I rang his mobile later to see how they were getting on, he said he and Felix had just screwed our bed frames together (I made a note to check those out before sleeping on them) and put the mattresses back on, and Zillah had already got the Aga going in her new kitchen and was dispensing stewed tea and biscuits.
‘And she put butter on Tabitha’s feet before she let her out!’
‘I think that’s supposed to make cats come back to the new house, though goodness knows why,’ I said. ‘Tell me when the phone landline starts working, won’t you? And I hope we can get broadband quickly, because I don’t want to have to conduct my business from the library or an internet café.’
‘OK, though Felix has broadband and I’m sure he would let you use his computer…and here comes my stuff, so I’ll have to go,’ he said, then rang off. I expected he would spend hours rearranging his new bedroom, ignoring the rest of the cottage, but at least Felix was there to make sure all the boxes and furniture went into the rooms they were labelled for.
Back at the old house, Grumps had written solidly in his study while it was emptied around him, so that his tall, Gothic chair and matching desk were the last things to go into the van – and therefore would be the first items out at the other end, meaning there would be very little disruption to his work. Clearly, there was method in his madness.
Finally, I drove him to Sticklepond in the Saab, wrapped in a midnight-blue velvet cloak against the chill and with a sort of embroidered fez over his long, silver hair. I dropped him off at the door, then turned round and went right back to take a last look alone around the old house and say my goodbyes. It was just something I felt I needed to do, before I could move on.
All the rooms echoed hollowly under my feet and looked strangely forlorn, especially the kitchen without Zillah’s bright cushions, throws and curtains. I wandered through the house, remembering mainly the happy things, like Granny and the strangely pagan-crossed-with-Christian version of Christmas we celebrated every year, Jake’s face as a small child, unwrapping presents (the one from Mum I always bought for her, because she never had any idea what he really wanted) and the night Poppy and I saw the angel…
I tried not to let memories of the bad times seep in, the moments of heartbreak and despair, but it was still all a bit poignant. It was more than time to move on and, I wondered, maybe I could leave the past behind me, like an outgrown shell and slip into a more expansive future?
In fact, a fresh start in a new place was just what we all needed – the Angel cards this morning had more or less told me so. I was sure Zillah had got her last reading wrong and the only visitors from my past likely to bother me were the ghosts I had just laid to rest.
I placed a big glazed pot of tulips on the kitchen windowsill, with a note welcoming the new owners to their home. Then I left, dropping the keys off with Conrad on the way to Sticklepond.
In our cottage Jake was still upstairs, which was much as I had expected, but Felix had lit a fire in the sitting room and was unpacking kitchen stuff into the wrong drawers and cupboards, though it was a kind thought, as was his having plugged in the little freezer and fridge the moment they were brought in.
‘I thought I’d make a start,’ he explained, ‘but I’ll have to go in a minute. I’ve got someone coming for a complete set of leather-bound Dickens and I’m hoping to offload some Thackeray onto them too. Is there anything else you’d like me to help you with, first?’
‘No, you’ve done wonders, Felix, I’m really grateful. And I love the house sign that you and Poppy gave me!’ I said warmly, giving him a hug. ‘I’m going to make our beds up now and then everything else can wait until tomorrow.’
After he’d gone, I found a new little bookcase with a slanting top that fitted neatly under the steep staircase, with a card from Felix saying it was especially for my Georgette Heyer collection. He was so kind! In fact, he would make someone a wonderful husband, preferably Poppy. It certainly wasn’t going to be me, and any other woman would undoubtedly resent his close friendship with us, so Poppy was the only possible candidate, when I came to think about it.
Grumps’ removal men had gone into reverse, and were now unloading and unpacking everything, though it was such a mammoth task that they would have to come back next morning to finish.
Once I was sure everyone had a bed to sleep in that night, I suggested we went over to the Falling Star for a bar meal. We were all exhausted, with the possible exception of Grumps. Even Jake looked tired, though he didn’t seem to have done much more than drive Zillah across and then spend the rest of the day rearranging his bedroom and sticking posters – all featuring the blood red/funereal purple/dead black range of the spectrum with lots of skulls, dragons and swords – onto the freshly painted walls.
When we trooped into the snug, which was empty as usual, since the regulars preferred the music, dartboard and slot machine of the public bar, they all came and peered at us through the hatch as if the circus had come to town.
I certainly don’t usually merit this kind of attention, but I suppose as a group we did look a bit unusual, what with one near-Goth dressed head to foot in black and only needing a large axe in order to be a dead ringer for the Grim Reaper, an elderly Merlin in a rubbed velvet jacket and embroidered, tasselled fez, and a small, round gypsy clad in several brightly clashing layers and with a shocking-pink scarf wrapped around her head like a turban. But I expect they will quickly get used to seeing the family about the village and we will be a seven-day wonder.
The young, pink-haired barmaid, Molly, was the exception, since she showed no sign of surprise or interest at our appearance, apart from eyeing Jake in a slightly speculative manner. There was no sign of Mrs Snowball, who kept early hours, and that was perhaps a good thing.
Grumps, who rarely enters pubs, was very gracious about scampi in a basket and plastic sachets of tartare sauce – more gracious than Zillah, actually, who was affronted by the modest prices and said she could have cooked the meal at home for a fraction of the cost, and much better too. But she said it without her usual gusto, so she was definitely tired. I tend to forget she must be nearly as old as Grumps, because her face has been seamed, lined and folded like an old brown linen tablecloth for as long as I’ve known her.
We went back to the Old Smithy and had what Grumps called a libation of good single malt in honour of our new home, then we all went to bed. It had been a very long day.
Chapter Nine Drawing the Lines
Grumps, needing little sleep, had already knocked out a chapter of Satan’s Child and was in the museum by the time I’d seen Jake off to college next morning (in Grumps’ Saab, with huge warnings about being careful and not driving too fast).
Although I’d managed to find the toaster and the Pop-Tarts, Jake’s current breakfast of choice, the whereabouts of the porridge oats and jar of honey was still a complete mystery to me. I think my box packing and labelling must have been getting a bit random by the time I got to the kitchen, because I kept finding the most unlikely combinations, but I sincerely hoped I’d screwed the lid on the honey tightly and it was the right way up, wherever it was.
I slipped silently through the door leading from the cottage into the museum. Grumps had his back turned to me, but even so he immediately said, ‘The removal men are here again already, Chloe, unpacking in the house.’
It’s always unnerving that he can tell who is behind
