The sky was losing brightness and colouring down through a fading blue to the magic shades of a sun kissed evening. Swifts and swallows looped and bent above her and she could hear the buzz of a motor boat out on the water. This was close to heaven, surely.
The old door on the little cottage swung open and a round man of indeterminate age stepped across the narrow patch of grass. Pauline smiled at him and held out her hand.
“Oh so, you’re ‘ere at last. I don’t normally ‘spect to be this late. Past dinner and me still waiting ‘ere. Could you not get an earlier train?”
“Oh, erm… sorry. I didn’t think there was a schedule.”
“No, no, probl’y not. Nobody thinks I might ‘ave something else to do. Holiday for one ‘bain’t be ‘oliday for all. I ‘ave cows to see to and me sittin’ waiting. Well, you’re ‘ere now. Come in if you’re comin’.”
It was pretty funny; she bit back the urge to chuckle. The booking online had given the impression that this was a sleek modern organisation, and yet here was this curmudgeonly farmer stomping back towards the beautiful little house and ducking under the low lintel. Oh well, onward and upward Pauline.
“Right. ‘Ere be the livin’ room. Upstairs, beds. Kitchen through ‘ere.”
She dropped her bag in the small, dim hallway and hurried through to the bright little kitchen. It was spotless. The worktops were white tile and the wooden cupboard units and Belfast sink obviously part of a new refurbishment that had been done with care and love. Yellow curtains shifted in the evening air and beyond the small back garden and stone wall there was a rough meadow and then there was the sea. Diamantes danced and twinkled as the great body of water heaved and shifted under the orange ball of the sun sliding towards the horizon. It literally took her breath away.
“You’ve plenty time to stare at water. I need to get on.” She turned and Jim was stood behind her holding a sheaf of papers. “’Ere be instructions. Washer, dish machine, cooker. Try not to break ‘em. Should be no problem with drains and stuff: all redone last winter. Sick to death of dashin’ up ‘ere all hours for blockages. The stuff people think they can flush away! Makes my blood boil.
“You’ve ordered a welcome pack.” She felt the laughter welling again at the word from this dour old farmer’s lips but she held her peace and painted a smile on her face. “There’s bacon ‘n eggs, there’s bread ‘n butter and a bit o’ cheese. There’s tea and suchlike. I ‘spect you’ll want wine. Every bugger wants wine. Well there ‘bain’t be wine but there’s a bottle o’ beer and a pub down the road. They’ll sell you bottles of wine if you’ve money to burn on such stuff.
“Now then. Do you want cleanin’?”
“Sorry?”
“Cleanin’. Do ya want cleanin’? Every other mornin’ Dolly can come in.”
“Oh, yes please. That would be lovely.”
“Aye’ well, maybe. You’re booked for a week so this time next Wednesday you need to be gone.”
“Is it booked up after that?”
“What?”
“The cottage… is it booked for the week after? If I wanted to stay longer would it be possible?”
“Aye, I daresay. I’ll send Dolly in the mornin’. Cows be waitin’. ‘Ere be keys.”
And that was it. He pulled the door closed behind him and she could hear him calling as he stomped off down the road. “’Ere Barney, Get ‘ere ya bugger.” She could only assume Barney was a dog that she hadn’t seen.
It started deep inside. Some of it was relief and a hint of hysteria but a great part was simply confounded amusement at the strange welcome. Each time she ran through the greetings the giggle caused her to catch her breath until in the end she was chuckling loudly. In the fading light of the Cornish evening she recaptured the pleasure of the morning when she had slammed the door on her past. It had been a long and difficult day but see now; she had coped and she was here and yes, she felt happier than she had for a long, long time. She didn’t need wine because the joy in her heart was now so intoxicating.
Chapter 6
Whether it was the long sleep in the taxi, residual tension, or the unfamiliar surroundings, Pauline didn’t float into the dreamless sleep that she had hoped for.
After a supper of omelette, fresh bread and a glass of beer, she felt nicely drowsy. With the windows and doors of the little cottage closed the lullaby of the ocean was a gentle whisper. The house was comfortably warm and as she slipped between fresh smelling sheets in the double bedroom she felt relaxed and ready for bed.
There were no bumps or lumps in the mattress and the pillows were soft. Moonlight slid through a tiny gap in the curtain and drew a line across the bed and up the wall. The tiny spear of silver was a comfort in the otherwise total darkness. She stretched her legs full length. She curled into a ball on her side. She lay on her back, then turned onto her stomach and still sleep she so wanted refused to come. After almost an hour the sheets were wrinkled and creased and the nerves in her legs were jumping and twitching.
The house creaked and popped as old wood and warm stone cooled but she wasn’t afraid, not at all. She was simply sleepless. Out on the tiny landing there was a night light plugged into a wall socket, it was enough to find her way downstairs without the need for the overhead lamp. Although she would rather have been asleep the realisation had come that in fact it didn’t matter. She had no-one to answer to and no responsibilities the next day. For the first time in many years her life was her own to do with as she pleased.
She could spend the whole night gazing from the window across the dark meadow to the ocean where breaking waves shone in the moonlight. If she chose to curl up in the window seat sipping tea and listening to the owl and night jar and cows, which would low occasionally from nearby, it didn’t matter to anyone but her. For at long last she was free. After sitting in the living room for a while eating chocolate biscuits and drinking tea and relishing the feeling of guilty pleasure she made her way into the kitchen to rinse her cup. The garden was now all dappled grey shapes with just one blaze of white where a rose climbed on a trellis beside the wall.
Of course she would go to the beach tomorrow if the weather was fine. Through the tiny gate in the old stone wall and down to the warm sand and the glittering water. Now, in the night standing by the kitchen window she wondered what would it be like to go immediately. To make her way through the dark rustle of the meadow, to follow the sandy path and then walk in bare feet along the wet sand with the cold water lapping at her ankles. She didn’t know the way yet, hadn’t had a chance to explore but she promised herself that before she left there would be a walk down in the darkness and a walk along the moon-washed shore…
She didn’t realise that she had slept until she woke to the chaotic cheep and chatter of birds. There was an occasional whoosh of car tyres on the road outside and knocking on the front door. She slid from the bed and leaned to open the leaded window. “Hello. I’m up here.”
“Oh, sorry my dear. I thought you might be out. I’m Dolly. I brought milk.” The slim woman dressed in light trousers and a bright flower patterned blouse lifted a bottle as evidence.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you dear. Shall I just leave it here?”
“No, no it’s fine. I think I’ve overslept. Hang on I’ll come down.”
She glanced down at her wrinkled pyjamas and shrugged. The woman knew she had been in bed, but what did it matter. She ran down the stairs and dragged open the front door.
“Come in please. What time is it? I didn’t get off to sleep until late.”