Bay Tree Cottage Read online

  ‘My brother was right. I’ve served my purpose, haven’t I? Paid more than my share of living costs while you were getting established as an artist, done most of the household chores and now you don’t need me any more, so you’re off.’

  He shrugged. Their marriage hadn’t started out quite that blatantly but he’d gone cold on her within a few months. She was such a fusspot to live with, always wanting him to do work on improving the house. ‘It was a bit more than that between us to start with, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m not at all sure about that. If it was, the bloom soon wore off. On my side as well as yours. Don’t think you’re anything special, Warren Cutler. You’re no good in bed, for a start. I’d have put up with that if you’d been loving, but you weren’t.’

  She suddenly swiped at the shelf of in-progress figurines and sent them flying. ‘These damned bits of wood are the only thing you really love.’

  As she raised her hand for another swipe, he shoved her hastily back into the living room. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? If you’ve broken anything, I’ll—’

  ‘You’ll what? Hit me? I’m as big as you are and I’m a hell of a lot fitter. I’ll hit you right back if you lay one finger on me, then I’ll go and lay a complaint at the police station. If I cry all over them, who do you think they’ll believe?’

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my energy on you.’ He began picking up the figurines, cursing when he found one had been damaged.

  When he turned round, cradling it against him, she was still standing there. But she must have nipped out into the hall because she was holding her old rounders bat in her hand, tapping it gently against one hand.

  ‘Just try it, Warren Cutler.’

  ‘Are you deaf, daft or useless? I told you I wouldn’t bother to touch you, you old sow.’ He turned away.

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s only fair to warn you that anything you leave behind when you go off for your precious residency will be chucked away, because you’re not coming crawling back here.’

  ‘I own half the house till we sell it so why should I have to clear my stuff out?’

  She gave him a nasty smile. ‘Because you won’t be here to protect your little wooden darlings, will you?’ She mimed striking a match.

  He gasped. ‘You’d burn them?’

  ‘Without hesitation. I hate them. They’re nasty things, just like you. I’m surprised people buy them.’

  She’d do it, too, the bitch, he thought angrily. She always kept her threats. ‘Remember that two can play at that game.’

  She glared at him. ‘You’re not coming back to live here, whatever you say or do.’

  ‘I don’t want to but I can’t move my things instantly. I’ll need to borrow a van to take everything away. Do you think you can rein in your temper for a day or two till I sort something out?’

  ‘As long as you don’t take too long about it. I’ll move your clothes into the spare bedroom while you’re out.’

  ‘Good. I prefer sleeping alone. But I’m taking some of the furniture.’

  ‘We’ll discuss that when you get back.’

  She’d surprised him with her ultimatum, but it didn’t matter because he’d been planning to leave her anyway. He looked round. He’d miss this conservatory, though, had spent a lot of happy hours working in here. The rest of the house was yawningly ordinary, a typically bijou semi-detached residence. A rabbit hutch, in his opinion, with small rooms to suit small minds.

  As for Michelle, he’d not miss her in the slightest. Au contraire.

  It was two days before Ginger started to regain some of her usual energy. She did a lot of sleeping and was grateful that her kind hostess left her to it.

  When she came down for a meal or cup of tea, she brought some sewing, because she didn’t like to sit idle, but not one of her pictures, which took a lot more effort.

  ‘What’s that you’re making?’ Elise asked.

  ‘Just a patchwork apron. I buy oddments of material from the charity shop. They keep good bits from worn-out clothes specially for me and charge me a pound per bag. I put them together in my spare moments and sell the results at the markets now and then.’

  Elise went across to look at it. Bright colours in a pleasing arrangement. This was more than ‘just’ an apron. ‘Why didn’t you mention these when you applied for the residency?’

  Ginger looked at her in surprise. ‘These aren’t art; they’re only – you know, sewing: make do and mend, my gran used to call it.’

  Elise picked up the apron and held it against her. ‘It’s pretty. I’d like to buy a couple of aprons as well as one of your pictures. They’ll make great birthday presents. Really useful as well as pretty.’

  ‘That’s what people always say: useful.’

  ‘Useful stuff can be artistic as well.’

  It was too late now to add Ginger’s other skill to the mix, she thought regretfully. Nell had told her that Cutler had accepted the residency within minutes of receiving the emailed offer. Well, why wouldn’t he?

  She wasn’t looking forward to having him as a neighbour. There was something … she sought in vain for a defining word and could only come up with ‘nasty’ about him.

  Nell called in at Number 3 that afternoon while Ginger was having another little nap. ‘Hi, Elise. I thought I’d better let you know that Cutler will be moving in today or tomorrow, I don’t know which.’

  ‘He’s not wasting any time.’

  ‘No. He and his wife are splitting up, apparently, so he wants to get away from her as quickly as possible.’

  ‘She’ll be well shot of him.’

  ‘Unfortunately, he’ll soon be your neighbour, so maybe you should suspend judgement.’

  Elise knew she’d never get on with him. ‘Don’t worry. I can paste a smile on my face that’s as false as his, and he can take it or leave it. He’ll not get any closer to me than a nod as we pass one another, though.’

  ‘You’re not even giving him a chance?’

  ‘I gave him a chance at the interview and he ignored me.’

  Nell couldn’t deny that. ‘Hmm. What about Ginger? How is she?’

  ‘A bit better, but she has nowhere to go. You’re not going to ask me to turn her out, surely?’

  ‘Of course not! You should know me better than that.’

  ‘Yes, well, I prefer to be sure. I’m taking her to pick up her car tomorrow, so she’ll be able to start looking for a job. Only …’

  ‘Only what?’

  ‘I’ve been wondering. You’re thinking of opening a café in Number 1. She’s used to working in cafés. How about offering her the job of helping you set it up then running it? She could even sleep there. It wouldn’t be fancy accommodation, but there’s that room on the upper floor that would make a reasonably sized bedsitter and she can do her cooking in the café. From what she’s let drop so far, she’s never had anywhere fancy to live, so I think she’d snap it up.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll think about it. You haven’t found out what’s wrong?’

  ‘Not yet. But there is definitely something worrying her. I’m thinking of tackling that head on tonight.’

  After tea, Elise cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and sat down again. Ginger had switched on the TV but was staring into space, not watching the news, so Elise switched off the sound.

  ‘Isn’t it about time you told me what was wrong, Ginger?’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘It is to me.’

  The younger woman shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what to do now. I can’t continue to take advantage of you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not fed up of you yet.’

  Ginger gave her one of those delightfully sunny smiles. ‘Thanks.’ Her smile faded quickly, though. ‘But I’ve always prided myself on standing on my own feet.’

  ‘Tell me what’s really wrong, what’s behind your homelessness, then maybe I can help you work something out.’ Elise left the words hang
ing in the air between them and the silence went on for so long she was about to give up hope of finding out. She couldn’t force a confidence, after all.

  ‘It’s my son,’ Ginger blurted out abruptly.

  ‘Is he in trouble?’

  Ginger flushed. ‘Not exactly. He came to live with me a couple of years ago when my husband was dying, to help with the lifting, you see. Alan was quite a big man. And Donny did help, I’ll give him that. But after his father died, he refused to move out again and then, well, he got into a fight at work and was sacked.’

  She fell silent again, then continued, ‘Afterwards he had to take a lower-paid job and that upset him. He made new friends and started drinking with them and … well, things went from bad to worse. He … he hit me.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘He’s hit me twice now and he nearly hit me again just before I left.’

  ‘Hitting his own mother. That’s despicable.’

  Ginger was staring at the ground as if ashamed of something she had done and her voice was low as she added, ‘And lately, well, he’s cheating. Won’t hand over rent money or money for food. I never thought I’d be afraid of my own son. He’s a big lad, these days. He’s put a lot of weight on. I think that’s the drinking. I wouldn’t stand a chance if I tried to throw him out.’

  She sobbed suddenly and pressed one hand across her mouth, struggling desperately for control, then wailed, ‘I’m afraid of him, afraid of my own son!’

  When Ginger had calmed down again, Elise got her to explain what steps she had taken before she left for the interview. They didn’t sound very effective, but then it wasn’t easy to deal with domestic violence, which came in many forms. Even Elise had experienced bullying as her nieces had tried to force her to go into a care home. That was a form of violence as far as she was concerned.

  ‘I’ve got an idea about a job for you, complete with accommodation,’ she said at last. ‘If you can bear to stay here for a few more days, I’ll see if I can work something out.’

  ‘Can I ask what it is?’

  ‘I’d rather not say in case nothing comes of it. There are other people involved, you see.’

  ‘Oh. Right. If you’re sure you don’t mind me staying a bit longer?’

  ‘I’m enjoying your company. Tomorrow we’ll pick up your car and visit your bank – which one is it? Oh, no! They closed the branch of that bank in Sexton Bassett.’

  ‘They want you to do everything online these days, don’t they? If there’s a cash machine somewhere I’ll manage with that for the time being.’

  ‘All right. Now, there’s a TV programme I want to watch tonight, if you don’t mind. It’s about health and ageing.’ She looked at Ginger ruefully. ‘I’m trying to keep up with the latest developments. At my age, you need all the help you can get. They’re talking about trying to keep older people in decent health for longer – prolonging the healthspan, they call it. I’m doing pretty well since I had my hip replacement, but I do get a bit stiff and achy, so I’m trying to see what else I can do to help myself.’

  It was Ginger’s turn to pat her hand. ‘You seem to be doing really well for your age, Elise. I’d like to see the programme too, if you don’t mind company. Donny won’t watch things like that and though he makes a joke of it, I can’t get the remote off him.’

  ‘He sounds like a bully in more ways than one, then.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know where I went wrong with him. I tried so hard to be a good mother. Oh, Elise, I reckon he’s turning into an alcoholic on top of everything else.’

  ‘If he’s drinking heavily, he is an alcoholic already. No one forces him to drink. He chooses to do it. Not your fault, dear. We can’t control the next generation’s lives, let alone the generation after that.’

  ‘They have names for each generation now, but I can never remember which is which.’

  Elise grimaced. ‘It seems like another sort of ageism to me. Generation XYZ and so on. Some people make it sound as if we can’t speak to people from different generations or even live near them. That’s so ridiculous. In the past, the generations have helped one another, with raising children, in sickness, with old age. Turn and turn about throughout life.’

  They sat quietly for a few moments as the opening credits came on, then watched the programme together, after which Ginger went to bed. But though she felt somewhat comforted by her chat with Elise, she lay awake for a long time worrying about what to do next if what her new friend was planning didn’t work out – not to mention worrying about what Donny was doing to her little house and remaining possessions.

  How could you not worry when you were to all intents and purposes homeless – and had lost your son?

  She shed a few silent tears into her pillow. Donny had been such a loving little boy, and bonny too. Now, with his fat face and shaven head, he looked brutal. And acted brutally too.

  Just as Elise was getting ready for bed, headlights raked across her living room window and a big van drew up. Of course, she had to peep through the window to see who it was.

  Him!

  She watched from the darkened room, surprised that Warren Cutler was moving in so late at night. Normally she’d have offered a new neighbour a cup of tea and a piece of cake, but not him. She didn’t know why she’d taken such a dislike to him, but she had.

  There was a tap on the kitchen window at the rear of the house and she slipped through to answer it without putting any of the lights on. Stacy, of course. Who else could it be? And she knew why.

  ‘Come in. Let’s keep our voices down and spy on our new neighbour.’

  ‘I was up late, burnishing a piece,’ Stacy said. ‘Couldn’t resist watching him. Shall I go and offer him a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘If so, don’t include me in the tea party.’

  Stacy looked at her in surprise. ‘There’s an edge to your voice when you talk about him that I’ve never heard before.’

  Elise shrugged. ‘I told you: I didn’t take to him at the interview. He ignored me, treated me as if I didn’t exist. And what’s he doing arriving so late? That’s suspicious, in my not-so-humble opinion.’

  ‘It’s a strange time to move in. Perhaps he had a breakdown on the way here.’

  ‘Nell told me he and his wife were splitting up. Maybe she threw him out.’

  ‘At this hour?’

  Elise shrugged again, trying not to be too unfair. After all, she had only her feelings to go by, not any real facts. And he was a skilled woodcarver. She tried to keep reminding herself of that.

  Ginger came downstairs to join them and the three women stood in the shadows of the darkened living room watching and whispering comments on what he was doing.

  Cutler was on his own. He carried quite a lot of what they presumed were woodworking equipment and supplies into the house. Next came a single bed, some boxes that rattled or clanked, a plastic garden table and chairs, and one threadbare armchair, which he struggled with.

  Then he closed the back doors of the combi-van.

  ‘Is that all the furniture he’s bringing?’ Stacy whispered. ‘He hasn’t got much, has he? What about food? I haven’t seen any signs of that. And he hasn’t got a fridge, either.’

  ‘Well, I’m not offering to lend him anything.’ Elise could hear the sharpness in her voice but couldn’t help it. ‘He’ll probably go out shopping tomorrow for what he needs.’

  ‘He’s done nothing but scowl as he’s carried the stuff in,’ Ginger said suddenly. ‘Perhaps she threw him out before he was ready to leave.’

  To their surprise, after their new neighbour had unloaded his van, it was only a few minutes before he locked up the house and drove off again.

  ‘How strange!’ Elise said. ‘Anyway, I’m going to turn you out now, Stacy. I need some sleep and so does Ginger.’

  The three women separated.

  Ginger lay awake for a while, wondering about the man next door. She’d like to see his art works, to find out what was so special about them.
It wasn’t just curiosity. It could be useful to find out what he was doing right, why the Dennings considered him more likely to be more commercially successful than her.

  She’d decided this morning, lying in bed, just coming awake, that she had to make a huge effort to focus on her embroidery and sewing, really make it her life. She didn’t know what Elise was planning or hoping for as a way of her earning a living, but if it gave her the opportunity to stay on here, she’d do it, whatever it was. And she’d be more focused on her sewing from now on, too.

  That wouldn’t be a hardship. When had she ever been able to concentrate solely on her own needs and wishes? Never, that she could remember. She’d looked after Alan all their married life, raised Donny, worked in cafés, then found herself looking after her son all over again as an adult. And he wasn’t easy these days!

  Now was her time. She sucked in her breath as she saw how she could do an embroidery about a woman’s role over the years. Suddenly she was dying to get to work on it.

  She’d started to feel so much better, so much more ready to fight for the life she longed to lead. From what she’d read, artists and writers rarely had it easy.

  One author had written a blog about what she called the PS factor, to which she ascribed her own success: Persistence and Stubbornness – always with capital letters.

  And a big dash of Selfishness, too, Ginger added mentally. She smiled as she snuggled down. PSS, that would be her own motto from now on.

  Chapter Nine

  The two sisters went and sat at the kitchen table and Abbie spread out the papers that had been in the envelope. They were neatly typed, so her father had probably done them on his computer. His handwriting always looked angry, as if he had slashed the marks down on the page in a temper.

  She wondered suddenly what other information his computer would hold and if they’d be able to get into it.

  Keziah leant forward, trying to see better, so she changed how she was sitting and held the papers so they could both read them.