‘Yes. You looked tired and a bit fed up when you came inthis morning, but now you’re all bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked.’
‘I suppose it was nice to feel I was helping out.’
Dorothy nods. ‘It’s always good for you, that feeling ofbeing useful.’
I smile in agreement, although deep down I’m guessing itwasn’t simply helping Ellie out that was responsible for putting the roses inmy cheeks.
I might have outlawed romance for at least a year in myhead, but clearly my heart has still to get with the programme. Liam’s beengone a few hours, but I’m apparently still glowing like a lit-up Christmas treeknowing I’ll see him again the day after tomorrow...
*****
Later,I drive over to the B&B, on the outskirts of the village. But to my dismay,another guest has already booked the room I was in. Liz, the owner, recommendsanother place but when I look at where it is on a map, it’s miles fromSunnybrook.
Driving back into the village, I parkon the high street and walk across the green to the duck pond. I sink down onthe bench with a sigh, folding my arms and stretching out my legs, and staringgloomily at the trees beyond the pond.
I’ve been trying to avoid it sinceI got back here, but with the B&B now unavailable, it seems it’s inevitable.
There’s nothing else for it.
I’ll have to stay at Sycamore Housetonight.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As I walk back into Sycamore House – with my suitcasethis time – I feel my insides shift uneasily. Can I really stay in thiscavernous, musty-smelling house, with all its ghosts and horrors, until thework is finished?
I shudder. Even the prospect of sleeping here overnight ismaking my stomach churn with nerves. But it makes sense. And Liam will be herethe day after tomorrow with his mate, Rich, so I won’t be alone here for long.
Where on earth am I going to sleep, though? In my old room,I suppose, which will be very weird. I’m crossing my fingers that the washingmachine still works, because if it doesn’t, I’ll have to go out and buy somenew bed linen. I’m prepared to slum it for a bit, just to get the house off myhands once and for all, but I’m definitely not sleeping in sheets that havebeen lying in a musty drawer for a whole decade!
Dropping my suitcase in the hall, a great cloud of dustrises up, making me cough – a timely reminder that the whole place will need tobe cleaned to make it properly habitable. With a resigned sigh, I head into thekitchen and find the cupboard with the brushes and the mops and the old vacuumcleaner. No time like the present, I guess! Plugging in the hoover, I’mrelieved to find that it works, but I switch it off for now. Investigating thebedding situation has to be the main priority if I’m going to get a decentsleep tonight. The fridge has been cleaned and left open, which is a relief,because it doesn’t smell bad at all. It’s a bit dusty but that’s easilyremedied. I flick the switch at the wall and the fridge hums eerily into life.
Upstairs on the landing is the old blanket box where Mumkept the sheets and duvet covers. It’s a bit whiffy on opening it and the duvetI haul out has a musty smell, but glancing out of the window, I can see thetops of the trees swaying in a lively late afternoon breeze – perfect! I dragthe duvet downstairs, along with a faded pink and orange cover and matchingsheet and pillowcases, and I dump them all on a chair (after dusting the chairoff with a shaken-out tea towel). Then I go in search of pegs and some cleaningfluid. I can’t find either but there’s some washing-up liquid by the sink, and whenI scrub the washing line in the garden with a damp cloth in soapy water (coldbecause I haven’t tested the boiler yet) it comes up a treat. Bringing out theduvet, I drape it over the line that’s still strung between two trees alongsidethe rose bed.
I recall how proud Mum was of her roses and the memory givesmy heart a painful squeeze. She’d really hate what’s happened to them. They’vebeen overrun by dozens of tall, spiky thistles, which I already know will be abugger to dig out.
The washing line sags in the middle, meaning the duvet isdisappearing into the long grass that I’ve still to cut, so I hitch it along abit so that it clears the foliage by an inch or two. Clapping the musty smelloff my hands, I stand back for a moment to admire the duvet fluttering in thebreeze and hopefully coming up smelling of roses. Quite literally.
Right! Washing machine and tumble dryer next. Please,please,pleasebe working!
I’ve been washing clothes in the bedroom at the B&B andit was warm enough for them to dry overnight. I’ve still got plenty of washingpowder left in the plastic bag I brought, so I tip a generous quantity into themachine, push in the musty bed linen and close the door.
Closing my eyes tightly, I hit the ‘on’ button.
The sound of water instantly whooshing into the tub is likesweet music to my ears.
Yes!
I will hopefully sleep in clean bed linen tonight.
With the washing on the go lending a comfortingly familiartrundling noise to the proceedings, I set to work with dusters and the vacuumcleaner, and after an hour or so, the living room is looking much better. ThenI put the bed linen into the tumble dryer, which mercifully still works too,grab my handbag, and drive over to the local supermarket to stock up on foodand cleaning materials. Knowing I have a working fridge feels quite excitingand I indulge myself a little, loading up on real food for a change (instead ofpicnic food for the bedroom) and the largest carton of milk there is (real,actual milk instead of the weird stuff that comes in those tiny roundcontainers, of which you need about five to make an impression on a cup oftea.)
Back at the house, I clean the kitchen, including the fridgeand inside the cupboards (standing on a chair), before unloading the shoppingand placing the fresh food and milk into the newly sparkling fridge.
I’d planned to start on the upstairs after that but quitefrankly, I’m exhausted. It will have to wait until tomorrow. Also, it’s gettinglate and the thought of creeping upstairs in the dark (the bulbs have gone, topand bottom) is not very appealing. I’ll clean the bedrooms in the morning.
Nipping out into the back garden, I get the aired duvet, anddump it on the big squashy sofa in the living room, together with the lovelyclean sheets.
That will be my bed for tonight.
