Page 32 of The Wedding Dress Repair Shop
A sudden and horrendously loud scream of rage reminded me that actually Iwasn’talone and I was dripping on to the doormat, while poor Golightly was still confined to his basket and beginning to sound like a kettle coming to the boil, or possibly about to explode.
Duty called, and also I remembered that the removal van would be here before too long. I’d simply have to try and put what just happened out of my mind for the present and get on with things.
I hung my jacket on the doorknob to carry on dripping and then turned to take stock of my new home. The heating must be on because the wooden-floored hall was warm. A narrow staircase climbed steeply up from it, but there was only one door off it, to my left, which I pushed open to reveal a long sitting room with a window on to the mews.
I carried Golightly’s basket in there and, setting it down on the wool Berber carpet, cautiously opened the door and stepped back.
He did not, however, shoot out in a fury, but instead stared at me for a long moment and then, putting a paw gingerly out, patted the carpet as if suspecting it was quicksand in disguise, before slowly emerging with a ‘What fresh hell is this?’ expression on his furry face.
‘This is our new home,’ I told him, then followed as he stalked towards the open door to the kitchen, at the other end of the room.
It was all dazzlingly white in there, both the tiled walls and the units. I could see at once there would be just enough room for my little pine table and two chairs, and there was a corner for my fridge-freezer.
‘All mod cons, see,’ I told the unimpressed Golightly, ‘and through here’ – I threw open another door – ‘is the utility room that used to be a bathroom. Washing machine, new boiler … and space for a litter tray.’
And on that thought, I fetched it and the bag of cat litter and set it up. I didn’t want anything to mar that beautiful oatmeal living-room carpet.
Golightly sat and watched me as I did this and then filled his water bowl.
‘Right,’ I said to him. ‘Are you staying here, or do you want to come and explore?’
As if he’d understood me, he got up and led the way back into the living room, which was bare apart from a small fake woodburning stove on a stone hearth. There was a door on that side of the room too, which must lead to the workroom, but I’d save that for last.
Golightly vanished upstairs, and when I followed, there was no sign of him on the landing, or in the shower room, which was another symphony in white, with the sort of curved glass shower cubicle that would probably beam you up to aStar Trekspaceship if you pressed the wrong button.
The cat was in the bedroom, lying in the middle of the pale carpet like a small puddle of dull, grey-blue cut velvet. He got up when I opened a door to reveal a built-in cupboard with a hanging rail and shelf, but he didn’t find anything of interest in there and backed out in disgust.
‘If there were ever any mice, they’re long gone,’ I told him, then went to look at a small, original cast-iron fireplace with a scallop-shell-shaped top, now painted white and very pretty. The front window looked out on to the mews, like the room below, but you still couldn’t see much of it clearly through the veils of fine rain, just a glimmer of lights on the other side of the courtyard where the tall, black-and-white shape of Pelican House loomed.
I stood there for a moment, feeling the welcoming warmth of the cottage envelop me – and no trace of the previous occupant lingered there.
Back downstairs again, I opened the door to the workroom. With the gloomy day and the rain beating against the windows,the room seemed dark, but I found a wall switch and big strip lights illuminated a much larger space than I’d expected, with another smaller room at the back, with a Belfast sink and draining board.
The flooring was practical vinyl and the walls painted a soft, pale dove grey. It was empty, apart from some fixed shelving on the far wall, which had another door that presumably led into the museum. I’d wait for Honey to show me over that, although I had a bone to pick with her first: a mammoth-sized one with Thom’s name on it.
If it hadn’t been for that, I’d have thought I was in heaven, with so much room for all my sewing machines, dressmaker’s dummies and other equipment. I’d even be able to have something I’d only ever dreamed of before: a cutting table of my own.
I itched to start a list. It might prove a bit expensive, so I hoped the flat sale would go through quickly, so my small remaining nest egg wasn’t reduced to fragments of shell.
I checked my watch: maybe there was time for coffee and a sandwich before the van arrived.
This time, I noticed the heap of mail on one of the kitchen worktops, with a note from Honey, welcoming me to my new home and giving me a few bits of vital information. When I located the mini fridge behind a dummy cupboard door, it contained butter, milk, cheese and bread. It was all so kind; she’d shown me nothingbutkindness, apart from the small fact that she’d concealed Thom’s presence in Great Mumming from me.
On the bottom of the notes she’d scribbled that she’d be back later and not to bother cooking tonight, just come over to Pelican House for dinner at seven. I would have things out with her about Thom, then, I decided.
Meanwhile, I tried to put him out of my mind and, after a cup of coffee and a sandwich, I read the meter and sent that to my new electricity supplier.
Then I was ready for the arrival of my furniture … after I’d had a long search for Golightly, only to find him in the utility room, curled up asleep in the bottom of the cardboard carton I’d brought his cat litter, food and bowls in.
*
The living room seemed lighter by then, and when I went to look out of the front window for any sign of the removal van, I saw that the rain had eased off to a very fine haze. I could see the buildings enclosing the rectangular cobbled yard now, all built of warm stone like my own cottage, with doors and window frames picked out in black and white, which sort of tied it in with the rambling Tudor rear façade of Pelican House, with its gables and overhanging, diamond-paned windows. It seemed to have its own little railed garden behind, but there was also the oval of shrubs in the centre of the yard, too, which would be nice to look out on in spring.
The long museum building loomed to my right, making up one whole side of the mews, and had shallow steps leading up to double wooden doors.
My attention was caught by the van squeezing slowly through the arch that led on to the market square and I dashed back to the utility room, tossed a few cat treats into Golightly’s bowl, then shut the door on him and went to let the removal men in.
*
