It’s another sunny day, although a cool September breeze is rustlingthe trees outside, and after taking a careful look around the house, I pourmyself a glass of water and go out to look at the gardens. They’re so overgrownand such a mess but I’m going to have to tackle them at some point. Is thereeven a working lawnmower?
A peer into the shed confirms that there is, although it’san old-fashioned manual machine which looks like it might be hard work. Moreimportantly, there’s a petrol strimmer leaning against the wall which I knowfrom experience works a treat on very long grass. Dylan and I used one like itwhen we moved into the rented flat we shared in Buntingford, a few miles fromhere...
I take the strimmer out and, after a few false starts, itsplutters into action.
Dylan lived here for a while after he first left the carehome when he reached eighteen. He must have bought the strimmer then to tacklethe garden and, amazingly, it still works. I start on the long grass, onlyintending to clear a patch to see how effective it is. But once I’ve begun andgot into a rythm, I carry on, and over the following hour, I make quite a bitof progress in clearing the front garden.
Stopping for a glass of water, I’m dripping withperspiration as I survey the results of my hard work, but feeling quite pleasedwith myself. It’s going to take more than a few hours to clear this lot,though, front and back!
There’s still no word from Liam when I check my phone and mymind is made up.
I’m definitely going back to Bournemouth.
Liam has clearly forgotten he promised to phone me. Stupidme for thinking maybe there are men out there who can be relied upon! Perhapshe met someone at the pub last night and got distracted. Just like Guy gotdistracted by the mother-of-the-bride in that bloody van!
After a quick freshen up in the dated bathroom, I lock upthe house and go out to the car, intending to get straight on the road toBournemouth. But as I’m driving through Sunnybrook, my tummy gives an enormousrumble. After all that strimming, I’m suddenly feeling ravenous and I couldmurder a strong coffee, so on impulse I turn in past the village green and headfor the Little Duck Pond Cafe.
I really like the atmosphere in the place. Ellie and Madisonand the other girls who work there are so welcoming, so it’ll be nice to pop inone more time before I leave. Maybe I’ll find out if that lovely pregnant girlcalled Fen has decided on names for her twins yet! Not hearing from Liam as hepromised has hit me surprisingly hard, but maybe a stop off at the café willcheer me up...
When I walk in, it’s oddly quiet – just a solitary customer sittingat a table near the counter sipping coffee and chatting to Ellie.
‘Hi, Lottie!’ says Ellie. ‘Welcome to theMarie Celeste.’
I frown. ‘Marie Celeste?’
‘Ship found abandoned in the middle of the ocean,’ smilesthe lone customer. ‘Not a single soul on board.’
Ellie nods. ‘Lottie, this is Dorothy, one of my bestcustomers. The rest of the village has apparently abandoned Sunnybrook to go tothe late summer fair over in Buntingford today.’ She sighs, folding her armsand leaning over the counter. ‘It hasn’t been this quiet in here since the daywe opened.’
Dorothy looks wistful. ‘I’ve been coming here with AuntieJosie ever since you opened and I’ve never seen it like this.’ There’s asadness to her voice and I notice her exchange a sorrowful glance with Ellie.
‘She’ll be back,’ Ellie murmurs. Then she smiles at me.‘We’ve been so completely bored we’ve actually taken to listening in to thepearls of wisdom being exchanged out the back.’ She nods in the direction ofthe kitchen. ‘Maddy and Jen. They’ve cleaned the place twice over, bakedeverything we need, iced every cake for tomorrow and now they’re fresh out ofthings to do.’
I exchange a smile with Dorothy, whose ear is cocked in thedirection of the kitchen.
‘I have thoughts that make my head spin sometimes,’ we hear Maddysay.
‘What, literally? Like that girl inThe Exorcist?’says Jen.
‘No! I mean like that thing people say: if a tree falls inthe forest and no one’s there to hear it, does it actually make a sound?’
‘Of course it does.’
‘Ah, but there’s a theory that says the tree falling makessoundwavesand that if there isn’t a person there to pick up the waves withtheir human antennae, then there’s actually no sound at all. Or something likethat.’
‘All very deep,’ Ellie whispers, grinning at Dorothy and me,and we both chuckle.
‘And what about this one?’ Maddy says. ‘Who was the firstperson ever to hear a parrot talk?’
‘Is this a joke?’ asks Jen.
‘No, I’m saying just imagine... Prehistoricman minding his own business, doing his hunter-gatherer thing and grunting awayto his mate about the football scores or whatever, and then behind him in thetree a parrot starts copying the sounds he’s making. The poor guy must havethought he’d finally flipped. A talking bird!’
‘There weren’t any parrots here in prehistoric times. Theyprobably came over from South America with Christopher Columbus or some otherexplorer.’
‘That’s not the point.’
Jen laughs. ‘Sorry.’
