Jenny really missed Granny. She pulled up
outside the cottage and her five year old car looked shiny and new against
Granny’s overgrown home and garden. In the grey, November light, it all looked
so faded.
Jenny pulled out the keys and went around to
the porch. It needed painting, but the hardest thing was the locked door. It
had never been locked when Granny was alive. The paint may have been peeling a
little as Granny faded, but there had always been a fire in the stove in the
kitchen, and tea in the pot, and if Granny knew you were coming she would have
baked scones, soft and fluffy and full of sultanas.
The lock was stiff, but Jenny managed to
turn it and go into the cold kitchen. She’d been in a few times to air the
place out, but it wasn’t the same. The crocheted throw on the little nursing
chair that had been Granny’s favourite was damp and grey with dust. The
curtains sagged and cobwebs straggled around the window frames.
Jenny took a breath. It was hers now, to
the utter fury of her stepmother. Granny had pottered along, seemingly ageless,
until she had a fall, which took her to hospital, and she had never come out. After
the funeral, Jenny was shocked to find that Granny had owned a lot more than
the cottage and had been quietly collecting rents on the fields around for many
years. There was plenty of money for renovations and updates, though Jenny kept
that away from her stepmother.
Granny had told her, before she fell into
her final sleep, “You need to do it up, my girl. Get some new curtains, and
that sofa has had its day. I daresay the stove will do a bit longer, but the
bed is on its last legs and the carpets are almost threads. You get what you
want, love, but be careful in the garden.”
Jenny paused by the window. Damp was
speckling at the corners and the panes were cold to touch. The garden had been
Granny’s pride and joy. Jenny had spent many happy, sunlit hours alongside her
as they weeded, planted, pruned, pricked out and harvested. They had pulled
caterpillars off the cabbages and fed them to Granny’s hens, placed pots of
mint among the tomatoes and sage between the cabbages and sprayed soapy water over
the aphids. In the rambling, purposeful garden, only one spot stayed immune
from Granny. “You leave that bit alone, my girl.” Granny had warned. “Never
touch it, never prune it. That’s the heart of the garden and it minds itself.”
Jenny had been fascinated by the small stand
of hazel and wild rose near the gate, mingling with overgrown hawthorn from the
hedge and quite impenetrable. She had never gone near it, though. It had been important
to Granny, and, besides, Jenny had always been so busy. There had been the hens
to feed, the garden to tend, the stove to clean, firewood and coal to stack up,
cakes to bake, and, best of all, sitting in the shade of the garden, with Granny,
listening to her stories while they knitted. Sometimes Granny would tell
stories of years ago, like when the old lord had a manor here and he lost a bet
with the local smith and had to pay a wagon of hay to every farmer. Sometimes
it would be gossip about Him Down the Road and what he said at the Post Office
and who had punched him for it. Sometimes it would be stories of fairies and
goblins and why it was a good thing to have the swathes of honeysuckle that
tumbled over the wall in heaped drifts.
Jenny was shaken out of her memories by a
car pulling up. It was large, black and shiny and the man who got out was
unfamiliar. He was slim, slightly balding and his cold eyes had an unnerving air
of assurance. She made sure she had her phone with her as she went out onto the
porch.
“Miss Smith? I’m Richard Simpson. I
believe you refused our offer for the cottage and the land surrounding.”
“I don’t want to sell.” Jenny said
quietly.
“May I come in?” Richard asked.
Jenny shook her head. “I don’t want to waste
your time.”
A flicker of irritation crossed Richard’s
face. “This is not a place for a young girl.” He said. “It needs thousands
spending on the house to make it up to code. You do know that I could call in
inspectors to check whether everything is as it should be, don’t you? I daresay
that place hasn’t had its wiring checked since…”
“It’s fine.” Jenny said.
“And if there are issues with drainage, or
the correct licensing on the fields, you could find yourself with extremely
large fines.” Richard waved his hands towards the Thompson farm. “And you would
be responsible for anything amiss on your tenants’ land.”
Jenny was fairly sure that the Thompsons
were up to no good. They were always up to no good, and Granny had warned her
never to ask questions as long as they paid their rent on time. “I’m sure it’s
all under control.”
“Right now we have a very reasonable offer
on the table, but it’s reducing all the time, and, in the end, it may not cover
all the fines that may be pinned on you.” Richard smiled. “Why don’t I come
inside and we can discuss things reasonably.” He looked around. “It may have
all your memories but keeping a place like this takes a lot more work than you
would believe, and it would be a shame to see it all fall apart. The memories
would be there, but then you would have the memories of the garden being
overgrown or the house falling down and draining the little money you have.” He
would have patted Jenny’s shoulder paternally but she flinched back. “Why don’t
we just talk?”
“Please leave.” Jenny said, hating how her
voice sounded small and frightened.
Richard shook his head. “If you feel this
nervous about a respectable businessman visiting in broad daylight, imagine how
you would feel when it’s dark and there is an unexpected knock on the door. It
could be tricky for a young girl out here on her own. Have you really thought
this through?”
Jenny swallowed. “I think…” Her voice cracked
and she tried to clear it. She had to be assertive. There was no-one else around.
There was a rustle from the hazel trees and
a young man strode out. His dark hair was tousled and unkempt and the rough trousers
with the collarless shirt and waistcoat looked out of place, but his clear grey
eyes were sparking fire and he strode up to Richard without hesitation. “The lady
said you should leave. So leave now.”
“I don’t know who you are, but this young
woman and I…”
“She’s a lady. And she told you to
leave. Last warning, you heed my words!”
“This is my business, not yours.” Richard
said.
The stranger grabbed Richard by the front
of his expensive shirt and stared hard into his eyes. “I can see all your
little secrets, all your dark places, all your fears.” He grinned wickedly. “Which
should I release first?” He let go and Richard stumbled back.
Jenny watched, horrified, as all the
colour drained from Richard’s face. He shook his head. “I paid them off. It’s
all over. No-one knows.”
The stranger stepped forward. “I know. And
I could keep it my little secret, or I could tell the world. What do you think?
Are you going to leave like the lady asked?”
They watched as Richard jumped into his
car, spun around and raced up the track, swaying wildly.
The stranger looked at Jenny. “You can
call me Rob.” He grinned. “It’s not my name, but it will do. Your Granny told
us about you. She said you’d take over and look after us.” He looked around the
little patch. “We owe her. She found a few of us in a poacher’s trap made of iron
and she set us free, without asking anything for it.”
“She always had a kind heart.” Jenny
smiled sadly. “And she would never ask anything for helping someone.”
“So we owe her, and we promised we would
look after her and hers.” Rob said. “As long as you stay kind.”
Jenny remembered all the stories Granny
told her. “I’ll stay away from your home.” She said. “And I’ll let you know the
news, and if I’m making changes.”
Rob had a devilish smile. “Your Granny
said you would have to do a lot of building if you were going to stay. We won’t
interfere too much. And if you’re planning on staying, you’ll want to settle
down.” He nodded to a farm worker coming up from Holly Farm to see what the car
was about. “He should do you pretty well. And don’t forget – keep the
honeysuckle.” And he laughed, walking backwards towards the hazel, until
suddenly he was part of it, fading and twisting, and then he was gone.
