Page 7 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
I never slept that well any more. I spent far too many nights tossing and turning, worrying about the children, myself, and a hundred other things that really didn’t warrant me or anyone else worrying about them.
And then there were the nightmares. The awful, unremitting nightmares . . .
Disturbed sleep, or the lack of it, was apparently one of the symptoms – another one to add to my ever-growing list.
To most people, popping down to the local shop seemed such a simple thing, but to me it was like planning a full-on military mission. I’m currently using one of the coping techniques I’ve been taught – planning ahead. Basically, I have to run through in my mind all the various scenarios that might take place while I’m both at the shop and travelling to and from it. The theory being that then I will feel more in control should any of those scenarios actually happen. Not only do I have to think of anything that might take place, but also how I might feel if it does, so I can prepare.
Still gazing outside, I notice that some of the shrubs that surround the overgrown lawn are starting to look a little unkempt.I should probably try to keep the garden tidy while I’m here,I think.The previous resident clearly cared a lot about it.
A few snowdrops that have seen better days sway to and fro in the breeze next to some cheery crocuses – currently in full bloom. Daffodils still in bud fight the wind by trying to sit poker straight above them both, waiting for the right time to bloom.
In the middle of the lawn stands an ornate wooden bird table. It’s about five feet high, has a little house on top with a roof, and various hooks underneath where some bird feeders, rather sadly, swing empty.
While I’m watching the table, a little robin flies up from one of the bushes and lands there. It rests for a moment, looking around, then it hops about on the table as if searching for food. Disappointed, it quickly flies away.
Goodness, am I going to have to feed you as well?I think as I spot the robin hiding in one of the bushes spying on me.This cottage is already starting to need a lot more upkeep than I’m used to – a dog, a garden, and now a bird feeder too.
After I’ve sat for a few more minutes, watching to see if the robin tries the table again, I can’t put off leaving the cottage any longer. I glance at the old wooden mantel clock gently ticking away above the empty fireplace. It’s 10 a.m.; hopefully the shop shouldn’t be too busy if we go now.
Merlin and I head towards the front door to get ready. I pause as I had the day before to pull on my jacket and attach Merlin’s lead to his collar, hoping the familiarity of this routine will make stepping outside in a moment slightly easier. After all, I’d survived our outing yesterday, even when we’d run into a stranger.
I think about the jogger for a moment. How odd it must have seemed to him – me not speaking like that. He must have thought me very rude, or very strange.
But what’s new? Most people seemed to think I was a bit weird these days. Not my children, they had stuck with methroughout, but most of my colleagues and many of my old friends had simply faded away when I hadn’t returned to my old self, and I couldn’t blame them really.
I sigh as I lift a wicker basket from one of the hooks next to where my coat had hung.You mustn’t blame yourself, Ava, I tell myself in practised fashion.That was your past; this is your future now. You simply have to make a go of today; don’t worry about anything else. I grip the basket extra tightly, then I nod purposefully at Merlin before I turn the handle of the front door and pull it open.
But yet again I hesitate on the step. ‘Come on, Ava!’ I tell myself sternly. ‘You can do this – what’s the worst that can happen?’
My therapist had advised me not to use that phrase. Almost experiencingthe worst that could happenwas what had made me like this in the first place. But I liked the saying; it somehow helped put things in perspective.
The robin appears again. This time it lands on the gate and watches us with a pair of beady but knowing eyes.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I tell him as I dither on the step. ‘I’m trying. If I do get out, I might buy food for you as well, if you’re lucky.’
The robin gives us one last look and then flies up into the sky.
If only I could feel as free as you, I think, watching it go.
I take a deep calming breath. ‘Right,’ I say, suddenly feeling brave enough to lock the door behind us. ‘Let’s do this.’
Merlin, who has been patiently waiting beside me on the step, trots happily down the path in front of me, seemingly without a care in the world. And I follow, feeling more like we’re about to scale Mount Everest together.
*
Bird & Son, the sign above the shop window says in bright red lettering,established 1936.Merlin and I are currently standing on the opposite side of the road to the shop, just staring at it. Well, I’m staring; Merlin has found some scent or other to amuse him while I try to drum up enough courage to cross the road.
He’d been really good to start with and had sat neatly on the side of the pavement waiting for us to cross. But when several cars had slowly passed and we still hadn’t moved, Merlin had become bored with waiting and I’d allowed him the length of his lead to go off and investigate for a bit.
Craning my neck, I try to see through the shop window to determine if there’re many people inside. It doesn’t look like there are, but the shop is bigger than I’d initially thought when I’d driven past in a taxi on my first trip to the village. It looks like it’s a sort of L shape; on the short side there’s a shop counter, with a till and a display of newspapers, magazines and sweets, and at the end behind a glass screen, a little Post Office. On the longer side, the shop goes back quite far, with two aisles packed full of food and groceries.
An old man wearing a flat tweed cap comes out of the shop carrying a newspaper and a pint of milk. He looks with interest at me still standing in the same place as when he’d gone in a few minutes ago. He nods and I attempt a sort of half-smile back.
‘She doesn’t mind you bringing the dog in,’ he calls across the road, looking at Merlin. ‘As long as he’s well behaved.’
‘Thanks,’ I manage to reply. ‘I was just waiting until it’s a bit quieter in there.’
‘No one in there now,’ he says. ‘Go on, duck. Jenny will look after ya both.’
