Page 17 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
I’d tried putting the food in different feeders, and I’d used plates and the flat part of the table to sprinkle seed on in case that made a difference, I’d even chopped up peanuts in Evelyn’s food processor so they’d be a bit smaller and maybe tempt some of the smaller birds into feeding, but to no avail.
It’s been four days since Callum came to fix my sink. Even though Merlin and I had been for many walks since, each time exploring fresh trails in the wood and discovering pretty flowers and new varieties of trees, we haven’t seen or spoken to anyone since Callum.
This was nothing new for me; over the last year I’d become more and more reclusive, not wanting to go out or speak to anyone other than my children. But in London there was always noise, always something going on outside your home, even if you didn’t want to be a part of it. Here it was silent.
I could hear the occasional car up on the main road and thebirds singing in the trees of the wood, but other than that, it was only Merlin and me.
I tried to pretend this didn’t bother me; after all, I’d longed to be left alone for so many months now. I’d yearned for peace, quiet and solitude. So to be given what I wished for only to now not like it seemed churlish and ungrateful.
My one bright point is that Merlin seems extremely content with his new life, and that does please me. He’d been through such trauma in losing his own family; I was delighted to find I could give him a new life that made him so happy.
‘Right, enough wallowing!’ I say, finishing my coffee. ‘That won’t get us anywhere. So what if I can’t bake and the birds don’t like my food? The one thing I can do well is walk you. What do you say, Merlin?’
Merlin awakes, pricks up his ears and we set about our usual routine to prepare for our outing.
As we leave the cottage I hear a new sound to add to the constant birdsong: the church bells pealing.
‘Must be the Sunday service,’ I say to Merlin as we walk up the path from the cottage. ‘I don’t know how religious this village is, but hopefully they will all be in church right now instead of out for a walk in the woods, so fingers crossed we’ll have the place to ourselves.’
We take one of our newly discovered routes through the woods, and as I’d hoped we barely see anyone other than a couple of other dog walkers who simply nod at me as we pass. As we leave the trees behind, we’re about to head back to the cottage, when I remember I need to buy some plasters and general first-aid bits. I’d cut my finger the other day, and realised too late that I hadn’t restocked my depleted first-aid kit before I moved. I’d searched Evelyn’s cupboards, but couldn’tfind what I needed, so I’d sat with kitchen towel around my finger until the bleeding had stopped.
If I keep cooking in the way I have been, I’m definitely going to need those supplies,I think, looking hesitantly down the street towards the shop. There aren’t too many people about, the church service must still be going on, so I take a chance and hurry along to Bird & Son.
Jenny isn’t behind the counter this morning; instead, there’s a young boy reading a magazine. He barely looks up as we wander in, which is exactly how I prefer it.
I quickly locate the first-aid supplies and gather a few things from the shelf. Then equally speedily I take them to the counter to pay.
The boy nods at me. ‘Find everything you were looking for?’ he asks in a practised fashion.
‘Yes, thank you.’
He nods again and begins to add up my few things.
‘Need a bag?’
‘Oh yes, I do, I forgot my basket,’ I say apologetically.
He shrugs. ‘That’s an extra 5p.’
‘No problem,’ I reply, keen to get away from here as quickly as I can. I can hear the church bells beginning to ring again, which presumably means the end of the service.
The boy adds the carrier bag charge to my total, then he loads my few items into the bag.
‘That’s £8.57 please,’ he says, looking at me.
‘Sure,’ I say, reaching for the pocket of my jacket where I usually keep my purse. ‘Oh,’ I say as my hand finds an empty pocket and I hurriedly tap a couple more. ‘Gosh, I’m terribly sorry, I don’t seem to have my purse on me.’
The boy just stares blankly at me.
I look behind me down the narrow road opposite the shop; I can just see people beginning to spill forth from the church.
‘I’m local,’ I tell him desperately. ‘I live in the village . . . at Bluebird Cottage,’ I add, hoping this will help. Everyone else I’ve spoken to seems to know the cottage and its previous occupant all too well.
‘So?’ the boy says, shrugging. ‘If you haven’t got any money you can’t have the goods.’ He quickly grabs the bag from the counter in case I should try to make a run for it.
‘I meant if you can hold on to the bag, I’ll pop back later and pay.’ I glance again at the people beginning to stream from the church down the road towards us.
‘S’pose it will be all right,’ he says, looking at me oddly as I keep glancing from the window to him and back again.
