Page 4 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘Please stop worrying, Mum,’ Hannah pleads. ‘What’s important right now is thatyoufeel secure and happy again; and if this little cottage in the middle of nowhere is going to help you to heal, then if you promise not to worry too much about us, we’ll promise in return not to spend all our time worrying about you. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ I say, trying my best to sound as confident as theyboth did. But worrying, anxiety and general fear was what I experienced on a daily basis these days. My state of mind was one of the things I hoped this move to the country might help me with. But hearing the news that my son was going to live somewhere I considered dangerous like New York was not getting me off to the best start.
So as Merlin and I wave off my two children, I know in my heart of hearts that promising not to worry about them was a promise I’ll never be able to keep.
Two
‘Right,’ I say to Merlin when I’ve tackled some of the many boxes and cases that Matt had unloaded from the back of his car. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this already.’
As I’d unpacked each box from my old life, I’d tried hard to find appropriate places to put my things. The clothes had been easy enough; I’d hung them in a huge wooden wardrobe, and folded them into possibly the largest chest of drawers I’d ever seen in the only bedroom of the cottage. I’d only brought casual things with me: I’d put all my work clothes into storage. I hadn’t worn them in ages, plus they reminded me too much of my old life, and that was what I was here to forget.
Any kitchen equipment (of which I have very little) went in the corresponding room. I was intrigued to find that the previous occupant of the cottage is clearly a much keener cook than me, and the old-fashioned kitchen is very well stocked for creating all sorts of interesting meals and bakes. Copper pots and pans hang from the ceiling on a wooden airer; blue-striped storage pots filled with spoons, whisks and spatulas sit onpristine scrubbed worktops, alongside large chunky chopping boards and a solid wooden knife block.
My sleek, hi-tech kettle, toaster and coffee maker, all so perfectly matched to my previous minimalist apartment, don’t look quite so at home here in this practical yet cosy kitchen.
I’d been very glad to hear that the quaintly named Bluebird Cottage came ‘fully furnished’. The rental company had informed me that the previous occupant had gone abroad indefinitely to take care of their ill daughter in Australia, and desperately wanted someone to look after their beloved home until they returned.
The pretty whitewashed cottage had seemed almost too perfect when I’d looked through the details – rural, peaceful, immediate occupation needed – so I’d contacted the company straightaway to express my interest. It came as an enormous, but very welcome surprise that, in fact, I was the only person to show any interest in the property. It seemed idyllic, and my hopes that I’d found the perfect place to get away from everything for a while were confirmed when I paid Bluebird Cottage a brief visit, and put down a deposit and my first month’s rent there and then.
It’s a charming little place; the one pretty bedroom has in addition to the antique wooden furniture where my clothes now reside, an ornate, comfortable double bed with carved wooden head- and footboards depicting birds and other wildlife. The bathroom next door has a large old-fashioned free-standing bath, with a basic shower at one end, and a solid white sink with pretty vintage taps. Downstairs, the narrow kitchen that runs along one side of the small cottage has a window that looks out to the back garden, and there’s a tiny laundry room next door, with just enough space for a washing machine and tumbledryer. Next to that is the largest room of the house – a sunny sitting room, where there’s a mismatched set of comfortable armchairs with colourful embroidered cushions scattered over them, a flowery well-upholstered sofa, and, next to a small dining table and chairs, a set of overflowing bookshelves. The sitting room also has, through a pair of French windows, a delightful view of the large well-kept garden, which the previous occupant has obviously take a lot of pride in, but which I might very well allow to go to ruin – my gardening skills, a bit like my culinary skills, leave a lot to be desired.
I’m lucky that currently, I don’t have to worry about work. I’ve recently been awarded a generous redundancy package from the firm that I’d worked for in London, and I’ve decided to use some of that money to allow me to try living in the country for a while, in the hope it might help me to heal and move on with my life.
A couple of years ago I would never have considered leaving my job, the city, and my very active social life and moving to relative isolation like this. But things change – I’d changed – and I knew I’d never be quite the same again.
I desperately hoped this move would do me good. Perhaps it might even bring back some of the old me. I missed that confident Ava, and I often wondered if I’d ever see or feel like her again.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ I ask Merlin. I glance at my watch; it was a dull day in mid-March, and it was already starting to get dark, even though it was only just after five. ‘I’m pretty sure we’ll be safe,’ I tell my new dog friend, who watches me with interest as I pull on my trainers and gather my jacket from the coat rack in the narrow hall. ‘I’m sure there won’t be too many people around now. Soon it will be summer and the nights willbe as bright as the day, though. Maybe then we’ll have to go out super early in the mornings if we want to keep ourselves to ourselves.’
Merlin cocks his head to one side so his right ear is pricked up, but his left remains lowered.
I smile at him. ‘You don’t care, do you?’ I say, lifting his new leather lead down from where I’d also hung it on the coat rack. ‘As long as you get a walk, I’m sure it doesn’t bother you how many people we see.’
Merlin, realising what I’ve got in my hand, jumps up, bounds over and sits neatly at my feet, both ears now raised as he looks eagerly up at me.
‘Youhavebeen brought up well,’ I tell him, clipping his lead to his matching red leather collar. ‘Good boy!
‘Right, so you’ve got your lead on,’ I say, going through my mental checklist before we leave, ‘and I’ve got my coat on.’ I pause, zipping it up. ‘I think that’s everything, isn’t it?’
I’m still very new to being a dog owner, and there’s so much you have to think about. I’d got so used to living on my own since the children left home and only having myself to think about, that having Merlin to care for reminds me of when Hannah and Matt were babies. Back then I had to remember so much before I went out anywhere with them. ‘At least you don’t need nappies, eh?’ I say, smiling at Merlin. ‘But you do need these.’ I tap my pocket to check there’s an ample supply of poo bags there and I’m glad to find there is.
‘I think I’m getting better at this already,’ I say to the patiently waiting Merlin. ‘Right then.’ I look back into the cottage one more time just to check I’ve remembered to switch everything off and lock everything up. Then I open the front door, but as usual I hesitate before I step outside.
‘It’s going to be fine, isn’t it?’ I ask Merlin nervously.
Merlin barks reassuringly, and again I smile; it was as though he knew what I was saying.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him gratefully.
We step outside together and I lock the cottage behind us, and with Merlin leading the way we set off through the gate. A small gang of sparrows stops chattering to each other and watches us with interest from a nearby tree as we leave the cottage.
‘Hello,’ I say to them as we pass. ‘I’m Ava and this is Merlin. We’re new here.’
The sparrows immediately take flight.
‘I don’t blame you,’ I say, watching them fly up into the sky. ‘I don’t like strangers much either.
‘Which way, Merlin?’ I ask the little grey dog as we reach the top of the narrow path that leads up from the cottage, and step out on to the pavement that runs alongside the main road. ‘Perhaps this way?’ I continue, veering to the left because I know the other way leads towards the centre of the village. ‘I’m sure we’ll have less chance of bumping into anyone if we go in this direction.’
