Page 19 of The Winter of Second Chances
Alex and Peter grimaced, and Annie laughed. She realised how much lighter her heart felt just from seeing them. In the spring they would turn twenty-seven and Annie found it hard to comprehend that she had children who were close to thirty years old, when in her head she was still twenty-four. Alex was a graphic designer and serial monogamist, living in a minuscule but trendy flat in Soho with Greg, the latest love of his life. Peter worked as a gardener at Eltham Palace and lived in a shared house in Greenwich. His girlfriends were so frequent and fleeting that Annie had stopped bothering to learn their names. Her sons were intelligent, successful men in their own right. But when they were together, particularly when they were with Annie, they seemed to revert back to their child selves, squabbling and sparring for her attention.
It didn’t take long to move in. The killer was lugging the boxes up the stairs to the flat several times over. Alex had bitched and whined so much on his third ascent that Annie had considered gagging him with his linen scarf. Peter jogged up and down with apparent ease, which did nothing to promote good humour in his brother. At eleven o’clock, they stopped for a break and Annie was grateful for the almond croissants. Although, as it turned out, Mari had very kindly stocked the fridge with milk, cheese, a bag of samphire, bacon, ham, hummus and tofu. The two drawers at the bottom of the fridge brimmed with vegetables and salad. A yellow post-it note stuck to the top shelf read:
To get you started. Wasn’t sure if you were a normal person or one of those vegans, a lot of young people are these days, so I thought I’d hedge my bets!
By mid-afternoon, Annie’s clothes were hanging in the single wardrobe and the quilt, sewn by her mother, was draped over the small double bed. With her make-up and toiletries hidden away in the bathroom cabinet and a few framed photographs of the boys strategically placed in spaces which weren’t occupied by books or vintage china, Annie put the kettle on the stove and surveyed her new home.
‘Not bad, eh, boys?’ she said.
‘It’s perfect, Mum,’ said Peter.
‘Just the place to recoup and regroup,’ said Alex.
‘So, who’s for tea and bacon sarnies?’ Annie asked.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Peter. ‘We’ve really got to get going.’
‘I promised Greg a roast dinner after his rugby tournament,’ said Alex. ‘And Peter’s got a date.’
‘The ballerina didn’t make the cut then?’ said Annie.
Peter grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders.
‘You know me, Mum,’ he said.
Annie rolled her eyes.
She was always sad to see them go. But today had been an unexpected bonus and so she couldn’t complain. Still, the flat felt empty when they were no longer filling the space with their long limbs and witty commentary.
Annie ran her hands over the bumpy walls of her new, very old home. ‘Hello, Saltwater Nook,’ she whispered. ‘I’m your new guardian.’
The sun was high in the sky, glinting off the water like a million silver knife tips and pouring in through the lounge window. Mari had left the flat spotless. Upon inspection of the cupboards Annie found tins, chutneys and dried goods: pearl barley, red lentils and rice. There was another post-it note stuck to one of the cupboard fronts:
There’s plenty of fish in the freezer downstairs. If you are a fish eater, please use it. Ely calls once a week with his catch. You don’t have to buy but I can never say no.
Intrigued, Annie made her way downstairs and down again to the cellar. She had the sense that were she to lick the cold stone walls, they would taste salty. She resisted the urge to test this theory, though she cooled her hot red cheeks by turns against the cold stone and wondered about installing a chair and a lamp down there for when her perimenopausal hot flushes became too much to bear. Annie tugged the light pull and the arch-ceilinged cellar became dimly illuminated. A white salt line ran around the bottom two layers of stones in the wall. The plug sockets were all placed above head height and the freezers and free-standing cupboards stood on brick-built perches, two feet off the ground. To the left of the staircase, a pile of sandbags gave away the location of the old tunnel entrance. The arched stone frame remained but the middle had been filled with much newer red brick. Annie’s curiosity twitched to see the old smugglers’ tunnel beyond the wall.
The freezer was bounteously stocked with local fish such as speckled pollock, orange-spotted plaice and mackerel. Already Annie’s mind began whirring with meal ideas. After years of creating recipes and cooking for the masses, she finally had the time to cook just for herself. By the time she finished her shifts at The Pomegranate Seed, she didn’t have the energy to cook. So, while her customers enjoyed her bouillabaisse or venison in red wine with shallots and dauphinoise potatoes, Annie would often wind up with beans on toast.
The kettle was whistling furiously by the time she emerged from the cellar. As she pulled a chintzy mug down from the shelf, she noticed a yellow exercise book withA Guideto Saltwater Nookhandwritten across the front and then below, in a different pen but the same hand, was writtenFor Annie. She finished making her tea and then took herself into the sitting room.
Annie began to leaf through the book. Mari was nothing if not thorough. In addition to the instructive post-it notes that dotted every switch, appliance and cupboard, she appeared to have handwritten a manual, which advised and informed of tasks that needed to be done, month by month, around the building and garden to ensurethe smooth running of the place in winter. The book opened with a letter, stuck into the first page with a square of sticky tape.
Dear Annie,
When I began writing this notebook I didn’t have a face or a name to write it to, just a hope and a prayer that someone would read it. I suppose I wrote it as a kind of call-out to the universe; I hoped that the act of putting my thoughts to paper would work as a summoning spell, to guide the right person to us – to me and the Nook, that is. And here you are.
I hope you don’t mind or find it too fussy that I have taken the liberty of writing these notes. In many ways they are as much for me as they are for you. I began writing them back in the spring, when I knew I wouldn’t be spending another winter here. I did not know then who would be guardian to my little home but I hoped for someone just like you. I am lucky that way: fate has a way of knowing what I need and when.
Please don’t see this as a list of rules or compulsory tasks. It is simply a guide to the things that make living here easier and, dare I say it, more pleasurable during the winter months. Adherence to it will also make my restoration to the Nook in the spring – should I decide to come back – a smoother affair but that should not make you feel under any obligation.
Take from these notes as much or as little as you wish. And feel free to add to them anything which you find useful. I am not too proud or too old to learn new tricks, though there is every chance that I may forget them as fast as I learn them!
You might want to get in a few provisions for the bairns on Halloween. The locals know that I won’t be here but some might come down anyway – for the sake of tradition.
Don’t let the seagulls bully you. Show them who’s boss, or at least that you are their equal. They are beautiful birds when you get to know them.
Above all, take care of yourself, my dear. I think you need Saltwater Nook almost as much as it needs you. I may be an old woman but I see more than most. Fate brought you here for a reason. The rest is up to you.
