Cinnamon Gardens Page 5

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘You and Linda. You’re still not helping her enough in the house, though you’re way ahead of your brothers.’

  He didn’t answer but she noticed him wriggle uncomfortably.

  ‘A pregnant woman gets tired more easily. She needs extra help, Robbie love.’

  ‘I’ve tried, Ma, but she always complains about how badly I’ve done things. It’s got to be done her way or not at all.’

  ‘Cut her a little slack. Just persevere and try to do things the way she wants. After all, you’re not the world’s best housekeeper, are you? And being pregnant isn’t fun.’

  ‘Having a pregnant wife isn’t much fun, either.’

  ‘I know. But the result makes it worth it. I’ve always been glad my marriage gave me you three.’

  He patted her hand briefly then turned his attention back to the busy traffic.

  When she stole a glance sideways, she thought he looked thoughtful. Maybe her advice would sink in.

  At the airport she said, ‘Don’t come and see me off. Just drop me near the departure area.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can easily park and—’

  ‘I’ll only cry and I don’t want to go on board with red eyes.’

  ‘You can sound really fierce but you’re a softie underneath it.’

  ‘Sometimes. Not always.’

  ‘No. At the moment you’re being very tough and brave. I admire that, Ma.’

  He stopped the car, helped her get her luggage out and on to a trolley, then gave her a bone-cracking hug and got back in.

  It warmed her heart. He didn’t often hug her now he was grown up. The other two had hugged her yesterday as well, when they moved the final bits of crockery and other items she’d given them out of the house and into their flat.

  As she watched Robbie drive away, tears welled in her eyes. She hadn’t realised how alone she’d feel or how nervous. This was going to be a shock to her system as well as to her sons. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she walked briskly into the airport.

  She hadn’t told anyone that she’d booked a business class seat, thanks to her aunt’s money. Just this once. That entitled her to take extra luggage, as well as promising a far more comfortable flight. It had surprised her that Robbie hadn’t commented on how much luggage she had.

  It was a rather special occasion, in so many ways. The first day of her new untrammelled life.

  At Heathrow Nell retrieved her luggage then followed the signs towards the exit. In spite of the excellent service and comfortable lie-down seat, the flight had seemed to go on for ever. She wasn’t used to being penned up inside a tin box for most of a day.

  Most of the other passengers were met by friends and family, and kept hugging one another, beaming with joy, some crying happy tears. That made her feel even more alone.

  She found her way to the counter of her hire car company. After she’d finished the preliminary paperwork she was directed to a small courtesy bus, which chugged slowly and with frequent stops through acres of car parks to where the hire vehicles were parked.

  England in the middle of April was cool and felt alien after her decades in Australia. Grey seemed to be the predominant colour, even though it was officially spring here now. Rain spattered suddenly against the windows of the bus and Nell shivered, wishing she’d put on warmer clothes.

  She didn’t actually own many warm clothes and was planning to buy more here. West Australian winters were like cool, rainy English springs, and anyway, Nell went everywhere by car in Australia, so hadn’t needed a really warm coat.

  At last they arrived but even though the paperwork was got through quickly, it took a while for someone to bring her hire car to reception. A polite young man helped carry her luggage out to the car. He showed her how to use the satnav and checked that she understood the controls, then stood back.

  ‘There you are, then, ma’am. Enjoy your holiday.’ And he was gone.

  She checked the satnav again, putting in the town of Sexton Bassett and then Peppercorn Street. The screen rippled and a map came up with arrows. The voice giving instructions sounded very upper-class English to her Aussie-tuned ears, so she christened the speaker ‘Felicity’ after her aunt, who had also spoken like that.

  You can do it, Nell told herself but she felt nervous as she put the car into drive and set off on her first journey across England, because she hadn’t driven a manual change car for many years. But the automatic cars were much more expensive and it had seemed a waste of money.

  Vehicles seemed to whiz along more quickly here, but she prided herself on being a competent driver, so eased into the traffic and concentrated hard, following the clear instructions ‘Felicity’ gave her about where to go.

  Almost before she knew it, she was on the M4 heading west. She breathed a sigh of relief and settled down to drive to Wiltshire.

  After a few miles the traffic in all three lanes slowed down to a crawl and it was twenty minutes before it speeded up again. By that time she judged it wise to turn off at a services and visit the Ladies before she continued.

  While she was there, she bought a few bits and pieces to eat, just in case there were further delays and she couldn’t find a shop that was open. Then she launched herself into the traffic again, feeling a little more confident now.

  It seemed like an anticlimax when there were no more hold-ups. The miles ticked by and she saw a sign to Swindon, which she knew was a big town near Sexton Bassett. But Felicity hadn’t told her to turn off the motorway so she carried on, praying she was doing the right thing.

  ‘Take the next exit,’ the voice commanded gently a few minutes later at a second Swindon turn-off. So she did and was then directed to Sexton Bassett.

  She slowed down as she got to the main street of the small town, expecting to remember it from her childhood visits, but she didn’t. It had changed beyond recognition and there were shops all along it with garish signs. Even the library wasn’t the library any more, it seemed, but part of a heritage centre.

  It wasn’t until she turned into Peppercorn Street that things began to look vaguely familiar. To her surprise, the house the satnav directed her to on the long uphill street was the same one she’d visited as a child.

  She hadn’t remembered the house number from her childhood and had just accepted the one the lawyer gave her, assuming Fliss had moved into a smaller house on the same street, as she’d talked of doing. But when Nell stopped at number 95, it was the house she remembered. So her great-aunt hadn’t moved at all. Well, why shouldn’t Fliss stay in her own home if it had good memories for her?

  Things had changed near the house, though. There was a new cul-de-sac a little further down the same side of the street called Sunset Close. Tiny new one-storey dwellings huddled together in three clusters.

  The two houses between these and Fliss’s looked unoccupied, as did the house on the uphill side of her new home. Beyond that were two large dwellings, which looked new and were ultramodern in style.

  She stopped to shove open the double gates, which were old, wooden and very stiff. There was no carport or garage, just a paved space to one side for a vehicle to stand on, so she drove the car into it and closed the gates again.

  The keys the lawyers had sent her were clearly labelled, one saying ‘Front door’ in tiny script, the other ‘Back door’.

  As the new owner, she decided to go in by the front door, so followed the paved path to the front of the house. The outside paintwork was shabby and peeling in parts. She inserted the key, surprised when the door opened easily, because it looked old-fashioned and it hadn’t been used for a while, so she’d expected it to be stiff.

  It was dusk now and the hall was dim. She fumbled for the light switch and let out a long exhalation of relief as the hall light came on. Thank goodness! She’d asked the lawyers to arrange for the electricity to be connected but no one had confirmed that it had been.

  If it hadn’t been on, she’d have had
to find somewhere to stay for the night. She wasn’t into roughing it without any amenities.

  At last she truly recognised something from her childhood: the interior of the house. Indeed, at first glance it didn’t seem to have changed a bit since her family had emigrated. Nearly four decades that was now.

  She remembered the stained glass window in the wall halfway up the stairs, the mahogany banisters and the pattern of old-fashioned tiles on the hall floor.

  She almost expected to see Fliss coming out of the living room to greet her and felt sad as she remembered her great-aunt. Her father had cut off communications with everyone in the family, but Nell had tentatively contacted Fliss years ago and they’d been emailing each other ever since. Fliss had, it seemed, been taught by a young neighbour how to use the Internet.

  Not quite in my dotage, eh? she had said in her first email. This is a lot easier than posting a letter, isn’t it?

  Propping open the front door, Nell lugged in her two suitcases, the backpack she’d used for cabin luggage and the two plastic carrier bags of food she’d bought on the motorway.

  Locking the car, she went back into the house, her footsteps echoing on the Victorian tiles of the hall floor. She shivered. The inside felt damp and distinctly chilly, and there was a faint, musty smell. Well, more than faint, actually. Rather unpleasant. She’d have to air the house out thoroughly to get rid of that.

  She checked the rooms on the ground floor, leaving lights on here and there to make the place feel more cheerful. A very old computer stood on a pad on the dining-room table. She wondered if it still worked.

  Last of all she went into the kitchen at the rear, which had always been her favourite room, warm and full of delightful smells of cakes baking.

  Here things had changed drastically and the image she’d carried in her heart of a cosy, old-fashioned kitchen was gone. There were new appliances and new cupboards along one wall, but the kitchen as a whole hadn’t been modernised.

  It looked bare and unloved. No plants on the window sill now, no bunches of dried herbs hanging on a line. Fliss had been a great one for drying her own herbs.

  However when Nell looked more closely there were signs of live occupants: mouse droppings on the counters and floor, and shredded paper in one corner. Ugh! She’d have to get someone in to rid the house of them ASAP. She hated the horrid creatures.

  She plugged in the fridge, which was fairly new, and put the perishable food inside. It might be dusty on the outside but it was clean inside and no mice would be able to get into it.

  She lugged one of the suitcases upstairs and checked out the bedrooms. She’d asked the lawyers to leave things as they were inside the house, except for clearing out perishables.

  There were six bedrooms. Fliss’s old room was as her great-aunt had left it, with clothes still hanging in the wardrobe and filling the drawers. She didn’t fancy sleeping in there.

  After checking out the other bedrooms, she decided to use the one her parents had always slept in on visits. Like her aunt’s room, it was at the front of the house. Another point in its favour was that it had a bolt on the inside of the door. She wasn’t paranoid about intruders, but she was careful and in strange territory, so it’d be good to lock the bedroom door.

  Her childhood bedroom was up on the top floor and, if she remembered correctly, had been rather small. She was feeling tired so didn’t go up to check it.

  It pleased her how much she remembered about the house. It made it seem like a home, rather than just a house, even if it did need a lot of attention.

  She didn’t know how long she’d stay away from Australia, probably not permanently. But even if she sold this house eventually, she could make a big difference to the price she got by doing it up. It certainly needed attention. Fliss had let things slip badly.

  There! She’d found herself something to do with her new life already. She quite enjoyed decorating but had always had to do it on the cheap before. Now she had enough money to indulge in any reasonable whim that took her fancy.

  A sudden yawn made her realise how tired she was, so she decided to have a quick snack then go to bed.

  ‘Jet lag rules,’ she muttered as a second yawn followed the first. It wasn’t bedtime yet, still only early evening, but she could hardly keep her eyes open.

  Chapter Four

  Winifred Parfitt walked slowly up Peppercorn Street after taking tea with a young friend near the bottom end of the street. She’d never had grandchildren, but if she had, she’d have wanted a granddaughter like Janey Dobson, who at eighteen was coping with being a single mother to a delightful baby, as well as going to college. And yet the dear girl still made time to befriend an old lady.

  Winifred and her friend Dan were acting as unofficial older relatives to Janey, whose family had disowned her when she got pregnant. Her father in particular had first not believed her when she said his friend had raped her. Then he’d said she must have led him on. That friend, an ex-policeman, had later been found guilty of raping the poor girl.

  Strange that from such a terrible act could come that wonderful baby.

  Lights were shining from what had been Felicity Chaytor’s house. Winifred stopped in surprise, leaning on her father’s silver-headed walking stick for a moment to catch her breath, as she often did part way up the hill.

  Her long-time neighbour Fliss had died a few months ago and rumour had it that she’d left everything to an Australian niece, though where the rumours came from, Winifred couldn’t think. She’d heard them from her friend Dawn, whose daughter had told her.

  Perhaps the lights meant that Fliss’s heir had arrived at last, and about time too. The house had been standing empty for too long and was in desperate need of maintenance work if anyone was to live there.

  Everything was changing in the street and even Winifred was wondering whether she should change her mind, sell her overlarge house and move somewhere smaller. But the bungalows that she’d just passed, advertised as suitable retirement homes for over 50s, were too small and too close together for her taste. She didn’t want to live in her neighbours’ pockets.

  Why did people assume that just because you were old, you’d want such cramped accommodation? What most older people wanted was to stay in their own homes and have help with the cleaning and gardening. She sighed and forced her stiff limbs to move on.

  Suddenly, something hit her from behind and she cried out as she started to fall. A young man in a hoodie loomed over her and bent to yank her handbag off her arm before taking off running.

  As a second person pounded towards her, she let out an involuntary cry of panic and huddled closer to the wall. What now? Were they going to beat her up?

  But this man ran straight past her and tackled the mugger, who had tripped on the uneven pavement and lost his momentum. The pursuer brought him down in a flurry of fists, kicking feet and yelling.

  The hood came off and in the light from a street lamp she saw a brutal young face with a shaven head. The young man rolled suddenly to one side and was up and away before the second man could stop him.

  Her rescuer got up and walked back to Winifred, who had pulled herself painfully to her feet. ‘Are you all right, Miss Parfitt?’

  She recognised him at once: Angus Denning from the big old house behind hers. She wanted to thank him, but couldn’t string the words together. She had to clutch the wall because she wasn’t all right; she was feeling extremely dizzy.

  Before he could say anything else, more footsteps made them both turn round. This time it was a woman hurrying out of the gate of Fliss’s house.

  ‘I saw what happened from my bedroom window. Are you all right?’

  Winifred had always scorned women who fainted in a crisis, but when she felt the world turning black around her, she could do nothing about it.

  Nell saw the old lady’s eyes roll up and her body start to crumple. She managed to grab her before she hit the ground and the rescuer moved quickly to help.

  �
�Let me take her.’ He picked up the poor woman quite easily.

  Nell gestured to the house. ‘Take her into my place. We can’t see how badly she’s hurt in this light.’

  ‘Thanks. If you’ll bring her handbag and stick, I’ll carry her. She’s so thin, she doesn’t weigh much.’

  Nell led the way inside, locking the door behind them, then taking them through to the kitchen at the rear. ‘Who is she? Do you know her?’

  ‘Yes. Miss Winifred Parfitt. She lives at number 5, one of the grand old houses at the very top of the street.’

  ‘Put her into this armchair.’

  As he did that, the old lady moaned and he asked, ‘Do you have any brandy?’

  ‘I don’t know. I only arrived here an hour or so ago and I haven’t explored the cupboards yet. Anyway, I don’t think they recommend brandy for shock nowadays. A cup of sweet tea, perhaps?’

  ‘Good idea. Is that an Australian accent?’

  ‘Yes. Is it so obvious? In Australia, they think I sound like a Pom.’

  ‘I’ve worked with Aussies several times. I’m Angus Denning, by the way.’

  ‘Nell Chaytor.’

  The old lady moaned again, opening her eyes and looking round as if she didn’t know where she was. She tried to brush away the wisps of silver hair that had come loose from the bun at the back, but gave up the attempt.

  Angus crouched beside her and took her hand. ‘You were mugged, Miss Parfitt. When you fainted, we brought you into Ms Chaytor’s house. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Dizzy. So silly to faint.’

  As she struggled to sit up properly, Nell helped her. ‘It’s the shock. It’s perfectly normal to have a reaction like that if you’re attacked.’

  ‘He took my handbag.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. I couldn’t manage to keep hold of him but I did get your handbag back. Here,’ Angus held it out, but when Miss Parfitt tried to take it, her hand was shaking so badly, she drew back.