Читать книгу A Walk in Wildflower Park - Bella Osborne - Страница 12

Anna was pleased with the letter she’d crafted. All she needed now was an address for Maurice’s previous owner and her good deed would be done. His old address, from Maurice’s vaccination records, was her starting point. Hopefully the new occupants would have a forwarding address, or at least know the name of the nursing home he was in, if it was local.

She pulled up in front of the neat row of terraced houses and went in search of number 55. She spotted the for sale sign before the house number. Anna rang the bell just in case, but there was no answer. Now what? Number 57 looked like number 55’s glamorous friend with its double glazing and shiny front door, so she decided to knock there. No answer. She was about to admit defeat when the door of number 53 opened and Paddington Bear reversed out. At least it looked like Paddington Bear from the back – the duffel coat and hat were spot on but if the wearer had hairy toes they were secreted inside a pair of sensible brogues.

‘Excuse me,’ said Anna. ‘I’m trying to find where Mr Albert Freeman has moved to. Can you help me?’

Paddington checked the door was secure for the third time then slowly turned to face Anna. Under the fancy dress was an elderly lady who looked Anna up and down and blinked a lot. ‘Who’s asking?’

A little surprised by the gruff voice, Anna paused. ‘Sorry, I’m Anna. I’ve a letter for Mr Freeman.’ She held the envelope aloft as evidence and Paddington was distracted by it.

‘He’s moved away.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Anna and Paddington seemed intrigued. ‘I got a cat from the rescue and it’s …’

‘Maurice!’ exclaimed Paddington as she put her bony hands to her mouth in surprise.

‘Yes,’ said Anna, with a smile. ‘I thought Mr Freeman would like to know he’s got a new home.’

Paddington drew closer as if about to share a secret. ‘I can take you to him, if you’d like? Is that your car?’ Paddington pointed to Anna’s Mini.

‘It is.’

‘Good. Let’s go then. I’ve not got all day.’

Anna learned that Paddington was a Mrs Temple and she’d lived next door to Mr Freeman for forty-four years.

‘Pull up here,’ instructed Mrs Temple after a ten-minute drive. ‘That’ll do me lovely. Thank you.’

Anna leaned forward and surveyed the row of shops. ‘Um, this doesn’t look like the nursing home?’

‘No,’ said Mrs Temple with a chuckle, and her many chins jiggled happily. ‘This is my optician. You want the turning back there on the left – it’s just up there. Bye!’ And Mrs Temple slammed the car door.

Anna smiled – she had to admire her cheek. She turned the car around and followed Mrs Temple’s directions. A large painted sign informed her she had arrived at The Cedars although there were no trees in sight.

Stepping inside it was as she’d expected: homely with a strong smell of detergent. Nobody seemed to be manning the reception desk so Anna felt it was acceptable to have a little wander about. She figured it was okay as she just needed to hand the letter to someone and she’d go. She was drawn to the sound of a television and as she reached the door, an efficient-looking woman wearing some sort of uniform was coming out. ‘Hello there. Are you looking for someone?’

‘Yes, Mr Freeman,’ said Anna, ‘but I just need to hand in …’

‘You’re in luck,’ she said, reopening the door. ‘Bert, you’ve got your first visitor.’ Anna wanted to explain to the carer that she was delivering a letter, but she was gone.

An elderly man turned his head half-heartedly towards the door. Bert didn’t appear thrilled to have a visitor. If anything, he looked quite concerned. He was sitting in a large wingback chair and he leaned forward as Anna entered the room, narrowing his eyes sharply as he scrutinised her. It was a large square room with high ceilings and a long redundant fireplace. Too many armchairs had been squeezed in and all were attempting to point at the television. Each chair was occupied, mostly by a sleeping resident, but those who were awake watched Anna with great interest.

‘Hello, I’m Anna.’ She moved nearer to Bert and wished there was somewhere for her to sit down and be slightly less conspicuous. Bert didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘I popped in to give you this,’ she said, presenting him with the letter.

‘I don’t know anyone called Anna,’ said Bert, ignoring the letter in Anna’s outstretched hand. She placed it on the arm of his chair.

‘No, you don’t, but the letter explains everything.’

‘Seeing as you’re here, why don’t you explain everything?’ asked Bert, sinking back into the armchair, his face dour.

‘Okay.’ Anna took a breath. ‘I just wanted you to know that Maurice has got a new home and he’s very happy.’

Bert sat forward abruptly. ‘Are you from the cat prison?’

Anna was taken aback by Bert’s turn of phrase. ‘No, I’m not from the cat rescue. I’m the person who’s given Maurice a new home.’ Anna finished with her warmest smile. The old woman next to Bert had woken up and she was leaning forward too as she fiddled with her hearing aid.

‘You took my cat?’ Bert’s voice was rising.

‘Well, I chose him,’ said Anna, struggling to maintain her smile. This was uncomfortable and unexpected.

‘They had no right to let you take him. He’s my property!’ Bert’s pale face swiftly coloured up as his volume increased.

Within seconds everyone in the room was awake and a whistling broke out from another nearby hearing aid. Anna felt the elderly eyes all fixed on her. ‘But when you moved in here, you signed him over to the rescue.’ Anna liked to stick with the facts; it was frequently the best policy and she hoped it would work now.

‘This is temporary. I’m not staying here. When I go home, Maurice is coming with me.’

‘Who’s Maurice?’ asked the old lady next to Bert.

‘My cat,’ said Bert and Anna together. Bert ground his teeth together and Anna suspected they weren’t his own.

Anna reached for the envelope. ‘There’s a photo of Maurice I thought you’d like to see. He’s in his favourite place on the …’

‘His favourite place is with me,’ said Bert, folding his arms very deliberately and glowering at Anna.

She thought for a moment. For one thing, she didn’t know if Bert had all his marbles, but what she did know was that his house was up for sale and the cat was legally hers. ‘Okay, how about this? I’ll look after Maurice at my place until you’re ready to go home?’

Bert squinted at her and she wasn’t sure if that was progress or not. ‘What will that cost me?’

‘Nothing. He was unhappy at the rescue centre and he’s happy now. It doesn’t make sense to move him again. Agreed?’

‘How will I get in touch with you when I want him back?’

Anna fumbled on this question and blurted out, ‘I’ll come back and see you, and you can tell me then.’

‘Hmm,’ was all Bert muttered. He broke his stare for the first time and looked around the room. ‘What are you lot gawking at?’ There was lots of shuffling and one loud fart before most of the residents pretended to go back to sleep. Bert’s tone changed. ‘And you promise you’ll come back … Anna?’

‘Cross my heart, Bert,’ said Anna, and she meant it.

One sunny morning Sophie joined Anna for her walk across the park to the bus stop. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ asked Anna, pleased to see her friend.

‘The Kraken is having the kids because it’s a teacher training day and I thought I’d avoid the hellish parking for a change … oh, and I’d like to spend some time with my best friend.’

‘Excellent,’ said Anna, breathing in the May air full of the dewy scent of the lilac bushes.

‘And I wanted to have a chat.’ Anna wondered where this was going. ‘I think I have a crush on Hudson,’ said Sophie.

‘What?’ asked Anna, with a half laugh.

‘Don’t laugh, I mean it,’ said Sophie, getting teary. ‘I’m thinking about him all the time. If he talks to me I get all hot and flustered like I did when I was fourteen and Stephen Bethel used to sit next to me in Geography.’

‘That’s your hormones playing tricks.’

‘But it’s all the time, Anna. And I keep dreaming about him.’ Her eyes wandered off to somewhere near the pond. ‘It’s great stuff. Really sexy. If I could film my dreams I’d make a fortune …’

‘La, la, la, not listening,’ chanted Anna, putting her fingers in her ears until Sophie stopped talking.

‘I thought you’d understand.’ Sophie’s bottom lip wobbled.

‘Really? Me? I can’t even bring myself to like Hudson, let alone drool over him. Plus, he’s a gay man in a committed relationship.’

‘But you’re my friend.’ Sophie coughed to disguise the choke of emotion.

Anna gave her arm an affectionate pat. ‘Yes, and you are mine. Though Dave’s my friend too. How would he feel if he knew about this?’

‘I can’t help my dreams. And even if I told Dave that I fancy Hudson, he wouldn’t be bothered because who’s going to fancy me.’

‘You’re gorgeous.’

‘So’s Hudson. He’s perfect, isn’t he?’

‘I’m not keen and he definitely doesn’t like me. Yesterday he did a coffee run and I swear he missed me out on purpose. And then he didn’t tell me the risk review meeting was cancelled …’

‘It’s just you. Even the witches like him,’ said Sophie. Silvie and Janey were renowned for their bitchy comments and therefore known as the Witches of East Wing.

‘I heard he brought in Marks and Spencer’s biscuits. They’re easily bought that pair.’

They walked up the path to the main park gates and the bus stop and Anna noted the multitude of dog roses in bloom, as they passed. She let out a giant yawn.

‘Don’t,’ said Sophie following suit.

‘Sorry, someone kept me awake playing with his balls half the night.’

‘Tell me about it. Dave’s the same,’ said Sophie and they both burst out laughing.

After a good natter to Sophie on the bus Anna was feeling optimistic, but the sight of Roberta at her desk diluted her cheerfulness somewhat.

‘Morning, Roberta,’ she said as she approached.

‘Are you a feminist, Anna?’

Anna sensed a trick question but could only answer honestly. ‘Ye-es,’ she said cautiously.

‘You don’t sound very sure?’

‘I believe in people being treated as individuals regardless of gender.’

Roberta’s nodding indicated she approved of this response. ‘Apparently someone has complained that the central heating is set at a sexist temperature.’

Anna blinked slowly. ‘And what temperature would that be exactly?’

‘Cold enough for things to be noticed through material,’ said Roberta, her demeanour and voice mimicking a schoolteacher.

‘Nipples,’ mouthed Karl behind her back and Anna had to concentrate hard not to smirk.

‘I see. I guess it can be a bit chilly but I wouldn’t have called it sexist,’ said Anna, hoping that would suffice.

‘Okay. If you’re sure it’s not an issue,’ said Roberta. ‘Ladies don’t start fights, but they can finish them,’ she added, with a tip of her head. Anna was squinting with the pressure of trying to work out what the hell she meant. ‘It’s a quote,’ explained Roberta.

‘Right.’ Anna had no idea which feminist icon would have said that but thankfully Roberta was about to enlighten her.

Roberta leaned in close. ‘Marie.’ Anna was still looking blank. ‘From The Aristocats.’

‘Of course,’ said Anna, trying hard to ignore Karl’s huge grin.

It was another quiet night in for Anna as, now Maurice’s period of confinement had ended, she found she was often on her own once it got dark. He was a proper night owl and the living room window was working well as his exit route. It was too small for a human to fit through, and meant she didn’t need to get a cat flap fitted until it started to get colder. She flicked through the telly channels again but decided there was still nothing worth watching so she switched it off. She may as well go to bed and read. She had settled into life without Liam but it didn’t mean she had got used to being on her own.

Anna picked up her mobile phone and jumped slightly as it sprang into life. She was a little embarrassed about how pleased she was to get a message, whoever it was from. She looked at the screen in anticipation. It was a number she didn’t recognise, so she flicked to the text expecting to see some random marketing message but she was wrong.

It read: Can’t wait to get down and dirty with you tomorrow. Looking forward to catching up over lunch too. C.

Anna stared at the message; clearly it was a wrong number. She crafted what she hoped was a suitable reply: Hi, C. Thanks for the offer but I think you’ve got the wrong number.

Anna was sitting huddled over the phone waiting for a reply. She’d had wrong phone calls before but never a text. It was quite funny really – she wondered how much the other person would cringe when they realised their mistake. After five minutes she felt ridiculous for sitting with her phone in her hand, waiting for a reply from a wrong number. Why would they respond? They’d resend the message to the right person and be a little more careful when texting next time. Then the familiar little beeps came and she hurriedly opened the message: How embarrassing. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. I hope I’ve not offended you. C.

Anna wondered if C might actually be a girl, because how many men would bother to respond? She suspected not very many. But seeing as they’d been nice enough to reply, she sent them another text: Not a problem, I’m pretty resilient. Enjoy your date tomorrow.

A response came straight back this time: Pretty and resilient is an interesting combination. Tomorrow not as exciting as it sounds. Helping a friend clean their patio. C.

It was a comedy text to a friend, a clever play on words, not a sexy text to a lover as she’d first thought. She was intrigued as to who this mystery texter was. Though she was keen to text straight back, she calmed herself down and went and put the kettle on and did a little bit of analysis. She really did need to get out more if this was the most excitement she’d had in her life since they’d added Peanut KitKats to the vending machine at work. Anna still didn’t know if the mystery texter was a man or a woman – or worse still, a teenager. Loads of kids had mobiles these days. She gave a little shiver; that was a creepy thought.

Part of her mind had already wandered off in the opposite direction and conjured up a tall handsome stranger, sitting in a large glass-fronted office laughing at the text exchange. He had no wedding ring and bore a striking resemblance to Ryan Gosling – well, it was her fantasy after all.

Anna was cupping her tea and thinking about whether she should reply when another much longer text appeared: Hi Tim, just did something funny – texted wrong number and got cute messages back. Worried it’s a big hairy bloke! See you at 10 tomorrow, mate. Text me postcode for your new place. I don’t know my way around Selly Oak. Did you get the festival tickets? C.

It was as if he’d read her mind, as she could now safely assume he was male and clearly not ancient if he was going to a festival. And he’d called her cute – well, he’d called her texts cute. And he was most likely local if he was going to Selly Oak tomorrow. This was getting interesting. She had to reply to this message, because surely it would be rude not to. After all, she had to inform ‘C’ that Tim wouldn’t have received his text …

Hi, C. Sorry, you got the wrong number again. Nice to text with you though, and enjoy the patio cleaning. A. There. That was okay – informative, and not too forward.

By the time she’d brushed her teeth there was another message: Dear A. Once again, soooo sorry. I am clearly a sausage-fingered idiot. Apologies! I’ll let you know how the patio cleaning goes. C :-)

Anna placed her phone on the bedside table and turned off the light. She quickly drifted off to sleep with the tiniest of smiles on her lips, a large cat on her feet, and just the faintest glimmer of something in her heart.