Page 66 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
Basil and I are taking our usual morning walk. With sunshine beating down on our backs and bright blue skies above our heads, life seems a lot better than it had yesterday. Overnight I’ve decided that what happened yesterday was nothing for me to be ashamed about, and I mustn’t let Jake’s rejection ruin my time here.
‘You’ve come so far, Poppy,’ I’d told myself as I lay in bed, ‘don’t let this one incident set you back.’ Jake was just one person; I wasn’t going to allow him to tarnish my thoughts about everyone here.
‘Come on, Bas!’ I’d said to Basil as we set off on our walk. ‘This is a new day for us, who knows what might happen. It could be great!’
Basil had looked up at me cynically, as if he knew his days were never going to change that much. All Basil was interested in were his walks and a constant supply of food being on hand at all times. Other than that he has nothing to stress about in his life – there are times when I’m quite envious of him.
We’re about to continue with our walk along the clifftops, when I turn and look up the path that leads to Trecarlan Castle, just as I had yesterday morning before Jake caught up with us. I shake my head. No, no Jake today.
I’d thought about heading up there to take a look around a number of times since the day I came here with Charlie, but the truth is I’m scared of what I might find. Visits to Trecarlan with Stan had been such an integral part of my childhood in St Felix that the thought of visiting there without him – and, heaven forbid, finding his beloved home derelict – was not something I could face.
But today is a new day, I remind myself. Maybe the time has come to take that first step on a new path. So I take a deep breath, give a gentle tug on Basil’s lead, and together we set off up the long road that leads to the castle.
As Basil and I get closer to Trecarlan, and the blurred outline of the grey stone house begins to sharpen, I’m surprised by how little it has changed over the years.
Yes, it’s more overgrown than I remember, there’s ivy covering the walls and it looks a bit dilapidated with the odd crack in the brickwork, but fundamentally it’s much the same as it was when I was a child. As Basil and I stand looking up at the grand entrance, I half expect Stan to come wandering down the steps to greet us.
But I know that isn’t going to happen. After Amber and I had spoken about Stan the day we opened the shop, I’d made a few enquiries. According to the handful of people who remembered him, he’d left the castle years ago and Trecarlan has been standing empty ever since.
I unhook Basil from his lead so he can pootle about on his own for a while, then I walk up the stone steps that lead to the entrance of the castle, hoping I might be able to peek through one of the windows. But although the curtains are pulled back, the interior of the house is dark so it’s difficult to see anything.
‘Basil!’ I call to a wandering Basil, currently cocking his leg against one of the gruff-looking gargoyles that guard the stone steps. ‘Come along, time we were moving on.’
Basil begrudgingly trots along behind me as we wander through the grounds, and happy memories begin to return as I recognise the places where Will and I played as children. Stan used to let us come up here as often as we liked. To be honest, I think he quite liked having some company about the place. He had no family, just a few staff that worked for him – his helpers, Stan would call them. There was the lady that came in to clean for him… I rack my brains, trying to recall her name… Maggie, that’s it! I remember her now. Then there was a husband and wife team that took care of the cooking and gardening full-time… oh, what were their names? Suddenly these details seem very important and I’m irritated with myself for having forgotten.
Bertie! That was the chap’s name, and the woman was Babs.
I remember Babs was always nice to Will and me. She’d provide us with plates of cakes and juice, and sometimes, when she was baking for Stan, she’d let us sit and watch her. If we were good, she’d allow us to lick the bowl and the spoon clean when she’d finished.
Happy memories…
Sometimes we’d come to Trecarlan alone, and sometimes we’d come here with my grandmother. She was great friends with Stan, and she’d often bring him the leftover flowers from the shop at the end of the week to brighten up his ‘dreary old castle’ as she’d jokingly call it.
‘Something’s not right here, Basil,’ I tell him as we stop at the back of the castle and I look around. ‘If no one lives here any more, then why are the grounds so well kept?’
I’d known something was amiss since we’d started exploring. Even though the castle appears to be shut up, the grass and bushes that surround it have all been pruned and beautifully maintained.
‘Hmm,’ I say to a disinterested Basil, who’s currently engrossed in sniffing the stem of an immaculate topiary bush trimmed into a cone. ‘I wonder…?’
The walled area we’re standing in front of used to be the kitchen garden. Will and I would sometimes help Bertie plant vegetables here, and when we came back a few months later for another holiday, we’d find our tiny seeds had grown into tasty vegetables that Babs would make into stews and soups for Stan.
I lift the rusty old latch on the wooden gate, praying it isn’t locked. To my joy the gate swings open. I call Basil and we enter a derelict kitchen garden that bears little resemblance to Bertie’s neat, well-tended vegetable patch of old.
‘OK, Basil, if I remember rightly there always used to be a key…’ I lean down and lift a loose piece of paving slab, ‘right about here!’ I say triumphantly, lifting a rusty key in the air. ‘And it should fit…’ I put the key into the lock in the door in front of me and turn it. ‘Here!I was right!’
I turn the handle of the kitchen door – which used to be blue, but so much paint has peeled away it’s hard to tell what colour it had once been – and step inside. ‘Come on, Basil!’ I call. ‘We’re going in.’
The interior of Trecarlan Castle is much as I remember.
It’s grand – in that the rooms are huge and in some cases ornately decorated, so you can imagine past owners living here with staff tending to their every need. But not so grand that it doesn’t seem like a home. That’s very much how I remember it – Stan’s home. A place we could come to play and feel safe.
The décor may be dated, there’s a thick layer of dust covering every surface and large cobwebs in places there shouldn’t be, but it still has a certain ambience. A warm, welcoming feel, so that as I wander from room to room with Basil by my side, I don’t feel scared or worried what might jump out at me, I simply feel nostalgic for a time when I was young, carefree and happy.
After exploring the house thoroughly, I can’t find any signs of life. There’s definitely no one living here, the place hasn’t been touched for years, that much is clear. But if no one is living in the house, why are the gardens so well cared for?
Eventually we find ourselves at the entrance to the ballroom, which must have played host to many grand events in the castle’s history, but which I remember for something much more fun.
While Basil sniffs amiably about the doorway, I walk over to one side of the room and slip my shoes off. I don’t know why I check either side of me to see if anyone is coming – old habits die hard, I guess. But with a huge grin on my face I begin to run across the floor. About halfway across, I twist slightly to the side and slide the rest of the way in my socks across the polished wooden floor.
