The Little Cottage in the Country

Anna felt humiliated. Turning to Freddie and Antonia, she put on a brave face. ‘How are you guys doing?’

‘I’m hungry,’ they chimed in unison and a lump rose in her throat. What had she been thinking? At least, in London, she had been able to provide the most basic of care for them: warmth and food. Now, she searched the derelict cottage for any signs of homeliness. It was a shell.

‘Me again,’ Horatio announced, out of puff, as he and Taittinger sidled up to the car and she put the window down once more.

‘I can see that. If you’ve come to gloat, please don’t.’ Her eyes smarted.

‘I didn’t think you’d be pleased.’

She bit back her comment and leapt out of the car, indignation flaring inside her. ‘But we’ll be just fine. So, Mr Horatio Spencer-what’s-it, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me and my children alone, instead of standing their looking on like we’re some sort of entertainment, then that would be most jolly.’ Jolly? Why did she use the word ‘jolly’? Help. Horatio was already rubbing off on her.

‘Jolly,’ repeated Freddie from the back.

Horatio was staring at her intently; maybe too intently. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

‘Listen, about that chat…’ She stared at him incredulously as once again he floundered. Who was this man? ‘I know what it feels like to be suddenly alone.’

‘I am not suddenly alone,’ she said, defensive. ‘I’ve been alone for years.’ Then she smiled, despite herself.

He grinned.

Her heart fluttered at his incredibly sexy smile but she pushed her shoulders back, more determined than ever. She was an independent woman, she said to herself, although she wasn’t entirely convinced at this point in time.

‘Thank you, I really appreciate your help,’ she said with sincerity. She knew she shouldn’t be so stubborn. Her mother’s voice rang around her head: ‘Anna, you are a mule, girl, a mule.’

Despite this, and ignoring the gnawing maternal guilt eating away at her stomach as she glanced in the rear-view mirror at her children giggling at Freddie’s burping-on-demand, she said, ‘We’ll be just fine.’

He plucked a fountain pen from his jacket pocket and a gilt-edged card from another pocket. Horatio suddenly looked like an ad for some ridiculous shop on Bond Street where the rich bought diamond-encrusted hip flasks because they could. Writing quickly, he passed her the card and tilted his riding hat with his forefinger, bidding her farewell. ‘Goodbye… Oh, I never got your name.’

‘Anna,’ she said frostily.

‘Anna. Like Anna Karenina.’ He laughed. ‘Same fighting spirit.’

‘Anna Compton.’

Anna hated coming across as the damsel in distress, but she was beginning to wonder if she had taken on too much. The cottage did not in any way match up to the idyll she had concocted in her head. She shook away her doubts. No, her aunt had left it to her and it was meant to be. She would make the most of it.

She refocused on Horatio who, she noticed, looked vaguely amused.

‘Right, well, Anna Compton. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.’ He clucked at the horse and Taittinger obligingly followed his owner down the hill.

‘Like Anna Compton,’ she muttered. ‘Idiot and hopeless mother.’ A tear made its way down her cheek and she brushed it away. She had to be strong or, at least, find the nearest shop and buy food for the kids and Sauvignon Blanc for herself. It was the only way. She looked at her children in the back and they smiled. She wondered if it was possible to love two little people any more than she did in that moment.

‘OK, it’s all going to be OK.’ She smiled unconvincingly.

‘I’m hungry,’ said Antonia.

‘Me too,’ said Freddie.

‘Me three,’ Anna joined in. ‘OK, let’s go and see our home.’

Anna helped them out of the car and held their hands, one child either side of her, as they approached the cottage. She let go of Freddie’s hand as she retrieved the key from her pocket and slid it into the lock. As she pushed open the squeaky door, she was hit by a musty smell and dust danced in the air at the disturbance. The three of them stared wide-eyed at the sitting room. All the furniture was in place, as if Aunt Florence had just upped and left. Anna was flooded with memories of childhood summers spent here long ago and she remembered how magical Primrose Cottage had appeared then. She had always thought she and Aunt Flo were kindred spirits and knew it was through utter generosity that she had been left the small cottage and half acre of land. Why oh why, then, was she unable to get rid of the niggling doubt in the pit of her stomach? A little voice in her head was telling her she couldn’t do this; that the whole notion of idyllic country living had been barmy and out of her reach. She was washed afresh with guilt as she glanced down at her suddenly innocent and angelic-looking children: what sort of awful mother drags their children away from the safety of their – albeit incredibly poky and mold-ridden – flat, in a beaten-up Nissan Micra, with barely more than a handful of crushed, ready-salted Hula Hoops at the bottom of her tote bag? Anna Compton, that was who.

Taking Freddie’s hand again, she led them carefully through to the kitchen. She caught sight of the cream Aga and the quarry-tile floor, now thick with dust, the shelves covered in cobwebs, feeling hope for the first time that day. Maybe they would be OK after all. It just needed a good spring-clean and the help of a handyman. She would make it cosy…

An almighty crash came from outside and she let go of Freddie and Antonia, told them to stay put and ran to the open front door. Her car had rolled forward into an old chicken hut. She hadn’t put the sodding handbrake on, she thought, all because that stupid man had put her off.

She felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down. Freddie gazed up at her, looked outside, and smiled. ‘Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’

She pulled them towards her and nodded, sniffling. ‘Yep, Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’

Anna realised then that she was still holding the card the Horatio person had given her. She read the address. It wasn’t so much an address. Well, not the kind that required a postcode. It read: Ridley Manor.

The Chicken Hut

Half an hour later, Anna was still staring helplessly at her car.

‘Mummy, the car is hurt,’ Antonia chimed in for the billionth time.

‘Yes, it is,’ she said, pushing down the lump in her throat. ‘Right, Mummy’s going to back the car out of the chicken house.’ She wondered momentarily if those words had ever been uttered before, and then bent down to the twins. ‘Listen, you two, Mummy has made a big mistake. I’m going to make a call to Diane and see if we can have a sleepover at hers tonight.’

‘Whoo,’ Freddie said, beaming. ‘Love sleepovers at Auntie Dee-Dee’s.’

Diane, Anna’s best friend, lived in an even grottier flat than her own in Hammersmith, but she did have three bedrooms. Anna grabbed her mobile from her back pocket and started to make the call. It beeped twice at her and she swore under her breath.

‘How can there be no signal? We’re on the top of a bloody mountain.’

‘Mummy.’

Anna glanced at Antonia. ‘Sorry.’

‘OK, um, you two…’ She turned and looked around the front room. ‘You two can watch CBeebies. OK? Mummy needs to sort a few things out.’ She was grateful she had downloaded various programmes last week onto her phone.

Anna instructed them to sit at the base of the stairs and to keep their coats on until she had managed to warm the house up. She flicked the light switch by the front door but nothing happened. Her face crumpled and she willed herself to be strong, trying to ignore the nostalgic yearning she suddenly felt for London.

The sound of laughter outside snapped her back to reality and, with the twins grinning happily at the sound of Postman Pat prancing around the screen, she headed outside.

Horatio stood by the chicken shed, a plastic bag in his hand, shining a torch at her car, wedged thickly in the chicken hut.

‘Hi,’ Anna said. ‘Something funny?’ She arched a brow.

His grin disappeared, but even in the dim light she could see his shoulders gently shaking. ‘I got Mary, my um… Anyway, I got her to cook you some…’ He stopped talking, offering her the bag. When she didn’t immediately take it, he ploughed on. ‘To put some food together for you. Should still be hot.’

Anna was torn between unadulterated happiness at the thought of food (she could at least ensure her children wouldn’t starve tonight and wished there was a bottle of wine in there too), and her pride.

She went with the latter. ‘We’ll head out to a shop in a minute or two. I just need to do a couple of things…’ Anna attempted her best haughty look, aiming for something reminiscent of Keira Knightley in Pride and Prejudice.

‘Like remove your car from the chicken hut?’ he suggested. She scowled. ‘Well, you have to admit it’s quite funny that I’ve only been gone for an hour and, in that time, you’ve managed to demolish a chicken hut and, by the looks of it, the front end of your car has seen better days.’

‘Please go away, Mr…’ She stopped, tried to remember which of his names had been his surname. ‘We’ll be leaving in the morning, so I thank you for your, um, help today but we won’t be needing your services any more.’ She realised now she had taken the Austen-scripting too far and was grateful it was now almost entirely dark and he couldn’t see her blush. It was funny, the whole situation was hilarious, and if she had been back in London, in the warmth, with fed, happy children, she would have laughed uproariously. Only she wasn’t. Right now, she wanted the ground to swallow her whole, because what kind of woman managed to send a car through the back end of a chicken hut.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘take the food. Stop being so proud. At least, make sure your children have something to eat tonight. Nothing’s open around here now. The nearest Waitrose is forty minutes away in Cirencester and it’ll be shut now.’ He pushed the food in her direction again. ‘I’ll see if I can get your car out of here.’

‘I’m sure I can do it.’

‘I’m sure you can, but why don’t you go and get the children fed?’

As if on cue, she heard their voices inside. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’

She remembered the lights. Oh crumbs, they were sitting in the dark. ‘The lights, they don’t work.’

‘Are you sure?’ Horatio asked.

Clenching her fists, she thought she was pretty sure she could send something else through the chicken hut, in the form of a grown man. ‘No, I’m not sure, as we didn’t have electricity in London. I’m a dab hand with candles, though.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I’m sure, I tried the light switch.’

‘OK, come on then,’ he said, pointedly ignoring her comment and shining the torch towards the house as he walked up the path. ‘Mind how you step.’

‘Hello, you two,’ he said to the twins standing at the front door.

‘Mummy, I hate the dark,’ Antonia said.

‘Me too,’ Freddie said. ‘I hate, hate the dark.’

‘Since when have you hated the dark, Freddie?’ Anna said, thinking back to the number of times she had asked Freddie not to turn all the lights out in the flat, despite his protests that ninjas worked best at night.

‘Now. Cos you brung us to here.’

Anna went to correct his grammar but, aware of Horatio standing feet from them, fumbling around at the back of the room, she told Freddie he should view it as an adventure, and he jumped up, ninja-like, on cue. Seconds later, the front room was flooded with light.

‘There you are,’ Horatio said, standing from a kneeling position by the cupboard. ‘Electricity was off.’

‘Oh.’ Anna avoided his eye. ‘Thanks.’

He smiled. ‘Have you got plates? If not, Mary put some plastic picnic plates and so on in there.’

‘Thank you,’ she said again, imagining Mary’s perfectly manicured hands daintily holding a glass of sherry as she asked him to pop round to ‘the poor’ with yesterday’s leftovers.

‘You serve up and I’ll get the car out.’ He nodded, breaking the awkward tension that had descended on the room.

She knew she should say more but she was tired and…

And… Antonia had just head-butted her brother for apparently no reason at all.

‘OK, you two, stop. I know you’re exhausted. Come and sit in the other room. I’ll get the heating on.’ She had spotted the boiler earlier and offered a silent prayer to the Plumbing Gods that it was working. The children followed her through to the kitchen and she pressed the ON button. The boiler clinked and clanked loudly and Freddie laughed happily.

‘Farty-farty noise,’ he said, and Antonia, forgetting the latest battle, started giggling.

The old pipes creaked into action and Anna sighed with relief. She set the children up at the dusty farmhouse table and opened Horatio’s offering. Three Tupperware containers held a delicious-smelling beef stew and smooth potato mash, and there was a Nigella-Lawson-Standard (a place Anna hoped to occupy one day) apple crumble for afters. She beamed when she saw the bottle of wine.

Anna retrieved the plastic plates and spooned the food out. Freddie’s cheeks glowed pink as he ate and Antonia smacked her lips with delight. The kitchen had started to warm and she thought they might survive the night after all. They had bedding in the car and she would set the twins up on Aunt Flo’s old bed. She took out the bottle of Merlot and twisted the cap off, pouring generously into a plastic wine glass. She noticed that there were, in fact, two wine glasses. She couldn’t imagine why Horatio’s wife would encourage him to take a strange woman wine and then help her drink it. Then again, anyone who owned a horse called Taittinger and was married to someone as supercilious as Horatio must have had some sort of crisis.

Anna knew she was being unfair, but she was tired, cold and fed up. She hated looking desperate, even though she hadn’t felt this out of her depth in a long time.

‘OK?’ she asked the twins.

They nodded, mouths full of food. Anna turned at the sound of Horatio clearing his throat.

‘Car’s out. Left-hand side has taken a bit of a beating but otherwise it’s in good working order.’

‘It can join the other dents,’ she said and, another glug of wine later, smiled. It wasn’t his fault he spoke the way he did or that she had made the huge mistake of even coming to the countryside. ‘Thank you and please thank your wife for the food. It’s the happiest I’ve seen them all day.’ She nodded towards the children.

‘My pleasure but…’

‘Mummy, Freddie ate my food.’

Anna turned her attention to her son. ‘Don’t eat your sister’s food.’

‘I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to get in the way,’ Horatio said, moving towards the door. ‘Let me know if you need anything, like I said before.’

‘Thanks, but we won’t be staying.’ She followed him to the front door, carrying her glass and the bottle. ‘It was silly of me to think we could make a go of this. I blindly brought my two young children to the middle of nowhere.’ She frowned. ‘I may not be a perfect mother but it doesn’t seem fair on them.’

Horatio nodded. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He looked at her in earnest. He paused briefly and said, ‘I thought a lot of your aunt.’ He looked regretful. ‘But maybe you’re right, maybe it’s for the best.’

Anna ignored his last comment. ‘You knew her?’ She supposed he would have, but she hadn’t really thought about it.

‘Very well.’ He smiled. ‘She would often come up to the house.’ He gave a small shake of his head. ‘My parents’ house,’ he corrected himself. ‘And she would chat with me. She talked of you often.’

‘She did?’ Anna felt a pang of sadness.

‘Yes, she was very proud of you.’ He looked as if he wanted to say more but stopped himself. ‘I know it’s none of my business but the house is on its last legs.’ He looked around him. ‘Maybe you could rent locally instead?’

‘I can’t. It’s either this or nothing. My aunt left me this house, otherwise I’d be stuck back in London in my poky flat.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you have children?’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, then you’ll know how hard it can be at times, but the difference is you can talk to your wife about it. But try imagining what it would be like doing this kind of thing by yourself with no one to voice your concerns to.’

‘Like what?’ he said. ‘It looks like you’re coping just fine.’

‘Like, um…’ Her head had started to grow fuzzy with the wine and she found herself flicking through the parental-disaster book she stored at the back of her mind. ‘So, um…’ She drank deeply again. ‘Like sending your little boy to school with his lunchbox, only to get a call from his school about its contents.’

‘Contents?’

‘His teacher wanted to know why I had sent him to school with a Nicorette patch, a Weight Watchers milkshake and the last of the Christmas liqueur chocolates.’ He laughed and she pouted. ‘All of that, in a sodding Thomas the Tank Engine lunchbox. I mean, there’s probably some government health warning about mothers like me.’

‘I bet yours was nice, though.’

‘What?’

‘Your lunch.’

‘Yeah, I got the corned beef sandwich and Penguin, but that’s not the point. So you’ve got to understand, Mr Spencer…’ She had downed the remainder of the glass of wine and it was giving her that joyous feeling of confidence and control. She refilled it quickly, slurped some more and continued. ‘I think I was really selfish coming here. Maybe I didn’t really think about what I was taking them away from. I mean, we had a pretty poky flat in London but it was still home, you know? They were just about to start at a local school… but it was a crap one. That was when I knew we had to move, when the children didn’t get into their first choice and Simon, that’s my ex, started giving me a hard time and…’ Her eyes smarted with tears. ‘You see? It’s not fair. And then you – yeah, you – come along all hoity-toity on top of a horse called Taittinger. I mean, seriously? And then you stand there and laugh at my predicament.’ She drank deeply again. ‘I mean, you can’t just stand there and laugh at a woman’s predicament. Well, you can, but it’s not on.’ Oh bugger, she was bulldozing. That’s what her mother called it. In other words, she had lost the ability to stop talking.

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ he said kindly, appearing to have lost his la-dee-dah extra bits like the ‘yahs’ and the ‘jolly-whatsits’. ‘And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was kind of hoping you’d start laughing too.’ When she didn’t answer, he asked gently, ‘Do you work?’

She found his kindness touching and yet she didn’t want to break down in front of a total stranger.

‘I’m a journalist.’

‘Wow.’ His eyes widened with what would appear to be genuine admiration. ‘Are you going to work for someone locally?’

‘No, I’m freelancing for The Post.’ Anna laughed. ‘A London newspaper. My boss, Barry, wants to get the lowdown on moving to the countryside.’

Horatio smiled. ‘That sounds like you might have to stick it out then, but…’ He paused. ‘Maybe not here.’

‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think we should leave the village altogether. If it’s not here, I have to go. I can’t afford to rent around here.’

‘I haven’t known you for more than five minutes, but I’d quite like to get to know you, if you did stay in the area.’

‘Anyone would think you’re determined we’re not going to stay in this cottage!’

He looked embarrassed and concentrated his gaze on the floor. ‘No, it’s just that…’

She smiled. ‘Listen, you’re probably right, I should head back to London.’

She gave him a small smile and glanced up at him through a blur of tears and, fearing she might cry, looked away again. ‘Listen, thank you for today.’ She paused. ‘We’d better get an early night. Head back tomorrow. Stay with my friend.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘My friend Diane’s.’

Anna pushed the minor detail of her friend not even knowing of her plan to the back of her mind. Diane would never turn them away.

‘Where does she live?’

‘London.’

He nodded slowly.

‘I made a mistake coming here.’

A shadow appeared to pass across his features. ‘Anna, I don’t know how to tell you this… What I’ve been trying to say, but badly is…’

She furrowed her brows, interrupting him. ‘Why do you look so serious?’

‘When your aunt died, this house actually rightfully became part of my family’s property again.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Or, at least, that’s the message I was given by my mother. I’m looking into it, but, to be honest, it’s news to me too.’

She stood, unmoving, her mouth slightly gaping. Eventually she spoke. ‘No, I’m afraid there’s a mistake. My aunt owned it through and through.’

‘I’m afraid that, for whatever reason, my father gave your aunt this cottage, but it was with the proviso that we retained ownership of it.’

She gritted her teeth, her heart hammering. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Mr Horatio, but you’re wrong and you’re going to have to leave.’ She stared at him defiantly, her tongue moving fast around her mouth. ‘NOW.’

He nodded and shifted, turning on his heels. ‘Look, I will talk to my mother again. I don’t agree with it, I just want you to know that.’

Anna shook with anger. ‘Get out.’

He nodded, looked at the doormat. ‘You know there’s a letter there for you.’

Anna followed his gaze to the mound of catalogues and unopened mail to her aunt. Sure enough, there was a letter addressed to her. Anna put the glass and bottle unsteadily on the floor and picked it up, frowning.

‘It’s my aunt’s writing,’ she murmured.

Anna ran her forefinger along the breadth of the envelope and pulled out a gold chain with a heart-shaped locket, a letter on cream Manila paper and a notebook. She read quickly, mindlessly caressing the locket.

‘All OK?’ Horatio said eventually.

She looked up, confused. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Are you sure?’ Horatio furrowed his brows. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale.’

‘Yes, please go,’ she said firmly and moved towards the door, opening it.

‘OK.’ He stood on the doorstep, his face twisting with regret and hurt.

‘It’s just a shock to receive something from my aunt.’ Anna indicated the bundle and the chain. The locket twirled in the glow of the naked bulb.

A throaty rumble built in his throat. ‘Anna,’ he started and, catching her look, shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, never mind.’ He gave her a small, hopeful smile. ‘I’ll talk to mother. See what I can do.’

She shut the door and leant against the rough wood. Opening the letter once more, she mumbled aloud her aunt’s short note to her.

‘Dearest Anna, I’m sending this from the hospital. I didn’t tell you about the cancer because I didn’t want to concern you. Please don’t be cross. I’m an old lady who’s had a good innings. It’s time for me to go. By now, you will have arrived at Primrose Cottage. She’s yours. You’re probably thinking of leaving already (I know how much like me you are and don’t take this as a criticism), only I’m asking that you give her a chance. I didn’t have the energy to do much over the last couple of years. She is magical and the children and you will be very happy there.’

Anna paused, biting down on her lips as warm, salty tears coursed down her cheeks. She berated herself for her own selfishness. She should have been there for her.

‘Please stay, do her up with the small amount of money I’ve left you and be happy. In return, I ask you to do me one favour. I’ve been keeping this diary for many years, ever since I moved to Primrose Cottage. I’d like you to read it. I wanted to tell you my story but I was too afraid you would judge me for what I did. The Spencervilles at Ridley Manor will no doubt introduce themselves to you. Just tread carefully. It gives me comfort to think someone will know my secret and, hopefully, forgive me.’