Page 9 of Putting Down Roots

“Delivery for Mr Winterton.”

Before leaving London, I’d ordered a coffee machine, as I knew that Aunt Frances wouldn’t have had one. She’d been a tea drinker as far as I could recall. There are many things I can live without, but coffee isn’t one of them, and I couldn’t have carried my machine all the way on the train.

Anyway, I’ll need that for when I go home.No, I’m not thinking of that again. It might bring on a panic attack.

“Great, can you leave it on the steps?” I indicate the front steps and move out of his way as he speeds past, jumps out, and places the parcel down. He’s already in his van and driving past me with a cheery wave before I’ve walked halfway across the overgrown circle.

Unlocking the door,I dump my bags in the large hallway and retrieve the parcel. Unpacking can wait—I need coffee. Given that the house hasn’t been lived in for a few years, it isn’t as dirty as I thought it might be. Dusty yes, but it had obviously been looked after well prior to Aunt Frances moving into a home. The kitchen is large, with exposed beams, and there are a rangeof modern units and a central island where I remember an old oak table used to stand. I flick the light switch—good, there’s electricity. I probably need to get it looked at, but hopefully for now I won’t blow myself up with the coffee machine. Once it’s plugged in and making its usual comforting noises, I take a look around. There’s some cleaning stuff in one of the cupboards, which is good, because I’m not sure when I’m going to be able to get supplies. It’s a long walk back to the village, and I don’t have a car. Icandrive, but I haven’t for several years as I didn’t need a car in London. I’m not sure how comfortable I am getting one now either, but I need to be able to get to the village, and walking all the time will be a pain. I remember that Aunt Frances hadn’t driven, though she’d had a live-in housekeeper who cooked and cleaned and chauffeured her about. I’m just musing on having my own live-in help, and how he’ll be tall and rugged and strong, when the machine beeps that my coffee is ready.

Ah well, a guy can dream.That I can think of anyone in that way—someone who isn’t Claude—surprises me, even if he is just a fantasy guy. And that cheers me up.

After a few sips of coffee,I feel ready to look at the rest of the house. First, I send Anna a quick text that I’ve arrived okay. As well as a kitchen and utility room, the ground floor has a washroom with shower, a dining room, a study, and two living rooms—one at both the front and back of the house. A wide staircase in the large hall leads to the first floor, where there are several bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms. A smaller staircase leads upwards where there are a few more rooms—mostly storage and bedrooms. And my old room.

It’s with some trepidation that I push open the door. The room looks exactly how I left it, even though it’s over six yearssince I’ve been in it. It’s like my nineteen-year-old self has just stepped out. A little dusty, but it’s been preserved and cleaned regularly. There’s a narrow bed, the desk where I had sat, read, and drawn, the wardrobe, the chest of drawers which I’d painted in bright colours. I catch sight of the sketches on the wall. Sketches I’d done of the house, the grounds and Aunt Frances herself—some face studies, but also ones of her working in the garden, laughing. A fledgling artist, full of hopes, dreams and possibilities. When drawing had been a joy and something I lived for, when it felt as natural as taking a breath.

Now,looking at them, it feels like I’m drowning—something else in my lungs where air should be. I no longer know joy, just a heaviness in my chest and senses dulled to numbness. I know I can no longer claim this room as my own. I shut the door on the hopes and dreams that have gone sour and head back downstairs. Avoiding the room I know Aunt Frances had used, I take the large one next to it with picture windows that look out over the gardens.

Unpacking my two bags doesn’t take long—I really only brought clothes and toiletries. I’m not planning on staying long, just enough to decide what to do with the place. At the bottom of my bag is a sketchpad and pencils I’d put there on a whim. They sit there passively, accusing me. I leave them in the bag and kick it under the bed.

CHAPTER 5

Jackson

The next morning,I wake early. I’ve always been an early riser, but this time I can feel a new hope in the air. Maybe spring is finally making herself known. It’ll be May next week so she should be, but the last month or so has been cold and wet and not very spring-like.

Yes, I decide as I run lightly down the steps from my room and out the door,itisdefinitely spring.

I head over to the bakery, where I’ve begun to get breakfast regularly. I could have it at the pub, but as I’m the only guest staying, I don’t want to put Darla to any trouble—and I kind of like Ben and Keith. They’re always good humoured, though Keith’s jokes are usually barely decent, and they make excellent coffee. I really miss good coffee. I used to have a machine, but that went the way of most of my stuff.

“What do you need a coffee machine for?” Natasha had scorned, as she took it with her.Yes, what need would I have of a coffee machine without a house to put it in?

Both Ben and Keith are in the shop this morning.

“Hello,” Ben calls, and I greet them both with a “Good Morning.”

“I thought you’d be off now yer got yon van back.” Keith nods to where it’s parked outside.

“I’ll be around for a few days yet. I’m still helping Darla out at the pub,” I reply, not wishing to give the real reason for why I’m still in the village. I’m still helping Darla, but I know it won’t last forever, and Olivia will be returning soon. I just hope I manage to pay for the repairs by then.

“So will you still be here for the fete?” Keith asks.

“The May Day fete? I guess so.”

“You just use it as an excuse to wear your kilt,” Ben teases.

“Oh, it’s a sight to behold. Are yer ready to see me in my kilt, laddie?” Keith twinkles a smile at me.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” I counter, laughing. “Are you sure I don’t need to live here for a while longer before exposure to something like that.”

“Already speaking like a Larchdowner. Do yer hear that Ben, he’ll become one of us yet.” Still laughing, I say my goodbyes and head out to the van, ready to go and check on my plants for the day. I can stay until after the bank holiday. It is only a few more days, and even if Olivia returns to work by then Darla might still have some work for me that day. I’m also intrigued to see what a village fete in Larchdown looks like. I smile at how much this strange village is getting under my skin.

I begin to enjoy my days. A visit to the bakery for breakfast, and then out to the large house to check on my seedlings, beforereturning to the village for work. It feels good. I like routine, and I wake up each day with a more hopeful outlook. After the first day, I start exploring the gardens at the house. I’m careful to not go too near the house, but there are several acres to search. I can see they were magnificent once. Past the obvious overgrowth and build up of leaves and dead plants, I can see a structure. They were once formal gardens, tastefully laid out, more grand cottage garden than stately home. They look vaguely familiar—like I’ve seen them before—but I know I’ve never been here. I’ve visited a lot of formal gardens, so perhaps it’s the themes and styles which seem familiar to me. I’m also starting to make friends in the village. Keith and Ben are regulars in the pub, as are Paul and Sally, who own the hairdresser’s. Occasionally Cole, the local veterinary surgeon, comes in for a drink—he also runs a small rescue centre just outside the village.

Things are looking brighter. I know I’m going to have to move on soon, but for now, I’m just happy to live in the moment.

CHAPTER 6

Luca

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