was forced to drop the van a gear. Violet juddered in protest as we approached a little hamlet consisting of a handful of houses. It was like driving through a scene on a Christmas card. Smoke billowed from chimneys and a golden glow shone out through mullion windows, while the covering of snow completed the picture. Had she been able to make the journey, Jules would have loved it. I thought about all the activities my friend had had planned for her and Harry. A magical winter woodland stroll, a ride on a steam train, partaking in a Dickensian Christmas experience… All very in keeping with the environment around me. And romantic, I supposed. Not that there was any point in me thinking that way.
Two women, wrapped up in thick coats and woolly scarves, stood at one of the garden gates chatting and while I gripped Violet’s steering wheel so as not to lose control on the ice, the van jolted and backfired, abruptly interrupting them mid-sentence. They stared into my vehicle as I advanced, clearly intent on getting a good look at me.
Typical village nosiness, I realised, frowning at the attention. I readily imagined them getting straight on the phone to Little Leatherington, announcing the fact that a stranger was on her way into the village. An unnecessary exercise, in my view. As the van let out another loud bang, followed by a thick plume of exhaust smoke, it was clear the racket Violet made was warning enough.
Levelling out onto a straight, I left the gossiping duo behind. Staring ahead, the road appeared never-ending and with nothing but stretches of fields to my left and right as far as the eye could see, it seemed Little Leatherington was more remote than I’d anticipated. I sighed. Having hoped to have a bit of time to myself, I had to wonder what I was supposed to do for leisure. Frank might have loved running around in the great outdoors for hours on end, but that wasn’t my idea of fun. Scott of the Antarctic I was not.
Sporadic patches of grass had started to poke through the white. “At least the snow’s beginning to clear, eh, Frank,” I said. A welcome indication that finally, we were descending from higher ground.
I spotted aWelcome to Little Leatheringtonsign and as the road bore left, I felt my spirits lift. “Look, Frank,” I said, hoping the sight before me wasn’t a desperation-induced mirage. “It’s a pub.” A traditional white rendered building, The Cobblestone Tavern had wooden sash windows and olde worldesignage and as with every other chimney I’d seen, smoke caught in the wind as it rose out of its stack. Less enamouring was the giant inflatable Santa Claus strapped to the establishment’s roof. It swung and swayed in the wind, like something from a low budget festive-themed horror movie.
Dismissing the blow-up Santa altogether, I looked forward to sitting by the pub’s open fire, with my head in a book, and Frank by my feet. “That’s our evening sorted,” I said. After the long drive up, I couldn’t think of anything better than a glass of something nice. “And there’s a shop,” I said, as we continued on our way. Just knowing I wouldn’t have to drive miles if we ran out of milk made me, once again, feel like Christmas had come early.
The chequered flag appeared on the satnav and I slowed Violet to a standstill. She choked and gasped as we pulled up outside Aunt Lillian’s terraced cottage. The van was obviously as glad as I was to reach our destination; like me, she seemed to sigh as I switched off her engine. “Here at last,” I said, to Frank, who was already on his feet, tail wagging and nose to the window.
Turning my attention to what was to be my home for the next few weeks, my heart immediately sank. I whimpered at the sight. Number 3, Bluebell Row, wasn’t anything like the quaint little abode that Jules had talked about. Unlike Frank, who seemed keen to see more, I wasn’t sure if I dared go in.
Jules had described her aunt as a proud woman who plumed at having the nicest home on the street and not just on the inside. Apparently, thanks to the woman’s green fingers, both the front and back gardens bloomed all year round. Her skill at nurturing even the weakest of plants was the envy of the village.
“Not anymore,” I said. I took in the cottage’s tired, flaking paintwork, the dead brown plants that were no longer recognisable, and the leaning, weathered garden gate. I glanced at the neighbouring houses, with their manicured designs, evergreen hedges, and welcoming Christmas lights. Aunt Lillian’s house now stood out for all the wrong reasons.
I reminded myself that not only had it been years since Jules’s last visit, the old lady had been well into her nineties when she’d passed. In Aunt Lillian’s later years, making sure she didn’t break a hip would’ve been more of a priority than DIY and gardening. Still, if the outside was anything to go by, the property required more than thebit of a tidy upthat Jules had mentioned. Getting the place ready for any potential tenant would take graft and I could already see my friend’s disappointment when she received the photos I’d promised to take, especially when she’d hoped for a quick turnaround.
The front door opened and as a gentleman appeared I smiled, immediately deciding to focus on the positives. “A pub, a shop, and a handsome chap, Frank.” I smoothed down my hair. “They say all good things come in threes.” While Jules had told me the letting agent would be on hand when I landed to show me around, she’d failed to say how good-looking the man was. “Oliver Chase, I presume.”
