Kitty's Countryside Dream (14 page)

N
ext morning
, after quite a restless sleep, I cycled up the path towards the Lodge. The air was nippy and all the trees that adorned the track were swaying in the brisk wind. The sky was dull and the clouds threatened rain. I wasn't sure how I felt this morning. My mind was a whirl with unanswered questions. All I knew was that I had gained an unknown aunty overnight. Truth be known, I was wishing the day away; it couldn't go quick enough. All I wanted to do was to stay tucked up under the duvet and read, but I knew with Jeannie not being able to do as much now that she was pregnant that this wasn't possible, and we had such a lot to do today. Violet Porter's diary would just have to wait.

Tom was shutting the front door of the cottage behind him as I arrived and he looked over in my direction.

‘Good morning,' he shouted and waved his hand above his head.

I screeched to a halt right in front of him and placed both my feet on the ground to steady the bike.

‘I've been meaning to ask …' I looked up at him.

‘Ooo, this sounds ominous!' Tom joked.

‘Do you own Brambleberry Cottage?'

In truth, it had crossed my mind before, but I'd never asked the question. If the cottage was in the grounds of Bluebell Lodge, wouldn't it be part of the estate?

I was intrigued.

Tom stretched his arms out in front of him and then glanced down at his watch.

I tilted my head, waiting for a response.

‘Lucinda will be here in around half an hour, but before then do you want to come inside for a chat?' he asked, nodding towards the cottage.

‘Yes, I think I do,' I answered, swinging my leg over my bike then resting it against the cottage wall.

Walking towards the cottage door, I tightened the band of my ponytail and tucked the escaped, windswept hair around my ears. I was conscious my heart was pounding and a feeling of trepidation ran through my entire body. We kicked off our boots at the front door, Tom twisted the door handle and I followed him inside,.

Walking on the quarry-tiled floor of the hallway, it felt cold underfoot. I'd never been inside before and the cottage oozed character with the exposed beams that ran the whole length of the ceiling. A wooden staircase adorned the hallway with a regal-looking burgundy carpet that disappeared out of sight. On the small round mahogany table sat a bottle-green telephone with its large disc dial and curled cable dangling from the receiver. Hanging all around on the bare stone walls were numerous time-worn embroidered samplers. Glancing into the sitting room, the furniture appeared sparse and simple. Everything seemed to be in its original state, like the cottage itself.

Grasping at the latch on the solid oak door to the kitchen, Tom pushed open the door and bent his head down under the low archway.

The kitchen was homely; an oversized pine farmer's table was situated in the middle of the room. There were dirty breakfast dishes spilling over in the white Belfast sink and a newspaper that lay open on the granite worktop. Freshly baked crusty bread was sitting on the table, sliced, on a chunky wooden board with the knife lying next to it. The kitchen window was framed with floral curtains that looked out over fields and fields – the view was spectacular.

I could hear the noisy hum of an old refrigerator and I noticed a pile of Tom's work clothes draped over the racing green Aga, probably drying.

‘Take a seat,' Tom said, gesturing towards the kitchen table.

He reached above his head and grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard and placed them next to the kettle.

‘Tea?' he asked.

‘Yes, please.'

After switching the kettle on, he sat himself down at the table opposite me.

This would have been the ideal time to tell Tom about Violet's diary but I didn't want to tell him yet. I was shocked to find out I had an aunty I knew nothing about and I wanted to read a little bit more before I confided in anyone about my find.

Cutting to the chase, I asked, ‘So the cottage, who does it belong to?'

Tom stood up and threw a couple of teabags into the teapot then poured the water in. He placed a tray on the table in front of me, which included mugs, sugar, milk and biscuits.

‘Help yourself,' he said.

‘Thank you, that's very kind,' I said, pouring the milk into my mug.

‘The cottage belonged to your grandmother,' Tom continued.

Sipping my tea, I listened in silence.

‘I don't know the ins and outs of it all and I don't think this is my story to tell, but all I know is Agnes couldn't live here anymore.'

My heart was beating in double time waiting to hear what Tom was about to reveal.

‘Brambleberry Cottage has been in her family for years; this was her family home and she told me she spent her married life here. Agnes was a private person; she never meddled in anyone's business. She worked hard and Arthur was her life; they ran the farm together. When he died her world changed. She threw herself into the Lodge and worked hard, probably to occupy her mind. I started to work here when I was a young man. Arthur had already died. Agnes took me under her wing. I failed all my exams at school and wasn't what you would call academic. Agnes gave me a chance. I can remember her words: “School isn't everything, lad. It's a good attitude and hard graft that will get you far in life.” '

I laughed as Tom mimicked my grandmother.

‘She told me she didn't have a son to help her with the farm and I was the next best thing.'

‘So how long have you lived here?'

‘Once Arthur had passed away, Agnes carried on living here for another few years. They had always owned the flat on the high street and had rented it out to different couples. It was only in the last few years that she moved into it herself.'

‘Why would she want to move out of here?' I asked, glancing around. ‘Look at this place. It's so homely and those views are amazing.'

‘The circumstances were all very peculiar, to say the least.'

‘Go on.'

‘One morning Agnes failed to turn up for work. I waited for another hour and thought maybe she was feeling unwell. The yard was busy, so once all the orders had been sorted I wandered over to the cottage. I knocked on the door, but she didn't answer. I had an uneasy feeling; it wasn't like her, so I let myself in. I found Agnes sobbing her heart out at this kitchen table, holding a letter with a photograph.'

‘Sobbing? Did you find out why?'

‘No, just at that moment Ted walked in through the back door, muttering something about borrowing Agnes's tractor to plough his fields.'

‘Robin and Jeannie's father?'

‘Yes, Robin and Jeannie's father. His tractor was in for repair.'

‘What happened then?'

‘Agnes stood up and brushed herself down and disappeared with Ted to fetch the keys to the tractor.'

I could sense there was more to this story.

Tom pushed the plate of biscuits in my direction.

‘Biscuit?'

‘Oh go on then,' I answered. ‘I may as well live dangerously.'

‘It was that evening; Agnes came and found me in the barn. I was tinkering about; I can't even remember what I was doing. She dangled a bunch of keys before my eyes and placed them in the palm of my hand. She told me that they were for me.'

‘What were the keys for?'

‘The keys were to Brambleberry Cottage; Agnes left that night and went to the flat, and never ever came back. She suggested I become the new live-in manager; in fact she was adamant. She made me promise I would be on hand to take care of the Lodge. I thought it was a little strange because she was getting older and it would've been ideal for her to be living on the doorstep of the farm instead of travelling in on her bike each day, but she convinced me it was for the best. I didn't argue with her, to be fair. There was never a chance I would've been able to afford to move out of home without Agnes's help – she gave me a fantastic opportunity and I grabbed it.'

Unexpectedly, Tom's face saddened.

‘You want the cottage don't you, Kitty?'

Suddenly realising Tom thought I was here to take the cottage from him, I said, ‘No, I don't want the cottage. Don't be daft – it's your home. I'm quite happy at the flat. Honestly, don't worry.'

He let out a sigh of relief. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes, I'm absolutely sure. If Agnes wanted you to have the cottage, then who am I to argue?' I told him.

Leaning across the table, he moved my mug to one side and took both of my hands in his. Our eyes met.

I smiled at him.

‘For a minute there I thought you were asking about the cottage because you wanted to evict me.'

‘Of course I don't, I love living in my flat and Alfie is very settled too.'

It was moments like this that Tom confused me. The warmth of his eyes as he smiled at me and the feel of his touch gave me mixed signals. Maybe he was grateful that I wasn't about to evict him, but it felt like more than that, at least to me. In my mind the connection was there.

He let go of my hand, and we both stood up. ‘Come on, we best get back to work.' Pushing the chair under the table, I followed him back into the hallway.

Tom paused outside the open door of the living room.

‘That photograph that Agnes was holding the morning she was upset is over there.' He gestured by nodding in the direction of the mantelpiece.

I spun around and followed Tom's gaze.

‘Do you remember the date? When was it that Agnes was upset?' I asked, going into the living room after him.

‘Yes, it was last year, near the end of July.'

‘That was around the time Mum passed.' I stood next to him. He lifted up the photo and handed it to me.

Taking the photo from his hand, I stared at it.

My jaw dropped and I gasped.

Immediately I flipped the photograph over, looking for clues.

I took a deep breath and looked at Tom.

‘Are you OK, Kitty? You've gone kind of pale.'

‘I'm not entirely sure,' were the only words I could muster up, and I really wasn't sure.

I sank into the plush velvet sofa, still staring at the photo.

‘The thing is, Tom, that's me in the photo.'

‘What? Sorry, I don't follow.'

He stepped towards me, his eyes boring into mine, and he took the photo from my grasp.

The picture was of a young girl standing on the steps of Brambleberry Cottage. There was no mistaking the cottage and there was no mistaking me either. It was me as a baby, wrapped up in the same white crocheted blanket as the photo that had been taken when my parents took me home from the hospital. The woman holding me in the photo was not my mother.

Tom flipped the picture over.

He read, ‘Violet and Kitty, 16 July.'

My mind was in overdrive. 16 July, the day after my birthday, which meant Violet knew about me; she had held me the day after my mum had given birth, but why didn't I know who she was? And given the fact that the photograph was taken at Brambleberry Cottage my grandma must have met me too. I scrutinised the photograph, but it wasn't the best quality. It had been taken from a distance, so I couldn't even see if Violet resembled my mum.

‘Who's Violet?' Tom asked.

‘My mother's sister.'

‘Your aunty,' he said simply.

I swallowed. ‘Yes, my aunty.'

Bleary-eyed, I gazed up wearily at Tom. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I lay my head there and wept. The tears wouldn't stop.

‘What's going on?' he asked gently.

My voice cracked. ‘I have no idea.' And that was the honest truth – I didn't have a clue. I couldn't find any more words to say; I didn't understand any of it.

My heart ached for answers.

J
eannie had collared
me coming out of the cottage. She'd just finished loading the egg orders into the back of Lucinda's van. Lucinda waved at me and shouted out of her open window, ‘I'll catch you later – I've got a huge cake order to bake.' She seemed in a jolly mood today, unlike me. I forced a smile and waved back.

‘Morning, how are you?' Jeannie chirped. ‘Have you seen Dotty's chicks? They're growing so fast,' she said, pointing in the direction of Dotty, who was strutting up the yard with her fluffy little army following her.

Act natural, I said to myself but I couldn't answer her. I wasn't sure why but I could feel my lips starting to tremble again and tears began to cascade down my cheeks.

Jeannie looked up, startled. ‘Kitty, what's up? Are you OK?'

I shook my head.

‘Why are you crying?' She took my arm and ushered me to the bench outside the office.

‘Sit here.' I could see the concern in Jeannie's face as she sat down next to me; she didn't take her eyes off me.

I wiped my eyes.

‘I'm OK.' My voice was shaky. I knew I was being daft but I couldn't help myself. Everything was getting on top of me and the emotion was flooding out. It wasn't just the photograph that had set me off; today was my dad's birthday, and even after all these years it still felt like it was yesterday.

‘Well you don't look OK to me. Come on, it can't be that bad,' Jeannie said.

Hearing the approach of footsteps, I looked up through my tears and saw Tom bending down in front of me. He placed his hand on my knee.

‘Kitty, you can't work like this today. Honestly, Jeannie and I will manage. You get yourself home and rest, and come back when you feel up to it,' he said softly.

I hesitated for a second, but then before Tom changed his mind I stood up and brushed myself down. They were both being so kind, which made me even more tearful. Dabbing my nose with the tissue, I looked at Tom. ‘Thank you,' I managed to say.

I could feel them watching me whilst I cycled down the drive. Being sent home suited me. To be honest it was a blessing in disguise; my heart wasn't in work today.

Pedalling along the track towards the road, I stared across the fields. I desperately wanted to speak to my mum. The pain that ripped through my body was sometimes unbearable when I realised no matter how much I wished to hear her voice again it would never happen. Glancing up at the sky, I said softly, ‘Mum, what's going on? Why did I never know you had a sister and why didn't I ever know my grandparents?' Of course there was no reply.

Arriving home, I walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the unwashed leftover dinner dishes from the night before, which were currently keeping my dirty breakfast dishes company.

I shrugged at Alfie, who was winding his body in and out of my legs. ‘I'm sure they can wait.'

I poured myself a glass of water then scooped him up and wandered into the bedroom. I hadn't even bothered to make my bed this morning; the duvet was still crumpled, my PJs tossed on top of it. Placing the glass of water on the bedside table, I snuggled under the bedcovers. Alfie purred contentedly then jumped up onto the duvet and soon settled down next to me.

There was only one thing I was going to do for the rest of the day and that was to try and discover any clues about Violet Porter.

Reaching for the diary, I turned the pages.

2
November 1960

I
would do
anything for T. Last night was simply the best. It felt like we were a proper couple at the party. He made me feel so special and he held my hand all night – he never left my side. One day, I just know, one day we will be together – we are destined. I am prepared to go through anything for T. Without a question of a doubt I will wait for him; when he's ready I will be there. There will be nothing that stands in our way. I feel so happy.

3
November 1960

L
ast night
I dreamt about T. It was so real. I know it sounds daft but when I woke up I could smell him. We lived in one of the posh houses in Green Park; we owned a garage and a garden with roses trailing all around the door. Our two children were squealing with excitement, running around the garden with our new puppy. One day I will live with T and one day I will have children with him. We will have the perfect family and even if we don't live in Green Park it doesn't matter as long as we are together.

4
November 1960

T
here's
something going on downstairs. Julian has arrived without Alice and has been ushered into the living room, and as usual I've been shooed to my room. Mum said I'm too young to listen to their adult conversations. I am sixteen years of age! I am not a child! T doesn't treat me like a child; he listens to everything I say. I'm so lucky to have him. I am sitting at the top of the stairs trying to listen to what's going on, but Dad's popped his head around the door and caught me. He's ordered me to my room. It's so unfair. I can hear my mum crying. Why is my mum crying? Now it's gone silent. I can't hear anything else.

I'm sitting on my bed and I've just written a letter to T. I'll pass it to him in the morning. I wonder where he hides my letters; I will have to remember to ask him.

I've just heard the front door close. I looked out of the window and watched Julian walk off down the long driveway. Where was Alice? Why wasn't she with him?

I'm so fed up in my room. I'm going to brave my dad and ask him what's going on. Wish me luck.

5
November 1960

I
'm
sorry I didn't come back to you yesterday, diary, but I was so upset. I plucked up the courage to go into the front room and my dad was standing with his arms wrapped around my mum. I've never seen my dad show that much emotion before.

Mum spoke through her tears and told him I had a right to know. I didn't like the sound of that and I was right not to.

My mum sat me down on the settee; she sat next to me and placed her hand on my knee. My dad sat himself down in his armchair opposite and remained quiet.

Then she told me.

Alice was in hospital.

She was admitted late last night to the Royal General.

Alice had woken up with a severe pain on the right side of her abdomen. She had staggered to the bathroom to fill up her glass with water and then she had collapsed.

Julian rang for an ambulance. At first he thought she might have appendicitis but Alice told him she'd already had her appendix removed when she was ten years old.

On arrival at the hospital they admitted Alice and gave her a bed for the night. The nurse issued Alice with a pregnancy test and the test was positive – she was expecting her first baby. The pain was increasing and becoming more severe and they took Alice for an emergency scan. The scan revealed there was a fertilised egg that had implanted itself outside of her womb, in one of her fallopian tubes. She began to feel dizzy and vomited. They took her down to the operating theatre. Alice needed surgery to remove the egg. They inserted a tiny camera and instruments through small cuts in her stomach under a general anaesthetic. Mum explained it's what's called an ectopic pregnancy and now it has been removed. Alice is no longer pregnant.

G
azing
at the handwritten words on the page, I couldn't believe what I was reading. Mum had been pregnant before she was carrying me. How awful for her to go through such a traumatic experience. I'd been really close to Mum and not once had she ever hinted she was pregnant with another child. I couldn't even imagine the emotional impact it had had on her or my dad. Why had she never told me?

I read on.

6
November 1960

I
was allowed
to accompany my parents to the hospital to visit Alice. I was under strict instructions to behave and not to upset Alice is any way. This is another example of my mother treating me like a child; I do actually know how to behave. I shook my head at her in disbelief that she even had to say that to me. We arrived at the hospital and travelled towards the maternity wing. I thought this was strange because Alice no longer had a baby – how must she feel being surrounded by newborn babies after losing hers.

Alice wasn't in good spirits; it was only to be expected. She looked so pale and tired. Julian was at her side, and as soon as she spotted us walking through the double doors she broke down into uncontrollable sobs. Julian placed his arm around her shoulder and handed her a pile of tissues.

We sat by her bedside for nearly twenty minutes in silence just watching her. I didn't know what to do so I asked her what she'd had for lunch to try and make conversation. Mum shushed me and gave me the death stare. I remained quiet after that. Soon after, the ward bell sounded and the nurse shouted a five-minute warning for all visitors to leave. Just as we stood up to leave, Alice spoke. She looked at Mum and the only words to leave her mouth the whole time we were there were ‘I'm sorry'.

I
felt
like I'd been kicked in the stomach reading Violet's diary. I was a little confused as to why my mum would be apologising for losing her baby – she didn't have anything to say sorry for. I felt for her, knowing how upset she must have been at the time. The grief would have been immense. I wondered if she knew she was pregnant or whether it had only been discovered when they issued the pregnancy test at the hospital. I supposed I would never know. I read on.

A
lice wasn't
the only one lost for words today. After we left her bedside and walked towards the door of the maternity ward, I heard a voice, a voice I recognised. I stopped dead in my tracks and listened again. Mum shouted ‘What now?' at me and Dad tried to hurry me along, but I remained rooted to the spot. I made an excuse that I needed the toilet and assured them I would hurry up and meet them both back outside the entrance. I waited until they were out of sight and followed the sound of the voice to the doorway of another maternity room. I was paralysed. I watched on whilst a woman in a bed cradled her newborn baby. It was a girl; I could tell that by her pink hand-knitted booties. I heard the nurse congratulate the father. He was ecstatic; you could see the joy in his face and hear it in his voice. His arm was wrapped around the woman and he kissed her cheek. I heard him tell her he was the happiest man alive and that he was so lucky to have a wife like her and a new baby daughter. I felt sick; I wanted to scream and shout but nothing came out. I must have caught his eye, standing in the doorway. He looked up at me. He removed his arm from around his wife's shoulder and instantly the colour drained from his face.

Our eyes locked.

I stared at T and he stared back at me. As the hurt stabbed through my body, the realisation kicked in. He had a family.

I turned and ran down the corridor, tears streaming down my face.

I cried the whole car journey home. My parents thought I was crying for Alice. I didn't tell them any different. My whole world had just fallen apart all around me.

N
ever mind
Violet feeling like she was on an emotional rollercoaster, I was too. I needed some air. I began to have gripping pains in my stomach and it was beginning to rumble. Flinging the bedcovers off me, I wandered into the bathroom and splashed some tepid water onto my face. Patting it dry with the towel, I felt Alfie nudging me, meaning he was hungry, and I was too. I bent down and carried him into the kitchen. After I gave him his lunch, I threw a bottle of water and my purse into the basket on my bike and cycled off towards Lucinda's bakery.

The street was busy with lunchtime trade. Suited and booted, people moseyed up the high street chatting, having a well-earned break from their work. Leaning my bike against the bakery glass, I saw that the queue of people was already spilling out onto the street. Lucinda and her staff were behind the counter, shovelling sandwiches and pasties into the hands of the hungry customers. I managed to catch Lucinda's eye. She waved me into the shop and threw open the hatch to the counter. I made my way through the crowd of hungry people.

Lucinda smiled at me. ‘It's always manic at this time of the day,' she said whilst ringing up the amount of a customer's purchase and throwing his money into the cash register.

‘It's over there.' Lucinda pointed to a paper bag on the counter behind her.

‘What is?' I asked, perplexed.

‘Your lunch order. I thought you were here to collect it?' Lucinda replied whilst serving another customer.

‘I've not ordered anything.'

‘Tom telephoned through about twenty minutes ago. I thought you were here to pick it up?'

Peeping inside the bag there were pasties and sandwiches and my favourite – flapjacks.

‘I think Tom and Jeannie were going to grab it on the way to yours. He said something about popping in to see you as you were feeling under the weather.'

‘I'll take it.' I was famished and the smell of the warm chees-and-onion pasty was making me feel even hungrier.

‘Tell Tom he can take the money off the egg order in the morning.'

‘Excellent, thanks Lucinda, see you soon.' I smiled and grabbed the bag and squeezed back past the rest of the customers that were still queuing up. It was such a lovely thought to bring me lunch. Throwing the carrier bag full of food in my basket, I pedalled towards the Lodge.