Page 8 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
And I was. So many of Dan’s climbing companions and local friends had turned out that the little church was packed, and so too was Climber’s Café when we all adjourned there afterwards.
Mr Blackwell, Dan’s solicitor, had put in an appearance, which was kind of him, and he apologized for the way things had been left, even though it was hardly his fault. For some reason, I’d expected him to be tall, desiccated and remote, but in fact he was the exact opposite: small, plump and friendly in an avuncular kind of way. I found myself talking to him as if I’d known him for ever.
‘There was no sign of another will, but I did find an insurance policy,’ I told him. ‘I think it must have been something to do with that documentary he was making and it names me as sole beneficiary.’
‘If it actuallynamesyou then Tanya Carter has no claim on it,’ Mr Blackwell observed.
‘It did, though I can’t say I really took in much beyond that, and I’ve packed it up with my papers now,’ I said. ‘Edie – the old friend I’m going to be staying with – said she would go over it with me later.’
‘Let me know if you need my assistance with that, or anything else. I’ll be happy to help,’ he said kindly, before shaking my hand and driving off in a sporty little red car. I’d had him down as a sedate dark saloon kind of guy.
When the other mourners began to depart – or decamp to the pub to make a night of it, in the case of some of Dan’s climbing friends – I left Jen and the others clearing up while I went to pack my worldly belongings into the Beetle. I must have had more than when I arrived, because everything only just fitted in, even utilizing the passenger seat and footwell. Then I popped back to the café, as I’d promised, to say goodbye.
The staff were all waiting for me and I think they knew I’d never go back there again, because they’d clubbed together to buy me an antique Cairngorm brooch.
I’d been holding it together fairly well until then, but their kindness nearly cracked the shell over the heaving sea of emotions beneath. I stood, swallowing hard and blinking back tears as Jen pinned the brooch to my moss-green hand-knitted jumper, one of Edie’s creations, and kissed my cheek.
A fine, pervasive rain was falling as I waved once out of the car window and then drove away, my vision blurred and a thumping in my head that beat in time to the windscreen wipers.
I felt pulled tight, almost at breaking point. I wanted to close a door on everything, including thought, to be alone and silently scream like that Munch painting.
The car valiantly hauled and wheezed and clanked itself over the hills to where Edie’s Victorian guesthouse stood on its plateau overlooking a small loch. But that last pull up the drive to the sweep of gravel at the front proved too much and as I came to a halt, the Beetle made a most horrible noise and died on the spot.
I wasn’t just having that sort of day – I was having that sort of life.
The cook, William, came out to help me carry my things to the chalet from the defunct car. The three wooden lodges were set back among a stand of pine trees and mine was the furthest from the house, shabby but cosy, with a bedroom, fake log fire (Edie prudently didn’t trust her guests with logs and firelighters) and a small kitchen area for any cooking, though most guests took their meals in the main house.
He didn’t linger, since he had dinner for the guests to prepare, but said Edie would be down shortly, when she got back from the cash and carry.
Left alone, I just sat down and listened to the wooden building ticking gently, the thumping of my heart and the ringing in my ears, some of which was possibly due to a lack of eating and drinking.
After a while I stirred myself to get out my overnight things and put the kettle on. There was one of Edie’s welcome packs in the kitchen area, with the basic necessities for drinks and breakfast in it.
I made coffee as soon as she arrived and she switched on the log-effect fire, causing the room to suddenly look a lot cosier, even though I’d started to feel as if I’d never be warm again.
I apologized about the heap of junk in the car park.
‘It’s all right, I’ve already rung the local garage to come and take it away tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry your wee head about it.’
‘Can you give them my mobile number, so they can tell me what’s wrong with it?’
‘I think it might be past fixing,’ she suggested.
I must have looked upset, because she amended quickly, ‘but I’ll ask them to do their best and they’ll let you know when they’ve had a look at it.’
She’d brought a wide, squat Thermos of stew and some fresh bread rolls. ‘I thought you wouldn’t feel like coming up to the house for dinner after the day you’ve had.’
‘No – you’re very kind,’ I told her. ‘I just want to be alone for a bit, because I feel so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened. I can’t seem to take it all in.’
‘Well, we’ll talk in the morning,’ she said, getting up. ‘Now, mind you eat some of that good stew that William sent down for you, or his feelings will be hurt. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to pop back later, after dinner – or you come and spend the first night in the house?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ll eat and then go straight to bed,’ I assured her.
And I did try to eat but my throat closed up, so I abandoned the attempt and crawled into bed. I’d thought I’d never fall asleep again, but the moment I lay down I sank fathoms deep into welcoming darkness, too far for dreams or nightmares to catch me.
The moor was supposedly haunted by a giant black dog with blood-red eyes, so it was just as well I wasn’t the imaginative kind. The full moon cast strangely shaped shadows around me as I followed a sheep track round the base of the rocky outcrop and shoved the bundle deep into one of the many crevices, to join the debris of last summer’s picnickers. It struck me that that was bizarrely apt under the circumstances …
I looked back only once and thought I could make out a glimpse of white, though it was probably just a bit of old fleece caught on the gorse, nothing out of the ordinary in that terrain.
