Page 22 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
‘What about Mavis, the lady who makes up the bedrooms?’
‘We sent her once and they fell out. They got into a fist fight.’
‘Seriously?’
‘No. But she has a dodgy hip. Plus, she’s employed as a cleaner. You’re employed as a general dogsbody.’
‘Lucky me.’
‘Pretty please?’
‘I reserve the right to get into a fist fight with Victoria too, if she’s rude or difficult.’
‘Sure. As long as she doesn’t leave, anything’s fine.’
Despite her reluctance to visit the old lady, it was another fine autumn morning when she set out, riding along the river, this time making sure to give herself a few minutes of dithering time in case she came across any swans or other interesting birds. This morning, though, there was only a group of schoolboys on a canoeing trip, to whom she gave a cheerful wave, and a couple of early morning fishermen casting their lines into the dark waters underneath the riverbanks.
The more she thought about it, the fabled Willow River Guesthouse Annexe had proved a shrewd buy for Uncle Gus. Set in its own grounds, it would have made a beautiful country home in its own right. Lily wondered about turning the ground floor into some kind of café or restaurant, since the old platform was already set up as a useful outdoor terrace. Perhaps she could put the idea to Uncle Gus. It might even be nice to work there—
What are you doing? You’re back for a breather, not permanently.
The voice of reason didn’t sound very reasonable. The cool autumn days would soon give way to a far colder and rainier winter, the days short and the nights long, the town empty, and nothing much to do but sit around and watch TV.
A couple of sporty cyclists passed her, giving her a brief nod of acknowledgement as she pulled in to let them race past. Things had changed. Under the water, Willow River might still be the place where she had grown up, but above the water, it was greatly different. The summer no longer signaled the end of days, the beginning of ten months of bleakness. The autumn days were taking on a life of their own.
She was five minutes early when she knocked on Victoria’s door.
‘Who is it?’ came a booming voice from inside.
‘It’s me, the same girl as yesterday,’ Lily called. ‘My name’s Lily Markham, in case you were wondering.’
The door swung open, and Victoria stood there. While not quite the Mrs. Havisham she might have been, in a black evening dress adorned with a fur jacket, Victoria’s appearance came as something of a surprise, particularly as it was not yet nine-thirty in the morning. Lily caught a strong whiff of perfume and took a step back.
‘I wasn’t wondering,’ Victoria said. ‘But perhaps I’ll jot it down. I may include you in a book, however I can’t guarantee you’ll make it to the end.’
‘That’s too bad,’ Lily said. ‘Particularly after I included an extra sausage.’
‘Are you concerned that I am underweight?’
‘I grilled them extra lean.’
‘So you’ve been upgraded from delivery person to chef?’
‘My aunt hurt her knee falling out of bed, so I said I’d take over.’
‘Falling out of bed….’ Victoria frowned as she stared up at the ceiling, making a mental note. ‘An interesting way to die….’
‘Or just to hurt one’s knee.’
‘Yes, yes. Well, anyway, you may wait downstairs, Felicity.’
‘Lily. My name is Lily.’
‘That’s nice. I’m sure it is.’
Victoria snatched the hamper out of Lily’s hands and shut the door in her face. Lily stared at the varnished pine for a couple of seconds, then let out a sigh and headed downstairs. This time, to avoid breaking any more plates, she took a seat in a small common room, which would once have been the old station’s waiting area. A television stood in a corner, a shelf of books and DVDs beside it. Framed pictures of the old station—some in black and white—some in colour, hung from the walls. Through the rear window was a little car park, beside it a grassy area that had been roughly cut. Lily was wistfully imagining it full of picnic benches, flowerbeds, and children’s play equipment, when a voice came shuddering down from upstairs.
‘Felicity? Where are you?’
