Summer Secrets at Streamside Cottage Read online

‘I’m just—’

  ‘You shouldn’t be here without an appointment,’ she said.

  ‘Wait a minute. Let her explain.’ The postman stepped forward and ruffled his russet spiky hair. It was unruly, untidy – I liked it. ‘Hello, I’m Ben and this is Caroline. Lovely garden, isn’t it?’ He stared at the running water. ‘The stream is much darker at this point. It must be the shade from that magnificent weeping willow.’ His eyes flicked up and down and left and right then narrowed as if he were hunting out the things people don’t usually see, like the effect of light and shade and how colours, once scrutinised, aren’t as simple as they first appeared. He turned around to study the building.

  ‘Are you an artist?’ I asked.

  ‘I love photography.’

  ‘Our Ben’s had his shots used by BBC weather forecasters,’ said Caroline, momentarily thawing. ‘Leafton is very proud of him. Were you here to view the property, because, like I said, you really should have rung the estate agency first?’

  ‘Actually, I—’

  ‘Because, you know, we take trespassing very seriously in Leafton. Last week I had to report a scruffy so-and-so hanging around the church car park and only yesterday—’

  ‘By the looks of the outside this place needs a bit of work,’ Ben said hurriedly, glancing between us, ‘but still, it’s got plenty of character.’

  ‘It’s well past its best – even I don’t romanticise about that,’ said Caroline. ‘This beautiful garden is the highlight. The thatched roof has leaked and upstairs there’s a problem with damp. We’ve done our best as the letting agent, but tenants have mostly been short-term and never treated the place as their own. Although, in my opinion,’ she said conspiratorially, ‘it’s just as well some of them didn’t hang around. One lot were Buddhists and another… well, I’m not one to tittle-tattle.’ She straightened up. ‘Anyway, I’ve just had to let it out for a month.’

  ‘That really is a short contract,’ said Ben.

  ‘It’s always better that a property is occupied,’ Caroline said, holding my gaze, ‘the last thing Leafton needs is someone squatting. It was a shame when the last tenant left so abruptly.’

  ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Lizzie, the new tenant you talked of.’ Mustn’t laugh. She wasn’t to know that. ‘I think we’ve spoken on the phone, Caroline. Thanks for checking up on the property. It’s appreciated.’

  Ben looked away, eyes twinkling and biting his lip. My stomach gave a tiny flip.

  Mum and Dad had both worked in insurance and the cottage must have been one of their investments but I couldn’t understand why they’d never mentioned it to me, not even before the fall out, six years ago now, when we were close.

  They’d always told me about everything; their holidays, like the romantic trip to Santorini and where they’d lived, like the flat they’d first stayed in when they got married, next door to a favourite restaurant and above a cellist whose playing they loved hearing… and like the properties they owned as investments in Bournemouth and Spain. Nothing else about their will had been a surprise, such as all of their trinkets and Mum’s jewellery – I’d seen them before and knew the stories behind each one. And in any case, they’d taken me through their will when I was in the Sixth Form, explaining their assets and everything I would inherit, and what they wanted to go to charity out of their estate.

  I’d asked their solicitor, George, for more information about this property and he’d reluctantly revealed that they’d bought the cottage a couple of decades ago and sporadically rented it to locals – so it had been in the family for a long time. He said it was situated in a Hertfordshire village and they’d given instructions for Aunt Fiona to inherit it. That’s how I’d found out, I’d overheard her talking to Uncle Jack on the day of my parents’ joint funeral. She’d hissed that she didn’t want anything to do with the place – that the agency could just carry on looking after it.

  I tried to ask her more but she’d turned away from me, crying into Jack’s shoulder. All George could tell me was that for some reason my parents hadn’t wanted to sell it, that’s why they left it to Aunt Fiona instead of instructing him to put it on the market on their passing.

  I’d done my research online and found out the cottage was being let by Caroline’s agency. I kept putting off any trip to Leafton, but as the summer approached, I now felt strong enough to investigate and rang Caroline on the off-chance, without telling her I was related to the owner, hoping I could take a look-around and hoping my offer of paying for a few weeks would appeal. I’d done my best to persuade her.

  I’d turned up a day early. Once the date had been set to finally see this place, I became impatient. And… and it wasn’t as if there was anything to keep me in London at the moment. Things at work weren’t going well. I hadn’t wanted to be away for so many weeks but Katya had insisted. She’d been so accommodating since Aunt Fiona’s visit last year. Her gran had passed a few months previously. She’d sold her car to raise the airfare back to Sofia, to pay her respects. She understood. And I’d managed okay at first, organising the funeral, and putting my parents’ home in Devon up for sale.

  But then questions that had surfaced became bigger and bigger. It was hard living without answers. And Ash and me… six months ago… that confirmed I’d never move forwards without closure.

  I’d done my best to adapt to a life without Mum and Dad over the last six years and all this time I’d been working towards showing them, one day, how I could manage and be a success… but now that would never happen, so what was the point? I became distracted and almost made a mistake and coloured a tattoo in the wrong colour. And slowly, over recent months, I’d found my creativity dwindling. It had become harder and harder to feel I was producing exactly the concepts that my clients wanted. I found myself falling back on ideas I’d already used. That wasn’t me. I’d always prided myself on coming up with something unique and individual for every appointment.

  ‘The flat remains yours for the moment and I’ll keep your job open for when you’ve sorted yourself out,’ Katya had said. ‘But you’ll have to take unpaid leave, Lizzie, you can’t work in this state of mind – it’s not safe, or fair on the clients. A change of scenery, away from city life, will do you good.’

  I gazed past Ben and Caroline, towards the cottage. I needed this visit to make me understand, to give me a sense of peace. I’d worked so hard to build my life in London. It was all I had. I couldn’t lose it.

  There were only two things I didn’t understand about my parents: why they’d cut themselves off completely after the argument and why they’d kept this place secret. That’s why I’d had to visit Leafton, hoping this cottage might provide an answer to both riddles.

  ‘Ms Lockhart? Oh, right. I just didn’t expect… Okay… well, you can’t be too careful these days.’

  ‘Yes, sorry. I am a day early. I’ve got a sleeping bag and can spend the night in my car if moving in now isn’t convenient.’

  She hesitated before reaching into her pocket and passed me the keys. ‘I had the electricity reconnected a couple of days ago. Would you like me to show you around inside? Of course, I’ve had cleaners in but the previous owners and the current one who took over a year ago… none of them have been the most approachable sort, so it’s been difficult to progress a discussion about getting repairs done. That’s why it’s not been rented out regularly over the years. Although the last tenant, an author, was very insistent he wanted to stay there – well a bit like you.’ She smiled. ‘But apart from that it has had periods of standing empty. You know, there’s a lovely little hotel on—’

  ‘No thanks, I’ll be fine and this place is perfect,’ I said. ‘A little dust or a few cracks here and there don’t bother me.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Ben and his eyes crinkled.

  My mouth curved into a smile.

  ‘I’ll contact the agency if I need any help.’

  ‘Right, I’ll leave you to it then,’ said Caroline as she smoo
thed down her trousers and turned to go.

  ‘It’s so beautiful here,’ I said, ‘I don’t understand why this cottage has been so neglected.’

  Caroline paused before facing me again. ‘I started working for the agency around twenty years ago, when this place first came onto our books. I’d been told that we were never to contact the owners – the original ones – of Streamside Cottage if there were any issues. Their solicitor was always our point of call. I just assumed they were very busy people, but then… it’s probably nothing but…’

  ‘What?’

  She leaned in and lowered her voice as if the trees and flowers might spread any gossip. ‘The thatched roof caught fire a few months after that. I was still a trainee. It had been a hectic day and I got flustered. There had been a bad storm, you see and lightning hit near the chimney. There was a lot to sort out. The property would have to stand empty for several months whilst the repair work was done. Insurers had to be called… In a rush I accidentally rang the owners. The solicitor drove up from London the very next day and erupted with anger at my mistake.’

  George? It didn’t sound like him.

  ‘A woman had answered when I rang. I told her who I was and before I could finish, she told me not to ring again before hanging up. She was clearly very upset. The owners, they didn’t let the cottage go, despite not wanting anything to do with it. I’ve never understood why.’

  2

  Now

  A butterfly’s story is one of transformation and new beginnings

  Caroline’s phone rang and she left as she answered it. Ben readjusted the bag on his shoulder as we walked to the front of the house. ‘Sorry about that. Caroline wanted moral support and I didn’t want her entering the property on her own in case she ran into trouble.’ He smiled. ‘She means well but can be a bit… dramatic. Leafton is a small place. Anyway, I live three doors down so if you need anything, feel free to knock.’

  I glanced in the distance at a cottage smaller than mine with a lilac door. Lace curtains filled the windows and ceramic dragonflies decorated its front. The small lawn was mowed and the well-stocked borders indicated the owner was an experienced gardener. An ornamental cat slept by the front doorstep and a coral coloured Fiat 500 was parked out the front.

  ‘Your place puts this one to shame.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation the tidiness is nothing to do with me. Apparently, some scientist said messiness is a sign of genius so I wouldn’t be too worried.’

  A comfortable silence fell for a moment. I noticed the freckles on Ben’s face, all different shapes.

  ‘There’s a decent teashop on the high street called Blossom’s Bakes. You must be thirsty after driving all this way.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Tell Tim, the owner, that I recommended him.’ Ben turned to go. ‘You should get a discount.’

  I wanted to talk to him for longer. It sounded odd but this Ben made me feel less like a stranger. And I could have stared at that smile all day…

  I gave myself a little shake. I barely knew him. The sun must have gone to my head.

  I grabbed my small rucksack from the car and gazed back, keen to explore the building. But Ben was right, I was thirsty, and hungry after the drive. I passed the estate agency on the corner and headed right, into the centre of Leafton, afternoon sun scorching my pale skin. The stone cottages had such short front doors, opening straight onto the pavement. I stopped outside Styles by Stacey and looked through the window at the simple pastel decor, a framed sketch of Elvis on the wall, a rotary dial phone on a desk and a rudimentary price list on the window that didn’t mention Brazilian blow dries or extensions.

  It was as if my journey here had hit a time warp and oddly that was a reassuring thought.

  A grey-haired couple walked past, the grandfather proudly pushing a buggy, the toddler waving a large lollipop at me and I winked. His gran shot me a proud-as-punch look. Further down the street a pensioner with a knotted handkerchief on his head had placed a deckchair outside his front door and was stretched out, watching the world go by, whistling a merry tune as I passed, blissfully unaware he was blocking the way.

  I surveyed the handful of locals on the opposite side, with their conservative hair and unsurprising clothes. The scene took me back to my younger years, with the perfect braids and shiny shoes. A teenage girl passed by and we smiled at each other. I crossed the road and reached The Pen Pusher – a stationery shop. Its front was comprised of brown painted wood framing two bay windows – one either side. Set back in the middle was a white door to match the letters painted across the shop’s top. Inside, on the left, I could see practical shelves bearing students’ essentials. The right couldn’t be more different with colourful displays showcasing colourful gift cards.

  Next door to that was the teashop. It had a glass door and the front’s wood was painted sky blue. To the right of the door an ornamental bicycle with a shopping basket full of flowers was attached to the vertical slats underneath a window. A door entry bell announced my arrival.

  An old man in a flat cap and untamed eyebrows looked up from his sandwich and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before going back to it. He was the only customer apart from a woman gazing out of the front window. I walked to the counter and was hit by the smell of baking bread. Cloths embroidered with pink blossom covered tables. Pale pink walls were decked with framed paintings of wildflower scenes. Cheerful piped music played from a retro wireless to the left of the till. Despite the lack of customers, the floral theme made the room feel full and welcoming.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked a man in a beige apron and styled comb-over. ‘We close early on Wednesdays, but The Tipsy Duck, two doors down, serves food until three. If you hurry, you’ll just get there in time.’

  ‘Oh. Ben the postman recommended you. It’s Tim, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘If that’s the case… I suppose one more order won’t hurt.’ He smiled as my stomach rumbled.

  I consulted the chalked menu on the blackboard ahead and ordered a sandwich. There were only two versions of coffee available – with or without milk – and I found the simplicity refreshing. It arrived within minutes in an old-fashioned teacup and the food quickly followed. I sat on the same side as the woman near the window.

  I was struck by the remoteness, the unworldliness of Leafton. My parents hadn’t much liked the countryside, preferring the city or a sophisticated seaside. In fact, a programme about rural living came on the telly once and it featured a farmhouse next to a stream. I was young and wanted to watch about the chickens and goats but Dad turned it off straightaway, cross that I was so insistent.

  On my right the woman was now staring at her companion – a large slice of plain sponge with jam and cream slathered in the middle. The dull frown didn’t fit her cheerful yellow patterned top and matching long skirt. Her chin rested on one hand, arm bent at the elbow that pressed against the tablecloth.

  She looked at me and gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Just passing through?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Take a look at the forest, if you’ve got time.’ She rubbed her forehead and a silver Buddha ring stood out, on her little finger. Around her wrist hung a bracelet with a charm in the shape of a butterfly. My wrist bore the black outline of one with striped wings and long antennae. Katya had done it for me that first year after my fall out with Mum and Dad and a couple of years ago, when watercolour tattooing became really popular, I asked her to add a splash of pink around it. I liked tattoos representing nature whereas ambitious Katya favoured skulls – as a memento mori reminding people that life was short.

  Half-heartedly she jabbed the cake with her fork. ‘So you’re travelling? My son, Will, also enjoys visiting new places and couldn’t wait to go inter-railing when he turned eighteen. He’s worked as a holiday rep in Rhodes since leaving university.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful. How adventurous.’

  Her face brightened as if someone had run it throu
gh an Instagram filter. She introduced herself as Trish and pulled the latest postcard out of her bag and tentatively handed it over to me. I turned it over and saw a list of islands. ‘The other ones he’s been to,’ she explained.

  Tattooing had turned me into a good listener.

  As she talked about her son’s escapades abroad her pride should have warmed my heart but, instead, it left me feeling cold. She clearly loved this Will to bits. My parents had loved me too, yet they would never have supported me heading abroad on my own as I became a young woman. I never understood why they needed to keep me so close.

  She put down her fork and pushed away the plate. ‘Have you come far?’

  ‘From London, it’s just a short visit.’

  I finished my lunch. Trish sneezed and muttered that her hay fever was bad at the moment. She paid her bill and left. I stacked my plates before taking them up to the counter and Tim wished me a good day and gave me a gap-toothed smile. I went outside. Trish stood by The Pen Pusher holding a cluster of keys.

  ‘It’s a great name,’ I said. Like the hairdressers, it looked like a longstanding business with its Victorian feel.

  ‘It’s stood the test of time since I moved here with my husband.’ She selected the right key. ‘So, where exactly are you staying?’

  ‘It’s past the estate agency, turning left at the top of the high street.’

  ‘I haven’t walked that way for a long time,’ she said.

  ‘It’s called Streamside Cottage.’

  The keys fell from Trish’s hands. I darted forward to help and handed them to her.

  ‘Silly me,’ she muttered.

  ‘Do you know the place?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise it was so late, I have to go… enjoy your stay.’ She entered the shop, closing the door behind her.

  3

  Now

  An open birdcage symbolises independence and freedom

  With a last backward glance at The Pen Pusher, I hurried to the end of Leafton high street and the post office within a supermarket. I shivered as a gust of air conditioning blew my way, before picking up a shopping basket and looking for essential items – milk, bread, cheese, coffee, biscuits, air freshener, cleaning products… definitely chocolate. A young woman with a name badge saying Neve sat behind the black conveyor belt. The navy-rimmed glasses looked too big for her delicate frame and pixie face, circled by a short blonde bob.