Kate's Progress (5 page)

There wasn’t much to moving in. All Kate’s belongings – mostly books and clothes – were put in boxes, and she’d taken the opportunity to have a bit of a clear-out and thin the stuff down a bit anyway. The charity shops had a happy day. The flat she shared with the girls was furnished, so she had to buy a few bits to tide her over. She and Jess had a nice time going round Ikea and picking out what she would need. She bought a flat-pack bed, chest of drawers, bedside lamp, kitchen table and two wooden chairs, a cane sofa for relaxing on, crockery and cutlery, cooking implements, a couple of saucepans, electric kettle, frying pan and a casserole dish.

‘It adds up, doesn’t it?’ Kate said, slightly dismayed to realize that even the minimum one needed to survive on made quite a large heap. Jess thought she hadn’t got nearly enough, and kept urging her to further purchases. Kate was easily able to resist the parlour palm in a pot, the ‘gorgeous’ light fittings, the ‘cute’ candelabrum, the glass-topped coffee table; but she did see the point of the bale of three cheerfully-coloured woven cotton rugs. ‘You can’t walk about on bare floorboards for six months!’ Jess cried. ‘You must have
something
, even if just by your bedside.’

Kate was too excited about the adventure to feel more than a brief pang as she said goodbye to the girls and climbed into her overloaded car at the crack of dawn to drive down to her new home. The weather was springlike, the sky changeable, with large, watery-looking clouds bowling across the pale blue, gleams of sunshine between them, and one or two brief showers on the way down. There were lambs in the fields, mostly too busy eating to frisk, but charming none the less, and the trees were all in new leaf. A new start, she thought, a new life, and no more of the old mistakes: I’m going to be strong, independent, and happy from now on.

She had to stop in Taunton to collect the keys, and that was the first hitch in the smoothness of the day, because she couldn’t find her way around the town, the traffic was diabolical, and she couldn’t see anywhere to park. In the end was obliged to park at the station, which she
could
find, and take a taxi to the estate agent’s – an annoying expense when she was committed to saving every penny. But she took the opportunity to do a shop at Morrison’s, which was conveniently close to the station, and told herself that the groceries would be cheaper there and probably make up for the taxi fare.

She passed through several heavy showers on the way from Taunton to Bursford, but as she turned at last into School Lane the rain stopped, though the clouds were still gathered frowningly. By rights, she thought, there should have been a Cecil B. DeMille column of sunlight poking through them to spotlight the cottage as she drew up. But, no, it sat there, looking dreary in its tangle of neglected garden, and somehow smaller than she remembered. The door had swollen with the recent damp, and was stuck, so she had to wrestle it open; and inside everything looked dingy, bare and decidedly unwelcoming.

Stupid, she told herself. Of course it was bare. And dingy was what she was here to change. She dismissed the image of the sitting room back at the flat, with the big saggy sofa and the gas fire roaring and the girls chatting over mugs of hot chocolate. It was the depths of feebleness to feel daunted in the first minute of the first day! She started carting in her boxes and the bags of groceries. Ikea would be delivering most of her stuff that afternoon, and she would have a busy time making up the flat packs.

Her stomach grumbling told her it was past time for lunch, so she got out the sandwich and apple she had bought at Morrison’s, found the electric kettle and a mug, and ate sitting on a box of books, for want of anywhere else. Until her furniture arrived there wasn’t much she could do by way of unpacking, so while she waited she amused herself by going round the house and renewing her plans in her head.

The four-hour delivery slot crawled past, and the van didn’t arrive. She went out into the garden and hung over the gate, wondering what on earth she would do if it didn’t come, leaving her with no bed to sleep on. She supposed she’d have to go and find a hotel room – more extra expense!

It was almost dark when at last she saw the top of a white van labouring up the hill, and she waved to it vigorously and beckoned it on.

‘We’re a bit late,’ the driver’s mate said, jumping down and looking around him with an air of astonishment that anyone could want to live in a place like this. ‘Got lost. Couldn’t find the place.’

‘But it’s easy,’ Kate protested. ‘Just one turning off the main road. Didn’t you have a map?’

The driver had got down too and came over. ‘Map?’ he said derisively. ‘We don’t do maps.’

‘Satnav,’ said the non-driver. ‘Had us going the wrong way to start with. Burford instead of Bursford. And there’s no School Lane.’

‘There is. You’re in it,’ Kate said.

‘Not on satnav,’ the driver said firmly. It was clear that when reality and satnav clashed, it was all reality’s fault. ‘Had to stop and ask someone,’ he concluded with an air of outrage. A man should never have to ask directions. That was in the Constitution.

‘Well, you’re here now,’ Kate said soothingly. ‘Better late than never.’

‘Going back in the dark, round all them lanes,’ the driver sniffed. ‘Back o’ beyond, this.’

‘Better get this stuff out,’ the non-driver said.

‘Make us a cuppa tea, eh?’ the driver urged. ‘Two sugars.’

It was late by the time Kate had the bed put together and made up: the rest would have to wait until the next day. She was hungry, extremely dirty (everything she touched seemed to have a layer of grime over it) and somewhat depressed. The cottage, far from looking like home, seemed cold and comfortless, and the black night outside, unbroken by any artificial lights, seemed to press against the windows in a hostile and threatening way. It was utterly silent, too, and she felt as if she was all alone in the world.
What have I done
? she asked herself bleakly.

Burned your boats, that’s what
, she answered herself.

She was stuck here, in this horrible place, far from her friends and the comforts of civilization. She could have spent Gaga’s money on a world cruise, the bright lights, generally having a fabulous time; but no, she had to be a sensible cow and
invest
it in property – and such a property!

Well, one thing was sure, she couldn’t crawl back with her tail between her legs. Pride wouldn’t allow. And besides, she told herself briskly, it’s just the first night, for goodness sake! Don’t be so feeble. You’re bound to feel disorientated the first night. And you’re hungry. She really didn’t feel like cooking, and not in that kitchen, until she had scrubbed it from end to end –
and
in daylight, so she could see what she was doing. So she opened a tin of soup and heated that up, and had it with some bread and cheese.

And what a good job that she had thought to put a couple of bottles of wine in when she did the Morrison’s shop! She had a glass or two, sitting cross-legged on her new sofa and watching something mindless on her little portable television, and felt a lot more normal. But when she fell into bed at last, it took her a long time to get off to sleep, because of the silence outside.

Things seemed a bit better in daylight. Not that the cottage looked less grim, but at least it felt more familiar the second day, and as she walked about with a mug of tea in her hand, she began to feel the pleasure of ownership, and visualized what it would look like when she had finished it. Outside the sun was shining fitfully between the clouds, and sunshine always gave everything a more cheerful aspect. She went out into the garden to look out across the moors, and the first thing she saw was a group of ponies walking along the track behind her cottage. Wild ponies, like zebra, lived in maternal groups, a dominant mare with a couple of sisters or daughters and any of their foals. This was a group of five, two of them looking very pregnant. You could tell the boss mare because she had the biggest bottom, and she gave Kate a stern look from under her bushy forelock as they passed. They turned off the track further along on to a sheep-trod, and plodded away through the heather, leaving Kate feeling it was a good omen.
I’m going to like it here
, she told herself.

While eating breakfast she phoned the girls to say she was safely arrived and settling in; then telephoned to order a skip; and then washed up her plate and mug and made a start. First she had to put together the rest of the furniture, and unpack her things. She put in a solid morning’s work, then, with a sense of achievement, stepped outside to get a breath of air.

A woman was in the garden of the next house along. She was plumpish, with short blonde hair growing out at the roots, and was dressed in pink leggings and a mauve top. She was hanging washing on the line: a large number of blue and checked shirts, and pairs of jeans, from which Kate deduced she had a husband – a tall one, from the size of them.

Kate watched the shirts waving their arms in the breeze a moment, and called out, ‘Good drying day!’

The woman started and looked round, and her face instantly creased into a friendly smile.

‘Oooh, I didn’t see you there. You gave me a start.’ She came over to the dividing wall with an air of being ever ready to exchange housework for a chat. ‘I heard Little’s was let, but I never saw a moving van. When did you come?’

‘Yesterday. The van got lost, so it was after dark when it got here. I’m Kate, by the way – Kate Jennings.’

‘Karen Tonkin,’ she said, and they shook hands.

‘But it’s not let,’ Kate added. ‘I bought it.’

‘Bought it? Well, I never! Doing it up, are you?’

‘That’s right. I’m doing most of the work myself. Luckily my father’s a builder and he taught me everything.’

‘What, decorating and that?’

‘And pulling down walls, and carpentry, and repointing.’

‘Well, you must be a useful person to know,’ Karen said with a grin. ‘My Darren’s not much of a handyman, which is queer, given he’s an engineer by trade. My husband,’ she amplified. ‘Karen and Darren – we didn’t half get the piss taken when we first started going out. He calls me Kay, though. Most people call me Kay. There, I’m Kay and you’re Kate – we could be sisters! So you’re doing up the old cottage? Terrible state it must be in, never been touched in donkey’s years, and poor old Margie Brown all on her own in there all that time, after her old man died.’ She wrinkled her nose, and then frowned as she worked something out. ‘But you’re never living there? Not while you’re doing it?’

Kate nodded. ‘I have to. Can’t afford any other way.’

‘Oh my lor!’ She seemed quite struck with the idea. ‘And pulling down walls? The dust! However will you keep anything clean?’

‘Well, for the moment I’ve got all my stuff upstairs, sleeping in one bedroom and using the other for a sitting room, while I work downstairs. When I’ve finished that, I’ll swap over, live downstairs and work up.’

‘Still, it’ll be that dirty! And it don’t sound very comfortable. You poor toad! Listen, any time you want to come over ours and sit with us, you just do.’

‘You’re very kind,’ Kate said, really touched. The woman hadn’t known her two minutes.

‘Never. I’d have it on my conscience, thinking of you up there all alone,’ she said warmly. ‘Got to look out for each other in this world, haven’t you? You had your lunch?’

‘I was just stopping for it.’

‘Well, come and have something with me. No, go on, you’re all right! I like a bit of company.’

‘Well, thank you,’ Kate said. ‘And perhaps you can tell me something about the place.’

‘Glad to. You don’t need to encourage me to talk. Darren says my tongue runs on wheels. I love a bit of gossip, me.’

In the kitchen, which was warm and bright and smelled of washing powder, they sat at the table and ate baked beans on toast and, as promised, Kay talked with Olympic fluency.

‘I was surprised when you said you’d bought Little’s, because that’s part of the estate. The Blackmore estate. Most of the land round here’s Blackmore’s – owned most of the village, too, at one time, back in history. Very old family round these parts, the Blackmores. I never thought they’d sell, especially with it so hard to find rented places these days.’

‘Why is the cottage called Little’s?’ Kate asked.

‘Cos the Littles lived in it. Generations of ’em. Worked for the estate, lived in that cottage. Even Margie – Mrs Brown, the old lady that lived there last – she was a Little before she married.’ She took a mouthful of tea. ‘When my mum was a kid, the Littles that lived there then, they had six kids.’

‘Six!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘How on earth did they all fit in?’

‘Fact!’ Kay nodded. ‘’Course, that was before Sir George put the bathroom in – Sir George Blackmore – so they had three bedrooms then. Still …’

Yes, still …
Kate thought, and imagined washing six kids in a tin bath in the kitchen. ‘So you’re a local girl?’

‘Born and bred in Bursford. My dad worked for the estate, and my mum’s dad ran the Royal Oak – you know, the pub in the village? Darren’s not from round here, though. He’s a foreigner. He’s from Watchet.’ She smiled as she said it, but Kate knew that it both was and wasn’t a joke. Watchet was over on the coast, a good fifteen or sixteen miles away – another world. ‘He works at the paper mill there.’

‘How did you come to meet him?’

‘It was the shooting,’ Kay said. ‘There’s always big parties come down here in the autumn and winter for the shooting. I was working in the Blue Ball, waitress and chambermaid – I went straight into it from school, being in the blood, sort of, with my grandad being in the trade, so to speak. You get good tips when these rich types come down from London for the drives, and it makes lots of extra work for everybody, so that’s all good. Couldn’t go on without the shooting.’

Kate was interested. ‘So that’s like an extra tourist season for you?’

‘Fact,’ said Kay. ‘Make more money in the winter than the summer round here. And not just for the pubs and hotels and B&Bs and all that, but they always need beaters and pickers-up as well. That’s what Darren come over from Watchet for, weekends, to make a bit of extra cash, and that’s how we met. At the Blue Ball we give the beaters and pickers-up a meal at the end of the day, in the big barn at the back, and I was helping serve it one weekend, and there he was. Sort of love at first sight.’