Cinnamon Gardens Read online

  ‘I must admit I was ready for a rest, dear. I’m not usually so feeble, I promise you.’

  Nell smiled. ‘You don’t usually get mugged, either. Will you be all right to sit here on your own for a while? There are just a few other things I want.’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Nell continued shopping, buying a few expensive treats that she wouldn’t have to guard from her permanently hungry sons. Most food was much cheaper here, though meat was more expensive. To her surprise there were more varieties of fruit available, whether they were ‘in season’ or not.

  She had to ask for help, because they weren’t prominently displayed, but eventually managed to find some mousetraps. She hated dealing with vermin, but she couldn’t let them run riot in her kitchen.

  When she got back to Peppercorn Street, she carried Miss Parfitt’s things into number 5: bottles of bleach, lemonade, wine, heavy jars and tins of food. She again refused an offer of refreshments, but did accept half of a home-made cake before she went home.

  Home?

  She got out of the car and stared at the old house. No, this wasn’t home to her and for some reason, now that she’d had a good look at it in daylight, she didn’t think it ever would be. It was such a tired old house, sagging here and there.

  ‘Hi, Nell. Did you go and check on Miss Parfitt?’

  She swung round and saw Angus standing at the entrance to her drive. ‘Yes. She’s fine, just a couple of grazes on her legs and a big bruise on one hand. We went shopping together. Not having a car, she has trouble carrying heavy things back.’

  He looked guilty. ‘I should have thought of that and offered to take her occasionally. Kind of you to do it.’

  ‘I enjoyed her company, and anyway, I learnt a lot from her about shopping in England.’

  He started to turn away. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’

  ‘Just a minute. You mentioned something about working in the IT industry. I wonder if you can give me some advice about getting online. I’m already missing my access to the world. Which Internet service provider would you recommend?’

  He turned back with obvious reluctance. ‘I’ll contact a friend, then come round and set you up, if you like. Otherwise you’ll have to wait a few days for them to do it.’

  She drew herself up. ‘I wasn’t trying to get you to do it. I wouldn’t be so cheeky as to ask. I just need the name of a reliable ISP. I’m perfectly capable of—’

  He held up one hand. ‘Sorry. I must have sounded grudging. It’s not much trouble, really it isn’t. Maybe one day you can cook me a meal in return. I can cook adequately but only quick, easy stuff.’

  ‘Do you mean that or are you just being polite?’

  He looked at her in surprise, then grinned. ‘I’d forgotten how blunt you Aussies can be sometimes. I really do mean it. Think how virtuous I shall feel about helping one of our colonial cousins.’

  ‘Am I a colonial?’ She stared blindly at the garden. ‘I don’t actually know where I belong at the moment. I was born here and was old enough when we emigrated to remember England clearly … and to remember Fliss. I’ve only been back once before and that was on a whistle-stop tour round Europe with my husband. I didn’t get a chance to revisit my past and look round the country where I was born.’

  She sighed. ‘Not long after our third son was born, I became a sole parent, to all intents and purposes. Craig was not into the practical aspects of fatherhood. Goodness, it must be twenty-two years since I’ve been free of the main responsibility for my children.’

  ‘It must have been traumatic leaving your sons.’

  She chuckled. ‘More for them than for me. I had to chuck them out of home or they’d have stayed on for ever. I’m very excited about my freedom, actually. Do you have children? Miss Parfitt said you’d lost your wife. I was sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Yes. Joanna was killed in a road accident a few years ago and that took some adjusting to. We were very happy together. We had two children. My son has got his first degree and is currently overseas backpacking round the world. My daughter’s married with one son and another due to arrive any day.’

  ‘So you’re a grandfather. My eldest is expecting, so I’m a grandmother-to-be. I don’t feel old enough. Did you stay in the same house?’

  ‘Yes, but it still feels strange to be completely on my own. I didn’t have to chuck my children out, though; they left of their own accord. I still miss having them around, and I confess to being concerned about Oliver’s safety. He’s travelling where the whim takes him in the Far East, and I can’t help worrying about where he’ll go next.’

  ‘You can’t help worrying about them whatever they do, can you? My two youngest won’t be looking after themselves properly, but if they get into trouble their father can deal with it, for once. Or they can just flounder their way out of it.’

  He gave her a sympathetic smile, then glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I’d better get back. I’m working for myself and I’m at an interesting stage. How long do you want your online connection for? I’m assuming you’re staying in England for a while?’

  ‘I am, yes. At least a year, possibly longer. I don’t have the faintest idea about anything, except that I don’t want to be tied down till I know exactly what I want to do with the rest of my life.’

  ‘What was your job?’

  ‘Office manager.’ She grimaced at the memory. ‘I’ve had enough of that.’ Then she grinned. ‘I was very efficient, though. I treated them all like naughty schoolchildren, even the lawyers, and they were all terrified of upsetting me. But they didn’t want me to leave. I did think ahead and train up a good replacement, though.’

  ‘You even sound efficient. I’ll do some research and then get back to you later today.’ He raised his hand in farewell and carried on walking towards the town centre.

  She watched him go, still feeling guilty for taking advantage of him. But she would invite him round to a meal as a thank you.

  Then she shrugged. Better to think of it as helping one another than taking advantage. Miss Parfitt had helped her and it’d been fun. She hadn’t had much to do with people who were that old and had been fascinated by some of her companion’s reminiscences.

  She unpacked a dozen bags of ‘stuff’, set a couple of mousetraps with bacon rind, not cheese, as advised by the man who’d found them for her. Then she settled down in the kitchen to enjoy a cup of really good coffee. She’d bought a drip cone, but not a grinder, so put the unused ground coffee into the ancient freezer.

  As she drank her coffee, she opened up the free local newspaper she’d picked up at the shopping centre and checked through the services offered in the classifieds. She tore those pages out for future use.

  Around two o’clock she began to feel sleepy and it was an effort to stay awake. It must be because of the time differences, but she’d read that it was better to fit in with local time from the start, so she made a start on clearing out Fliss’s bedroom. It was sad how many worn, old clothes there were, neatly packed in drawers. Had her aunt ever thrown anything away?

  She thought she might sleep in there when it was clean. She loved the elegant, old-fashioned furniture, which had pretty inlay work.

  When she got fed up of clearing things out and realised she couldn’t possibly finish even that room today, she remembered that she hadn’t looked in the attic, so went up the narrow stairs. To her surprise, newspaper was stuffed all around the door, old yellowed pieces, which didn’t look to have been moved for a long time.

  When she opened it, the smell became suddenly much worse. Had some small animal died up here?

  She stayed by the door, studying the top floor. It was divided into three smallish bedrooms to one side, one of which she’d slept in as a child. The rest was an open space. She remembered it being full of fascinating junk, but now it was clear, thank goodness, just an expanse of dusty bare boards.

  She guessed the horrible smell was mould, so the roof must have been leaking, but s
he couldn’t see anything in the big open area.

  She hunted through each of the rooms but could find nothing. The bed frames and furniture might be worth something, but the mattresses were only fit to throw away.

  She walked the perimeter of the attic and the floor felt spongy under her feet. The smell grew much worse as she reached the rear, but it was dusk now and she couldn’t see the details as clearly as she’d have liked.

  Dirty streaks marred the white walls in several places and there was something pale in one corner. The smell was worst of all there.

  When she tried to switch on the only light to see more clearly, nothing happened and she squinted up at the dirty bowl-shaped shade, which seemed to contain a thick layer of dead insects. Maybe the bulb had gone. But since the fitting looked old-fashioned and the wire was frayed, she decided not to try putting a light bulb in till an electrician had checked it out.

  She crouched down, squinting to get a closer look at the corner and realised the pale stuff was some sort of fungus growing on the damp, cracked plaster. The smell made her feel nauseous. ‘Ugh!’ She backed away, worried about how the floor seemed to ease up and down beneath her feet in this corner.

  Things would have to be seen to quickly before more water leaked into the house. It rained all year round in England, unlike Western Australia, where the summers were hot and dry.

  How much would it cost to fix this? Did the place need a whole new roof? She hoped not.

  She’d been feeling happy about doing up the old place!

  Now, she felt uncertain of her immediate future again because it might not be worth doing up.

  Nell managed to stay awake until eight o’clock that evening only by an act of will.

  The strange dream replayed itself. She was in the same pretty garden but what surrounded it was no clearer than before.

  Once again, women were talking softly somewhere close by, but when she tried to find them, she got lost in a tangle of greenery, ending up in a small clearing dotted with clumps of daffodils.

  It was most annoying to see only parts of the garden and not know how they fitted together. She was sure they did, which would mean it was quite a large garden.

  She didn’t know why, but she was equally sure the place she kept visiting in her dreams was real.

  But though she called out to the women who were chatting, this time they didn’t answer her.

  She woke to a tangle of sheets and was annoyed with herself for having such persistent dreams.

  And even more annoyed to realise it was still only the middle of the night. She tossed and turned for over an hour before she could get to sleep again.

  The next time she opened her eyes it was light and once again she’d slept later than she’d meant to.

  She had a faint memory of sounds during the night, sirens perhaps. She’d thought it was part of her dream, but now she wondered. She’d slept very heavily, once she had got back to sleep. She lay for a few moments, then remembered the roof leak and groaned. That had to take priority today.

  Winifred woke up to the smell of burning. The moonlight was bright tonight. No, it wasn’t moonlight, it was flickering, like flames.

  She snatched up her dressing gown, dragging it on as she rushed to the window to find out what was on fire. She didn’t need to look inside the house, because she slept downstairs and one glance out of the window showed her that the summer house in the back garden was on fire, its old, dry timber burning brightly.

  ‘Oh, no!’ She clapped one hand to her mouth, feeling like weeping. The summer house had not only been her mother’s favourite place to sit, it held sweet memories for her too.

  Everything was so brightly lit by the conflagration she could see that someone had trampled on the nearby plants and several shrubs had been pulled up and tossed onto the paths.

  So the fire must have been set deliberately!

  She should have heard them doing it, she really should, but she had to admit that her hearing wasn’t as good as it used to be. Well, this settled one thing, at least. She’d have to get a hearing aid and hang the expense and (worse, to her) the sheer indignity of wearing one.

  In the meantime she dialled 999 and asked for the fire brigade, explaining what had happened.

  When she opened the back door, things got worse, because she found a note nailed to it.

  YOU NEXT YOU OLD BITCH

  WE MISSED GETTING YOUR BAG LAST TIME

  WE WON’T MISS IT NEXT TIME

  YOU WON’T EVER FEEL SAFE IN PEPPERCORN STREET

  She didn’t touch the note, feeling her heart thumping in anxiety as she slammed the door shut and locked it. She couldn’t see anyone outside but she wasn’t taking any risks; she shouldn’t have opened the door in the first place without checking.

  Was it … could the arsonist be the young chap who’d tried to mug her? Why would he pursue her? Or give her warning of his intentions? It didn’t make sense.

  She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply as she waited for the fire brigade, and her heart began to calm down.

  Thanks to the flames she could see anything that happened at the back quite clearly and when a section of the rickety wooden fence began to shake and then fell inwards, she cried out, ‘No!’ Someone else was breaking in.

  But the person who’d pushed it down was Angus. He had entered her garden from his own, which adjoined the rear of the top few houses. He stood for a minute studying what was happening, then ran to get her hosepipe, playing it first on the wooden bench near the summer house, then on the fire itself.

  She should have done that, wet down the surrounding area, but she’d panicked, hadn’t she, afraid of being knocked about again?

  ‘Stupid old woman!’ she muttered. ‘What good does it do to panic … or talk to yourself?’

  She heard a siren in the distance, coming gradually closer, and then it sounded like a large vehicle had stopped at the front of the house. Before she could check it out from the front sitting room, two people in firefighters’ clothing ran round the corner of the building and took charge of the back garden.

  ‘Thank goodness!’ she muttered.

  At their gesture, Angus moved away from the blaze and when one of them asked him something, he shook his head and pointed towards the house.

  She was already opening the back door and going outside to join them.

  ‘Did you leave anything burning in the garden, madam?’ one firefighter asked.

  ‘No. I haven’t gone near that area for days. Anyway, I think the fire must have been deliberately lit because some of the bushes nearby have been uprooted and the plants trampled – and there’s a threatening message pinned to my back door.’

  ‘You haven’t touched it?’

  ‘No. I knew not to do that.’

  ‘Show me.’ Angus left the officers to deal with the blaze and read the message, letting out a choking sound, as if disgusted. ‘Must be that nasty little sod who tried to mug you. But why’s he coming after you again?’

  ‘That’s what I was wondering. And why is he warning me? That’s stupid if he’s intending to try to break in. Unless … do you think someone is trying to drive me away from here? I’ve had a few other things happen lately.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Noises in the night. Stones thrown at the windows. I threw away the first message they left, which just said, “Get out or else!” I didn’t realise then what was going on.’

  ‘Have you had offers to buy your house?’

  ‘Yes. Several. Estate agent people have come to the door, but I didn’t even let them in, just told them I wasn’t interested in selling.’

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had a few offers to buy my place, too. Pushy devils, a couple of them. Dennings would be a developer’s delight, with two acres of land. I haven’t heard of any other cases of people being harassed into selling their houses, but I’ll ask around. Now, how about a cup of tea? Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘I can do that. I’m
not going to faint on you again, Angus.’

  He gave her an unexpected hug, which pleased her greatly. So few people touched you when you were older. She’d read about how people missed being touched. They called it ‘skin hunger’.

  She put the kettle on, pleased that her hands weren’t shaking, though she still felt shuddery inside.

  ‘Do you want to sit down?’

  ‘I’d rather stay by the window and keep an eye on what’s happening, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘You do that. I’ll just nip into my bedroom and put some clothes on while the kettle’s boiling. I don’t like meeting officials in my night gear.’

  He grinned. ‘You always look elegant, whatever you’re wearing, and I like the plait. I didn’t realise your hair was that long.’

  That remark pleased her. When she got into her bedroom, she stared in the mirror at her pale face and the plait she wore her hair in every night, as she had from childhood. Such a nice compliment, but she looked a mess.

  The two firefighters soon had the blaze under control. One of them turned out to be a woman when she took off her helmet. How interesting! Winifred wished sometimes that she’d been born in the twenty-first century. She might have had a more interesting life, and with the better welfare services they had now, she’d not have been so tied to being the only one available to look after her mother. But it was what unmarried daughters did in those days, stayed at home and cared for their ageing parents.

  She would have no one to care for her if she became too feeble to look after herself. It was quite a dilemma to decide how to deal with that, which was why she had briefly considered selling her house and putting the money in the bank.

  Only she didn’t want to leave. Oh, she definitely didn’t! This was her home, the only one she’d ever known. And she’d found out that the price she’d been offered was well under the market value. Did they think she was so stupid, she’d not check that?

  So unless she got dementia, she intended to stay here and continue managing her own life as she saw fit. When she received the money from her friend’s will, she’d husband it carefully, so that she could pay for a little help with the housework.