Page 47 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
She sent the message, then immediately regretted it. They had been so formal, but now she had crossed the line into borderline flirtatiousness. She didn’t even know what he looked like now. He could be thin and weedy or the size of a house. He might be bald, or cross-eyed, or walk with a limp. Not that she believed she was shallow, of course, but a boyfriend was about a total package. You could be mates with anyone, and she liked Michael’s personality enough that she would be mates with him even if he had an elephant’s nose, three legs, and farted when he walked, but she wouldn’t want to go out with him. After her experience with Steve, she had found herself craving some kind of relationship, one that was more than downing tequilas in the pub or throwing high-fives after a skittles strike.
No reply. She really had pushed it too far. Even if he looked like a TV actor, there was no way she had a chance now. She had crossed the line—
A message appeared, and Lily was so desperate to open it that she nearly dropped the phone.
Hi Lily,
Yes, I remember that day. I hoped it was you.
Goodnight,
Michael
23
Visitor
In order to clear out some of the funk that was starting to cloud her thoughts, Lily caught the bus into Brentwell on Wednesday morning to do a bit of shopping, distancing herself from the guesthouse, Victoria, Michael, and all the strange events and possibilities that were beginning to swirl like freshly made coffee around her. She had been tempted to bring her laptop but in the end had decided to leave it at home, but as she wandered up and down the high street, briefly looking around a couple of the newer shops, all she could think about was getting home and replying to Michael. She was starting to lose herself again, and she mentally scolded herself, remembering how it had been at the beginning with Steve, endless text conversations whenever they weren’t together, analysis of every word and every pause before a reply. She hadn’t really felt sure about their relationship until he had proposed, as though that ring on her finger had been the certificate of companionship that her fragile confidence had needed. Before it happened, she had pestered him about moving in together, only to be constantly rebuked by his requirement of a studio and personal space for his art.
Now, of course, she knew why.
As she walked up and down the street, she couldn’t help but glance at the people she passed, wondering how closely they would fit into the mould she had mentally built for Michael. What if that was him, with the beard and the nose ring, or was that him, the man whose cheekbones were so hollow he had to subsist off lettuce and water, or that hulking guy with the bulging muscles?
She stood and stared for a long time at a man in a black suit with a clipboard under his arm, knocking on the door of a townhouse, his hair neatly cropped, clean shaven, spectacles perched on his nose. The man fit her image perfectly, especially when he gave a little cough into his sleeve, and Lily tried to force an attraction, just in case this was him, this was Michael—
‘Jim Swift from South West Water,’ the man called, leaning close to the door. ‘I’m just calling around to see if you’re interested in having a new immersion heater installed….’
Lily sighed and moved on.
She didn’t really buy much in the end; a sweater, some new tights, and a cheap pair of trainers in an autumn sale, but as she drove back to Willow River, she felt a sudden pang of loneliness. Aside from a few brief messages, she hadn’t been in contact with any of her old London friends in the weeks since moving home. Life moved fast in the city, and they had likely moved on. Her desk at Davidson’s had been refilled, and she was fast fading into obscurity. Wanting some kind of human contact, she got off the bus outside the church and headed over to the coffee shop, where she caught Mary just finishing up her shift.
‘Hello, stranger. How are you doing?’
‘Got time for a quick coffee? Or I can walk with you over to the school if you like.’
‘No probs. The boys have got a practice thing for the harvest festival next week. They’re doing some little stage play so I don’t have to get them until half four. You look all flustered. What’s going on?’
Lily shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling this kind of weirdness about everything.’
‘Sounds like you need a night out.’ Mary chuckled. ‘If you can hang on six to eight months, until I’ve got this one out and on the bottle, we’ll get a movie night going on.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be all needy when you’re there with two—and soon three—kids.’
Mary shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you one thing—once you’ve got a kid or two running around your feet, you learn the value of free time. Get half an hour to yourself and it’s like gold. Don’t waste a second of it.’
‘All right, I’ll try.’
‘Get down the pub, get out to the shops, get yourself a business going if that’s your thing. Once you’ve got kids—and I wouldn’t change anything for the world—getting five minutes just to put your feet up becomes a nearly impossible challenge.’
‘I don’t think I’m likely to have kids any time soon.’
‘Ah, you’re still young. But you never know when someone could come into your life and sweep you off your feet.’
The coffee pot had finished brewing, so Mary poured out a couple of cups and they sat down at a table.
‘So, can you work your fortunetelling magic on me and tell me when that’s likely to happen?’ Lily said. ‘Because I’ve kind of given up.’
Mary smiled. ‘It could be sooner than you think. You never know, when you get home tonight there could be someone special waiting for you.’
