Amelia Grey's Fireside Dream (12 page)

‘They look original,’ I said, stepping into the room to get a better look. ‘Cleaned up they should be nice – although,’ I tapped the wood round the edge, and a piece fell away,
‘we’re going to have to replace these frames, don’t you think?’

‘Maybe, yes. Here, check this out – the fireplace.’ Jack crossed the room and touched it. ‘Beautiful tiles,’ he added. The ceramic tiles, in dark red and blue, did look pretty underneath their coating of soot. ‘And it works, apparently.’ He pulled out the tray under the fire, letting loose a cloud of black dust.

‘Nice,’ I said, but I felt as if I was clutching at straws. Some appealing tiles in a room that would need to be all but gutted before it was inhabitable. I silently prayed things would improve when we saw the other rooms.

‘What do you think, Dex?’ Jack asked, opening his box. Dexter cowered towards the back of the box and refused to come out. ‘He’ll get used to it soon enough.

‘Come and look at the kitchen – you’ll love it,’ Jack said confidently.

Whatever it was like, it couldn’t be worse than our cramped space in Addison Road, I reasoned. But one glance inside told me otherwise – the 1970s units, the peeling lino on the floor, every surface covered in old plates and clutter. The one saving grace was a dark red Aga tucked away in an alcove, an authentic rural touch in what otherwise looked like a bric-a-brac sale.

‘I mean, we’ll probably need to change the cabinets,’ Jack said.

‘Probably? They’re awful.’

I looked from the china ornaments of owls, to boxes overflowing with pans and crockery, and paintings stacked up against the walls.

The floor was covered with dark green lino panels, curling up at the edges as it reached the cabinets – seventies-style pale green units that no longer stood exactly in line with each other so that there were gaps between some of them. The covering on the doors had started to peel up and bubble in places, and the large fridge, once white, presumably, was now a nicotine yellow.

‘Definitely time for an upgrade,’ Jack said, opening one of the cabinets and peering in, then stepping back as if a smell had put him off.

The counters, thick with grime, were cluttered with notebook pages and recipe books. I saw a loose handwritten sheet and picked it up to take a closer look.

Ellie’s Extraordinary Apple and
Blackberry Crumble

INGREDIENTS
:

Five apples from our tree
Blackberries from the garden

I put it to one side, under a mug with owls on it, next to one that said ‘World’s Best Mum’. I was finding it difficult
to see past all the
stuff
. Being stuck inside with it was making me feel claustrophobic.

We continued round the ground floor. The downstairs toilet had a tiny shower room installed in the corner with a seat in it and ageing pipework hanging off the wall. ‘It looks like this hasn’t been touched for years,’ I said. ‘We’ll need plumbers in to replace a lot of this pipework.’ I remembered the notes on the survey that I’d read – the surveyor had mentioned that a lot of things were in need of updating, but I hadn’t expected it to be quite this bad.

‘Come and see the cellar.’ Jack led me down the stairs. ‘This’ll be great for storage,’ he said, apparently oblivious to the smell of damp that I found overwhelming.

‘Maybe we could take a look at the garden?’ I said, pausing midway on the staircase. Getting outside for a bit would help me get things in perspective. We walked through the kitchen towards the back door – the area by the door was clear, at least.

Jack found the key on our new key ring, and opened the back door on to the garden. ‘Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.’

‘Good idea.’ I was longing to leave the stuffy, claustrophobic atmosphere. I’d sometimes teased Mum for the way she liked to hang on to mementoes and souvenirs – but I’d never seen the home of a real hoarder before. It was starting to look very much like we’d managed to buy one.

Once outside though, I was able to forget the chaos of the house. Summer had faded, and with it had gone the brightest greens and the red sprinkling of poppies, so the garden looked different from the last time I’d seen it. But the leaves on the oak tree had turned a pale burnt umber and gold. Even though dead leaves had formed a mulch on the patio, there was something beautiful in the light that fell on the overgrown grass.

‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Jack said. ‘So much space.’

‘Oh dear, there’s going to be a lot for Dexter to kill out here, isn’t there?’ I said, with a wry smile. Our tabby was an expert bird and mouse killer, and even in the urban sprawl he’d managed to bring in some grotesquely beheaded prey most weeks.

‘He’s going to be a proper country cat,’ Jack said. ‘But while he gets his bearings, we should do that butter on the paws trick, shouldn’t we? Make sure he doesn’t head up the motorway trying to get back to our flat.’

‘Do you think? He doesn’t even seem to want to leave his box at the moment.’

‘He’ll adjust. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll have plenty of time to explore the garden over the next few weeks.’

I didn’t want to go back indoors. I wanted to stride out into the long grass and feel it against my hands, lose myself
out there in the undergrowth and trees. Forget about the stress of moving for a moment.

‘Come on,’ Jack said.

I followed him and we closed the kitchen door behind us. The steps up to the second floor were tired and rickety, the wood wearing thin in places. ‘Some of these steps probably need replacing,’ Jack said. ‘We might even want to take the whole staircase out. It’ll be fine, though. We just need to find someone who does really authentic restoration.’

‘We’ve factored all this into the fifteen thousand pounds we put aside, right?’ I said. The pots of money I’d thought we were going to make on buying a cheaper place seemed to be disappearing before my eyes – a new fitted kitchen, a revamped downstairs bathroom, restored window frames …

‘Yes,’ Jack said, ‘and the five thousand your dad owes us.’

‘Yes,’ I replied, feeling slightly guilty about it. ‘I’m sure that will come through soon.’ I’d persuaded Jack it would be fine to take the money out of our joint account, that Dad would pay us back before the summer.

‘OK.’ Jack took my hand and led me along the upstairs corridor. I flicked a switch on the wall, but no light came on. With the doors closed, blocking the daylight, it was difficult to see our way around. I found another switch, pressed it, and this time the corridor lit up in pale golden
light. Framed black and white photos hung on the walls, and wooden shelves spilled over with glass jars filled with embroidery thread in every conceivable colour.

‘Do you remember me saying that she used to be a dress-maker?’ Jack said. ‘Apparently she collected sheep’s wool from the barbed wire fence down by the stream, and dyed and spun it.’

‘That’s nice, and I’d probably appreciate it more in another situation. But right now, I’d rather she’d taken her stuff with her. It’s as if she’s still living here. It’s creepy.’

‘It won’t be for long, Amelia,’ Jack said. ‘I’m sure they’ll sort it out soon enough.’

But the truth was, I wasn’t frustrated with the owner, I was annoyed with myself, and perhaps also, just a little bit, with Jack.

‘And the master bedroom,’ he said, opening the door directly in front of us. ‘Ta-da!’ In Jack’s blurry iPhone photos, it had looked OK. As with most of the rooms in the house, there were timber beams, painted black, above us. The ceiling sloped down at the side, and there were two windows, low down, with heavy dark blue velvet drapes that hung to the floor. Beneath the boxes and bags that lay cluttering the floor was a tatty navy-blue carpet, and the magnolia paintwork looked nicotine-stained in places. Even with the heavy old-fashioned drapes, the two windows made this
one of the lightest rooms in the house. But I didn’t want to sleep here tonight, or any night.

‘Come over here – there’s a great view of the garden.’ We went to the window, and I tried to pull myself together. Jack and I were a team, and we had to stand united on this, one of the biggest moves we’d ever made. He pulled back the curtains and I looked out on to the wild garden below, and saw that at the foot of it there was a wide stream, glinting in the sunlight. A field with sheep in it lay just beyond. ‘This is what we’ll be waking up to,’ he said. ‘No noisy neighbours, no trains rattling by, no late-night fights in the street waking us up.’

I smiled, and squeezed his hand. ‘It’s quite a view, isn’t it?’

‘Unbeatable.’

Across the landing was the bathroom. I thought of the white claw-foot tub and period basin and taps at Arcadia Cottage and wondered if this room would look the same. When I entered the room, I fought back bitter disappointment. A primrose-yellow sixties-style bath, toilet and basin were oddly clustered in one corner, on a blue lino floor. Large flower prints were papered on the walls and tatty blue curtains hung by the small window. The pipes were boxed away in wood, which only served to draw more attention to them.

‘Bit dated,’ I said.

‘It needs a bit of a makeover, yes,’ Jack said, as if it were nothing, the job of a quiet afternoon.

I longed for the free-standing tub, for a bathroom that was an escape, not this depressing place.

‘There’s another room across the way,’ Jack said, leaving the bathroom and opening the door across the landing. He couldn’t open it the whole way as the room was filled with sewing machines, a dummy and other dressmaking equipment. ‘A study, or whatever we want really.’

I poked my head around the door to get a better look inside. ‘Nice little window, and it’s a good size,’ I said. ‘It would be ideal as a study.’

There was one more room, almost as big as the master bedroom, that would be for guests – once we’d cleared the cobwebs and given it all a lick of paint, that was.

A ladder led from the landing up to the attic space and the trapdoor was open. ‘Have you been up there?’

‘Not yet. Fancy it?’ he challenged me.

‘Maybe later,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve had enough adventure for one day. Shall we have a drink to celebrate?’

‘Sure,’ Jack said. We made our way back down the wooden stairs.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘There are things I like.’ I forced a smile. I couldn’t blame Jack. I could have insisted on viewing this place if I’d wanted
to. I’d decided to go with my gut feeling, and it had brought us here.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I got out the bottle of champagne I’d kept in my bag and poured it into two mugs, the only receptacles I could find.

‘To a new start,’ I said, raising my mug.

Jack chinked his mug against mine. ‘You are happy to be here, aren’t you?’ he asked.

‘Of course I am,’ I lied. We’d only been here a few hours and already I missed our flat, the soft, worn carpet under my feet. It was starting to dawn on me that Carly and Sunita wouldn’t be able to drop by any more. We’d chosen this change – I had chosen it. But now I wondered if we’d made an awful mistake.

‘It’s just – it’s different, isn’t it? And there’s quite a lot to do.’

‘We can do it,’ Jack said.

‘We, meaning … ?’

‘We meaning
we
,’ Jack said.

‘But Jack, realistically, with all the preparation you’re doing for this pitch? Let alone if you get the commission. The hours you were working on
Pupz
, weekends too – you didn’t have a spare minute.’

‘I’ll find time to help,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll make time.’

I bit my lip, wondering whether to say anything or not.
‘I wish you’d told me this was a major project. It’s nothing like the other place.’

‘I told you it needed work. You agreed for us to offer on it without having seen inside – I didn’t force you.’

‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘Do you regret it? Is that what you’re saying?’

I fought back tears. ‘No. It’s just not really how I expected it to be, that’s all.’

On the Mood Board

Patio, wooden summer house with gingham-covered window seats, a rope swing in an oak tree. Deckchairs. Daffodils, bluebells, poppies, sunshine on green leaves
.

Monday, 9 September

On Monday I was woken up by the sounds of rain falling gently against the windows and Jack scrabbling around in the dark.

‘Are you OK?’ I said, still half-asleep and disorientated. I was lying in our familiar bed, but facing in the wrong direction, and stuck on an island in the middle of heaps of clutter.

‘I’m looking for my suit,’ Jack said. The previous evening
came back to me – the way I’d spoken to him. I’d been tired out – but that was no real excuse. I hadn’t been fair on him.

‘We’ve got a meeting today with some of the animation funders. I need to wear a suit for it.’

‘Our clothes are in that box over there,’ I said, pointing towards the doorway.

‘Nope, tried that one already. It’s your stuff.’

I pulled on my dressing gown and joined Jack in his search, opening our boxes until I found his charcoal suit. ‘Here you go,’ I said, handing it over. Finding anything in the chaos of the cottage felt like a victory of sorts. We’d spent yesterday picking up essential supplies and food from Hazelton village, and hadn’t made much of a dent in the cleaning or unpacking.

‘Thanks, Amelia. You should go back to sleep.’

I put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry, about last night.’

He pulled me closer and kissed me on my forehead. ‘It’s OK. I can understand how you’re feeling, I think. It will get better. I promise.’

After he left, I went downstairs to make some breakfast. Furry slippers protected my feet from the splintered floor-boards and the dust that still covered much of the house.

In the kitchen, I took the kettle and mugs out of our emergency supply box, and put some water on to boil. As I looked out of the window, two blue tits came to rest on the
sill. ‘Poor birds,’ I said out loud, thinking of Dexter. Out of his box now, he was prowling along the worktop looking at them menacingly. ‘You don’t know what you’ve got coming to you.’