Kitty's Countryside Dream (13 page)

‘I'm feeling really tired. My mind is active but my body just won't move. If I'm like this now what's it going to be like after six months? I'm dreading it when I become huge.'

‘They always say you bloom in your last trimester.'

‘Well I'm hoping so, because I feel blooming awful right now.' She laughed, sinking her teeth into a cheese sandwich and then went pale and placed the sandwich back inside the tinfoil wrapping.

‘I can't eat that,' she said. ‘I don't fancy it at all.'

Glancing at Jeannie, I saw she did look a little peaky. ‘What do you fancy then?'

‘I feel like chips and gravy with lashings of vinegar!'

‘Ha ha, this could be your first craving. Right, I'm on it – your wish is my command! You put your feet up, I'll take the bike and I'll be back in ten minutes.'

Tossing my purse into the basket of my bike, I put one foot on the pedal and pushed off. Suddenly a thought crossed my mind and I placed both feet back on the ground. ‘I'd best check if Tom would like some chips.'

Leaning the bike against the stone wall, I strolled towards the front door and knocked on the door to Brambleberry Cottage. I stood on the herringbone doormat and waited. I heard a scraping of a chair across the floor and talking. I strained to listen; I recognised Tom's voice. A couple of seconds later it was silent and then I heard the sound of his footsteps approaching the door. The door opened slightly and Tom peered around the edge of the door.

‘Is everything OK?'

‘Yes of course. We're treating ourselves to some chips for lunch, would you like some?'

‘No thanks, I'm fine.'

I'm not sure whether it was my imagination but Tom looked shifty and seemed to be in a hurry to close the door.

‘Are you OK? Did I interrupt you?' I knew I was prying but I was convinced I'd heard Tom's voice. He had definitely been talking to someone.

‘Yes, of course I'm OK. Ted's popped in the back door; we're just catching up on some farm stuff while I'm eating my lunch. I'll see you in an hour.'

‘Working lunch, no rest for the wicked.' I smiled and turned around towards my bike.

I quickly glanced back over my shoulder to see a shadow shift behind the closed curtains – Tom must have been watching me walk back up the path.

Cycling down the path and towards the chip shop, something was beginning to bug me and it wasn't just Tom's odd behaviour. Instantly my thoughts turned to the safe, the unopened safe of Grandma Agnes. I was feeling a little anxious and couldn't quite put my finger on why. The harder I cycled, the more my mind whirled. Placing two bags of steaming hot chips in the basket, I furiously pedalled back towards the Lodge. I was now completely breathless.

Jeannie hadn't moved a muscle except for the fact she'd slid down the bench and her eyes were closed, her face tilted towards the afternoon sun.

‘Here you go: chips and gravy with lashings of vinegar.'

Looking up, she smiled. ‘Mmmm, they smell divine, just what I needed.' Before I'd even propped the bike up against the wall of the office, she was stabbing her fork into a chip and swirling it around in the gravy at the bottom of the white polystyrene tray. Jeannie began chatting whilst we sat there eating, but my mind was wandering. I wasn't listening to a word she was saying. Curiosity was beginning to eat me up; I only had one thing on my mind. I wanted to know what was inside that safe.

How was I going to work out the code? There could be hundreds, maybe thousands of different combinations. In addition, I was also feeling pretty bad about the prospect of going through the safe, but to be honest, Grandma Agnes was dead now and the safe would have to be sorted at some point. As I was now the boss and, as far as I knew, her only surviving relative, wasn't I the best person to do it?

‘Are you listening to a word I'm saying?' Jeannie was watching me with an amused look on her face.

‘Oh no, I'm sorry, Jeannie. I was daydreaming.'

Patting my knee, she stood up and laughed. ‘Don't worry about it, I was only babbling on about absolutely nothing! Thank you for the chips. I'd best wander back down to the bottom field.' I watched her slim figure walk down the yard. I couldn't imagine her with a baby bump, but no doubt it wouldn't be long before it started to show through her baggy overalls.

Strolling back into the office, I threw the chip wrappers into the bin and turned my attention to the locked safe.

Scooping my hair up in my hands, I tied it back with the bobble that was wrapped around my wrist. Bending down, I looked closely at the lock. There was a keypad and four spaces followed by a green enter button. Next to the enter button was a red LED light. I chewed on my lip and stared. I was tempted to try and crack the code. I wasn't sure why I was even so intrigued. The safe could easily be empty. But curiosity got the better of me and I leant forward. Pressing the numbers one, two, three, four, the light still stayed red. It appeared Grandma Agnes was a little more adventurous with her choice of combination numbers.

Randomly, I began to press numbers: zero, three, seven, six.

Nothing.

I tried again: nine, eight, seven, six.

Still nothing.

After a few more attempts I got up and slumped into the office chair.

I don't know what I was expecting. Did I really think that I'd work out the code so easily and the safe would suddenly ping open and reveal all of Agnes's secrets?

Now I was chewing on the inside of my cheek, a habit I'd acquired as a little girl; I always did this when I was deep in thought.

Pausing, I swung the chair around and stared at the lock again.

I went over to examine the keypad thoroughly.

Hovering nervously over the door I scrutinised it closely. I'd seen detectives do this in the movies. The numbers zero, one, five and seven were more worn than the other numbers on the keypad. My heart was thumping, my hands were sweating and my skin began to prickle. Taking a deep breath, I punched in the numbers in that exact order.

The light remained red.

Sighing, I crossed my legs and sat directly in front of the safe. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I cupped my hands around my face. The last time I could remember sitting like this was in primary school.

I typed in the numbers backwards.

The light still remained red.

Closing my eyes I thought hard.

Come on, Kitty, you must know.

It hit me like a bolt out of the blue.

Rubbing my sweaty hands together I pressed the numbers one, five, zero, seven. I was praying the numbers were the same as the combination code for the gate at the end of the driveway, the numbers of my birthday, 15 July.

Please open, I urged silently.

There was a little pause then a click.

Staring at the lock, the red light changed to green.

There were two things I was absolutely sure about before I rifled through the safe: that the numbers were no coincidence and that there were a lot of questions that needed answering. I was beginning to think more and more about Agnes and why my parents had pretended she was dead.

C
urled up on my bed
, I yanked the duvet up to my chin. Clasped in my hand was a fabric-bound journal held together by an elastic band. This afternoon when I had peered inside the safe my heart had lurched; it appeared to be empty. Frantically I thrust my hand inside, feeling every nook and cranny. Lying right at the back, I felt an object, and, pulling it out, I found it was some kind of journal. I had hidden it from prying eyes and closed the safe again, making a huge effort not to read it at work. Now that I was back in the flat, on my own, in peace and quiet, it was time.

I made myself comfy. Alfie jumped onto the bed next to me. He arched his back and I stroked his soft fur. He paddled the covers gently, his claws lifting the fabric of the duvet before he settled down and curled up in a ball.

Staring at the journal, I knew I was about to invade someone's privacy. My head was telling me it was wrong to trespass into someone else's life, but my heart was telling me to open the book.

What was I going to do? The fact was this book was in my grandma's safe and it might help me to uncover more about my family. If I returned the book back to the safe unread, it would always be on my mind.

Taking a deep breath, I removed the elastic band. Opening the front cover I was met with the words ‘Violet Porter' in bold capital letters.

I had no idea who Violet Porter was. I didn't recognise the first name at all, only the surname, which was the same as my mother's maiden name.

I was curious about this book. Why was it the only thing in the safe? My heart was racing; the pulse in the side of my head was throbbing. My hands began to sweat as I turned the first page.

‘Violet Porter, aged sixteen, 1960.'

Whoever Violet Porter was, her handwriting was small, neat and joined up, and as I flicked through the book there appeared to be an entry for most days of the year.

I settled down and returned to the first page. It was dated 21 October.

2
1 October 1960

M
um and Dad
have been rowing downstairs. It was something to do with Christmas but I couldn't quite hear. They must have known I was trying to listen because I heard Dad tell Mum to shut the door. The house is not the same now Alice has left.

I know she's older than me at 27, but she's always kind to me, looks after me and sticks up for me when I'm in trouble with my parents. Mum and Dad seem to have less patience with me; they don't seem to like my quirky ways or my friends. Mum always niggles at me. Alice just tells me it's because they aren't as young as they used to be. It feels different, kind of empty, now Alice has left. Mum wept for hours after she finally moved out and started her new married life with Julian. I did too. I feel kind of abandoned, but Alice has promised I can go and stay with them anytime I want, because they have a spare room. Though when Alice suggested I could stay, Mum was very adamant that one day they would need that room for a nursery and they shouldn't make me promises. They haven't moved that far way, maybe about an hour or so, but Alice has moved nearer to Julian's family now. I think Mum and Dad were arguing over Christmas dinner, which is a little ridiculous as we're only near the end of October. Maybe Alice wanted to spend it with Julian's family. It will be strange if that happens; it will be the first year without my sister at home.

S
taring
at the words on the page, my mind was in overdrive; this didn't make any sort of sense to me at all. I reread the entry again. Sister? I racked my brains but I came up with nothing. My parents had told me my grandparents were dead, and now, even more surprisingly, it seemed my mum had a sister. Which would mean I might have an aunt somewhere.

There was only one thing for it – I carried on reading.

2
2 October 1960

T
his morning Mum
confirmed that Alice will be spending the day with Julian's family at Christmas. Christmas won't mean anything to me this year without spending time with the ones who mean so much to me. I am deeply disappointed. I can picture myself sitting around the table with turkey and all the trimmings alongside my parents and no one will speak. Alice was always the one that made the conversation. I don't mind admitting I cried into my pillow, not just because of Alice but because T will be spending it with his parents too. We talked about trying to meet, but I think it will be too difficult for him.

2
3 October 1960

T
waved
at me this morning on his way to work. He's handsome and his smile is simply gorgeous.

2
4 October 1960

I
t's
Monday-night madness and tonight Ethel and I have our dancing shoes at the ready. I'm quite envious of her new shoes; they have a small heel. I am not allowed a shoe with a heel. We have matching skirts and there's a live band playing at the memorial hall. I am excited. I love music; I can lose myself to the rhythm and dance all night. Fingers crossed T and George will be able to make it. My mum gave us the usual lecture about maintaining our good reputation in public. My mum should be grateful we don't have the same standards as Tricia Lowe, because that girl certainly has a reputation. My mum worries too much. I doubt she was ever young and knew how to enjoy herself.

2
5 October 1960

T
was
a no-show last night. I was disappointed but something must have come up. I looked over my shoulder all night, watching the door, hoping he would show up, but he didn't. I'm just having a few minutes upstairs by myself because Alice and Julian are due over very soon for afternoon tea. I've missed Alice. I hope I can go and stay with her soon.

2
7 October 1960

Y
esterday dragged on and on
. This morning couldn't come soon enough. I waited for five minutes around the corner for T to drive past in his van. I couldn't believe it when I saw him indicate and pull over. He doesn't usually pull over. What a lovely surprise. He winked and handed me a small letter. My heart flipped. This is my third letter from T now. Ripping open the envelope, I stood on the edge of the street and read it. ‘One day, one day soon xx' was all it said, but that was enough, for now. I was on cloud nine today. Today was a good day.

I
was so engrossed
in Violet's writing that I was startled by the sudden ringing of the phone in the hallway. Rushing towards it, I picked up the receiver to find Robin on the other end. He and Lucinda were going to the pub for an hour and they asked me to join them. I politely declined. All I wanted to do this evening was to read more about Violet Porter. I hurriedly returned to the diary.

2
8 October 1960

M
um and Dad
are trying to arrange a dinner party with the Smithells from Green Park. Green Park, I say! Everyone knows those houses are worth an absolute fortune. Mum was nearly hyperventilating when Mrs Smithells informed her she would check her diary and get back to her with a date at the earliest opportunity. She's been pacing up and down the living room now for nearly fifteen minutes waiting for a date to be confirmed. She's been hinting for a while that their son is a perfect gentleman and he would like to escort me to the exquisite Christmas party at Handover Place. I'm sure Winston Smithells is just as embarrassed as me regarding my mum's matchmaking attempts. He may be what they call a ‘good catch', but he's not my catch. Handover Place is too posh; I would have to mind my Ps and Qs. And me in a posh dress … please! Mum told me I needed to grab this opportunity and if Winston became a permanent fixture in my life I wouldn't want for anything. I thought about it for a minute, only a minute mind. Surely you needed to marry someone for love?

2
9 October 1960

D
uring my lunch
break today the inevitable happened. I'd nipped out from the farm on the sandwich run whilst Mum and Dad were tending to the livestock. T's van was parked outside the bakery. I checked the registration a dozen times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Glancing through the window, I saw it was him. He looked gorgeous; the sleeves of his overalls were rolled up, revealing his strong tanned forearms – a perk of always working outdoors. He turned around and spotted me; immediately he flashed a beautiful grin. I felt my knees tremble. I blushed and looked at the ground in a coy manner. T opened the door and I got in.

Mum and Dad questioned me on my return – how had it taken nearly an hour and a half to buy sandwiches from the shop? Mum appeared angry, but I think that was more down to me missing Winston Smithells, who'd turned up unexpectedly at the farm to purchase some eggs. I, on the other hand, was relieved, more than relieved, that I'd missed him.

3
0 October 1960

I
think
my mum is being unreasonable. Tomorrow night I have been invited to a party at Ethel's house; my mother has ordered me to refuse the invitation. I AM SIXTEEN. How can she order me to refuse such an invitation? She asked my dad to support her in this matter, but as usual he sloped off to the snug, clutching his newspaper – anything for a quiet life. I tried to talk to her but she reminded me this was her house and I lived under her roof. If Alice were here she'd have stuck up for me and persuaded Mum to let me go. Mum thinks Ethel is a bad influence; she thinks the girl will lead me astray. I am determined to go to the party. Ethel is my best friend; she's fun, and just because she doesn't live on Green Park that doesn't mean she's a criminal in any way, shape or form. I reminded my mum we do not live on Green Park either. My mum reminded me not to backchat my elders. I stomped out of the room.

I
found
myself smiling down at the diary after reading the last entry. It was clear that Violet Porter was a determined character. Rubbing my eyes, I yawned and stared through the open curtains of my bedroom window; the streetlight was shining outside. It must be getting late; the blue sky had already darkened. Glancing at my watch, I saw I'd been reading for nearly an hour and my eyes were beginning to droop. I wanted to read more; I wanted to discover more about Violet, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. I hadn't told a soul what was in the safe, not even Jeannie. I felt a little bad about that because I was privy to her secret about the baby, but that's the way I wanted it for now.

Shutting the book, I immediately opened it again.

I'd changed my mind. I was hooked; I couldn't put the journal down. I promised myself I would only read a couple more entries then I must go to sleep.

I read on.

3
1 October 1960

T
onight Mum is watching
me like a hawk. You would think I'm a child, not sixteen years old. Retiring to my bedroom at approximately 9 p.m., I muttered goodnight to my parents. Noticing my mum's smug smile, she nodded in my dad's direction, he mumbled goodnight and dropped his head back down in the direction of his newspaper. I'd already packed a small bag of party clothes and hidden it at the bottom of the wardrobe. Ethel was expecting me; we'd arranged it at lunchtime. T is involved in the plan.

1
November 1960

I
got
back home but it was the worst journey ever. It must have been after 2 a.m. There was a storm and the wind was so strong. A tree had been uprooted and was lying across the road. T had to drive me the long way home in his van. The party was fantastic; Ethel and George are finally an item. I wish it were that easy for T and me. One day, he always says, one day.

Sneaking out of the house was easy. Once Mum and Dad were in bed they were out for the count. Mum plugs her ears to block out the noise of Dad's snores and he's such a heavy sleeper even an earthquake wouldn't wake him. I crept downstairs and quietly closed the front door behind me.

I could see the headlights of T's van waiting for me at the bottom of the track; the engine was running. I opened the doors to the back of his van and climbed in. The makeshift bed was still set up.

I began to change my outfit and I stripped my jumper over the top of my head. I noticed T's eyes were transfixed; he was watching my every move in the mirror. We locked eyes and foolishly grinned at each other. Kneeling down, I playfully put my hands on my hips and gave him a cheeky smile. He whistled. Emptying my bag, I quickly changed my clothes then joined him in the front of the van.

He placed his hand on my knee; his touch was electric and sent shivers up and down my spine.

He moved his hand up my thigh.

I chastised him and moved it back to my knee. He kept it there all the way to the party.

When I got back home that night, I sneaked back in through the side door, which I'd unlocked before I left. The door leads through the boot run where the laundry is kept then into the kitchen.

There was silence.

My parents were still asleep.

I'd done it – they were none the wiser.

I think I love T.

C
losing the diary
, I bound it with the elastic band and placed it safely in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. Alfie was still fast asleep. I wandered across the room to draw the curtains. Before shutting them I looked up into the night sky. I liked Aunt Violet; she had character, but why had my mum never told me she had a sister?