Page 8 of All Wrapped Up
Callum and I had only been married eighteen months when he drowned in the river that ran through the town while trying to save a child who had fallen in.
There had been days of rain ahead of the accident and the river was swollen to capacity as the extra volume of water squeezed its way down from the hills, through the town and under the bridge. The road either side had been filled with onlookers as it reached its peak early one evening and somehow a little girl had fallen in. Callum had been one of three people who stopped when he spotted the commotion as he drove by and then jumped into the swirling torrent to rescue her. He was the only one who had been swept away.
I hadn’t known any of what had happened until there was a knock on the door and I found two police officers on the step looking grave. I remember I had been laughing as I skipped down the hall to open the door because I had assumed it was Callum, weighed down with the tins of paint I had asked him to pick up on his way home from work.
We were getting ready to decorate the last room in the house we had successfully bid on at auction, gutted and brought back to life. The whole place had been neglected for years and there were times during the three-year intense renovation whenwe had felt like giving up, but thanks to my love of social media, the project had accrued a huge and enthusiastic following online and with the extra support from our parents, we had rallied to see it through.
Or almost through. I had never got around to painting that last room and eighteen months after Callum’s funeral, I had moved to Rowan Cottage with the walls I left behind in that one room still showing bare plaster.
‘Hello, love,’ said Dad as his face filled the screen and I slowly drifted up through the sea of painful memories that mention of Callum’s parents always evoked.
‘Hi, Dad.’ I swallowed. ‘Did you get your paper?’
‘I did,’ he said, holding it up, ‘but not all the news is in print today.’
‘Oh?’
‘I bumped into Jill. And you’ll never guess.’
‘Go on.’
‘They’ve put their house on the market.’
I felt my mouth fall open.
‘They’re selling up.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Mum said tearfully.
‘Did you get that, Clemmie?’ Dad frowned. ‘I think the screen’s just frozen.’
‘No, it hasn’t,’ I said. ‘And I did hear. I’m just in shock. I can’t believe it. What absolutely wonderful news!’
Colin had barely left the house since Callum had died and the curtains were hardly ever opened at the back because the windows overlooked the river. I had hoped for so long that one day they would find the strength to leave and now they had. I was so relieved for them.
‘I knew you’d be pleased.’ Dad smiled and I could tell he had a lump in his throat.
‘More than pleased.’ I sniffed. ‘A million times more than pleased.’
Mum looked as emotional as I felt and we were all still smiling when we signed off.
There wasn’t much in the way of dust, but I set about cleaning right through the cottage, with my summer Spotify playlist blaring and the windows all still wide open. I was in an elated and celebratory mood as a result of Jill and Colin’s decision and I hoped they’d be settled somewhere new in time for Christmas. It would be a push timewise, with autumn on the horizon but not completely beyond the bounds.
And talking of autumn…
Once the season had popped back into my head, it was impossible to shake off further thoughts of the festival that wasn’t going to be happening in Wynbridge or the fact that I had told Mum that I was going to be involved in it. I might not have gone into the details but I knew she wouldn’t forget I had mentioned something and, having looked again at what I had posted on AutumnEverything the previous year, it took no effort at all to imagine what could have been achieved if there had actually been some time to do something about it.
As I scrolled through my prettiest posts, I visualised exactly the sort of things a festival to celebrate the cosy season could include beyond the pumpkin fields Moses had loved and then without really meaning to, I started listing event ideas in my head. There were myriad opportunities to celebrate out of doors, along with art and craft workshops, whole community events – given what Lizzie had said about Christmas, I now knewWynbridge had a thriving community – delicious food to eat and seasonally spiced drinks, anything and everything to do with pumpkins of course, and all kinds of sweater weather fun.
My imaginings weren’t ultimately going to come to anything, because there was no one available to make them happen, but it was fun to daydream. And, as long as Lizzie kept my secret, I would be able to enjoy sampling the autumn menu in The Cherry Tree Café, as well as admiring the fields full of pumpkins, which was some compensation.
‘Oh no!’ I yelped, as I realised that while I had been distracted, it had started to rain and the infamous Wynbridge wind was helping the downpour find its way inside. ‘No gardening for me today, then.’
I rushed around and closed the windows and then spotted that the garden gate was swinging wildly in the wind. If I didn’t secure it, it would probably be damaged.
‘Damn,’ I muttered, as I snatched up a jacket which was hanging above the shoe rack in the hall and pulled it over my head. ‘Rain, rain, go away!’
By the time I’d dashed down the path and secured the gate, then rushed back into the porch, I was pretty soaked. I shook the jacket out, then held it to my nose. It was a battered, waxed garment that Callum and I used to share. It didn’t smell of him now, but as I returned it to its peg and smoothed it down, I heard something crinkle in one of the inside pockets.
