Page 39 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
She dropped me off at the back of the café and I carried my purchases up to the back door in relays: paint is surprisingly heavy.
Then Rory sent me another text, this one saying he was running a little later than he’d expected, so it would be some time after one when he arrived. I decided to fill in the time by having a leisurely walk around the village, ending up at the Parsonage. The sky was gloomily overcast, and I thought how bleak it must have been for the Brontës looking out on the graveyard, especially once the siblings began to die, one by one. How short their lives had been, yet so full in many ways.
I remembered how I’d embellished with increasingly ridiculous flourishes Dad’s story about my being left on the Parsonage steps, like the Wicked Witch arriving in a pumpkin carriage to curse me with the harelip and how one of the horses accidentally turned back into a rat and bit her …
The breeze was too chilly for me to stand around for long, so I had a bun and a cup of coffee in a nearby soon-to-be rival establishment, so that I was on hand when Rory finally arrived.
He said the car had driven beautifully, he’d just been held up in a queue because of an accident. Then, once I’d greased his palm with petrol money and a bit extra, his friend came to collect him.
Rory did kindly offer to go back with me to the café to help unloadfirst, but I could see the boys had things planned for the rest of the day, so I assured him it would be no problem.
Really, I could have done with some help, because after carrying all those cans of paint earlier, I was convinced my arms had grown two inches longer. Still, I’d manage.
I found my way round the back streets and up the alley to my parking space without any problem and then I had a cup of coffee before starting the slow process of ferrying everything from the car to the house.
Next time I went shopping I vowed to get one of those little carts for trundling heavy objects about … or at the very least, a sturdy wheelbarrow.
Edie and Rory had carefully packed into the Beetle all the boxes, bundles and bags I’d left ready in the chalet, together with my folding easel, some bubble-wrapped pictures and a selection of battered suitcases. Edie was a great one for delegating, so I expect she just stood and directed where each item would fit, like doing a giant jigsaw by remote control.
But I discovered she’d somehow managed to insert a house-warming gift into the rear footwell, too: a Dundee cake in a tin and a bottle of Scotch whisky.
There was a kind note attached to the bottle that suddenly made the tears come to my eyes and I was standing there, resolutely blinking them back, when Nile’s car appeared and parked next to mine.
‘So, flower power is still going strong in the highlands?’ he asked, getting out and surveying the freshly repainted and improbably coloured blooms up the side of the green Beetle.
‘Vintage Cornish old hippie style,’ I told him. ‘It’s a surf dude special.’
‘It’s going to stand out like a sore thumb round here.’
‘Shouldn’t you still be at Oldstone, with your feet in the trough?’ I asked coldly, and he looked at me in surprise.
‘No, lunch was ages ago, and actually I’d have been here even sooner if Sheila hadn’t insisted on making you a picnic lunch so you didn’t starve to death. Not that you seem likely to,’ he added, looking at the cake tin I was holding.
‘House-warming gift from my friend Edie,’ I explained. ‘But woman can’t live on cake and whisky alone.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said, handing over a large plastic sandwich box and a fat, short Thermos. ‘You might want this hot soup and the chicken and stuffing rolls, after all.’
‘I do,’ I said, feeling ravenous. ‘How thoughtful and kind Bel and Sheila are!’
‘I’mkind, too,’ he told me. ‘I’ll just drop my things off at the shop and then carry all this stuff up for you.’
‘Oh, I can manage, don’t bother,’ I said airily. I mean, I’m not exactly a fragile little flower and on the whole men seem to expect me to get on and do things myself. But I was feeling tired, so when Nile returned and insisted, I gave in gracefully and watched as he ferried everything up to the flat, where we stacked it in the smallest bedroom. I could unpack it at my leisure when I’d painted and perhaps got a bit of carpet down – something else I’d need to buy.
‘It’s certainly clean as a whistle in here,’ he said, after depositing the final box, which because it was full of cookbooks made a heavy thump as it hit the floor. ‘But apart from the built-in kitchen units and the sink, there doesn’t seem to be any furnishings at all.’
‘No, Mrs M cleared the place, but now I’ve got all my things I’ll soon have it looking like home. Once the bed arrives I can manage until I find some inexpensive furniture. It’ll have to be cheap, because I’ve got the whole of the café to refit and paint, and I can’t doallof the work myself.’
‘I expect Bel will give you a hand with some of the painting, and so will I, when I’m around,’ he offered, to my surprise. I didn’t have him down as the handyman type. ‘And tomorrow I’ll take you to see a friend who has a big old barn full of furniture, where you can probably find a few bargains.’
‘Well, that’s kind of you, but if you give me directions I could go on my own, now I have my car,’ I pointed out. ‘It’ll have to be in the afternoon anyway, because my telephone landline is supposed to be reconnected in the morning and I think I need to be here for that.’
‘But you don’t know your way around yet, so it would be easier to gowith me the first time,’ he said. ‘Chill – take help when it’s offered, because you still have plans to make, suppliers to find … more of those endless lists to write. Every time I see you, you’re scribbling down something new.’
‘They’re not endless, it’s just that as soon as I cross one thing off, I think of several more.’
‘That’s what I meant.’
‘Well, at least I won’t have to try to persuade Mrs Muswell’s suppliers to deal with me, because everything except the bread will be prepared or baked on the premises, and the ingredients will be top quality, not bought in bulk on the cheap,’ I told him.
