Page 16 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘Jonah – you told him when you rang.’
‘Oh, yes, so I did.’ I feel awful. Callum is just trying to be polite and friendly, and as so often happens, my anxiety is beginning to border on rudeness.
‘I was just about to welcome you to Bluebell Wood, Ava; I know you’re new to the village.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, trying to sound a little more grateful. ‘That’s kind of you. How much do I owe you for fixing the sink? I assume I pay you, or does someone else – sorry, I don’t quite know what the situation is here.’
‘You owe me nothing. Call it my good deed for the day!’
‘Are you sure?’
Callum nods. ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself.’
‘You live here as well?’ I exclaim. I’d now met four locals in two days. In all the time I lived in my old apartment, I don’t think I ever spoke to more than one or two of my neighbours and that was only when we passed in the corridor or met in the lift.
He looks at me strangely. ‘Yes, just up the road.’
‘That’s good. Well, if you ever need a favour in return . . . ’ I blurt out without thinking. It seemed like the right thing to say to one of your neighbours in a small village.
Callum’s cheeks flush a little, and I realise what I might have implied with my offer. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean . . . I meant—’
‘It’s fine,’ he says, waving his hand dismissively at me. ‘I know what you mean . . . honestly.’ I’m surprised to see himlook flustered as he hurriedly picks up his tool bag and a small hammer tumbles to the floor in his haste. ‘I appreciate the offer,’ he says, scooping up the hammer and throwing it in his bag. ‘Now, I’d better be going. I’m sure I’ll see you again around the village.’
I accompany him through the hall to the door. ‘Yes, probably.’
‘Let me know if you have anything else you need sorting – with your cottage, that is,’ he says hurriedly, his cheeks pinking again as he fumbles for the door handle.
Callum’s bashfulness is quite becoming, and suddenly I don’t feel so uncomfortable in his presence.
‘Bit of a handy man, are you?’ I ask – my smile a tad warmer this time. ‘Jack of all trades?’
‘We usually are,’ he says, smiling as he opens the door. ‘We usually are.’
He steps out of the cottage on to the path and turns around to face me. ‘Goodbye, Ava, it was nice to meet you, and again, welcome to Bluebell Wood. I do hope your stay here will be a pleasant one.’
‘I hope so too,’ I say, watching him depart down the path a little before I close the door. His triceps are taut as he carries his heavy tool bag, and his back muscles flex under his white T-shirt as he walks away.Bluebell Wood suddenly looks a lot brighter than it did a while ago, I think as I linger a little longer than I should on the doorstep.Much brighter indeed . . .
Five
‘Ow!’ I cry as I turn my burnt offerings out of the baking tray on to a plate. ‘That’s hot!’
Merlin looks up hopefully at me. My previous effort at baking muffins had turned out so badly that I’d binned all of them immediately, much to Merlin’s chagrin.
‘You can’t have them,’ I’d told him, looking at the soggy mess in the bin. ‘They’re inedible for humans, let alone dogs!’
Now I run my finger under the cold tap, while I survey my latest chargrilled effort. ‘I knew I couldn’t bake,’ I mutter. ‘I don’t know why I thought otherwise.’
I’d been sure Evelyn’s recipes would be foolproof – even to an amateur baker like me. But apparently not. I’d tried quite a few of them over the last few days, and I’m ready to admit defeat – for today, anyway.
When I’ve cooled my finger sufficiently, and cleared up the remaining mess, I make myself a coffee and sit on the sofa in the calm of the sitting room with Merlin next to me, gazing out at the garden.
‘This is more like it,’ I say as I stroke Merlin’s soft ears. ‘Atleast I tried something new – even if it didn’t work out – and that’s a step forward.’
I’d lost interest in most things over the last year; I’d found myself staring at the television for hours on end in my apartment in London, not really absorbing anything that was on the screen. It had simply been a comfort to hear voices talking, voices that didn’t need me to form any sort of coherent reply.
So my baking didn’t work out – no big deal – but I’m determined my challenge of feeding the birds isn’t going to fail too. I’ve already put in too much effort to give up on that one. We’ve been in Bluebird Cottage for nearly a week now and I still haven’t seen any birds on the table since the robin.
‘What am I doing wrong?’ I ask a sleeping Merlin. ‘According to this,’ I tap Evelyn’s notebook on the side table next to me, ‘Evelyn had all sorts of birds visiting her every day.’
