Читать книгу The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year - Jenni Keer - Страница 9

‘Can I help you?’ Lucy asked as she peered around the door.

It was rather late for house calls, but she answered the knock because a confused Brenda had called very late one evening the previous week, thinking it was early morning and clutching a bundle of borrowed Regency romances. Lucy was relieved to discover this visit was not from her disorientated friend, although was unsettled to discover the formally dressed man from number twenty-four on her front steps.

‘Cat,’ he said.

‘Pardon?’ Had her new neighbour really barked a solitary word at her?

‘That damn cat from the other day is hiding in the utility and my eyes are swelling up faster than popcorn in a sodding microwave.’

‘The removal van stray? Oh, I was wondering what happened to it.’ She’d kept an eye out for it the previous night, periodically sticking her head out the back door and calling ‘cat’, but it hadn’t reappeared.

‘It’s backed itself between the washing machine and the tumble dryer and I don’t know how to get it out, short of shooting it and pulling the corpse free with the end of the broom.’

Lucy narrowed her eyes and hoped this was just his dry sense of humour.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I can’t take it on and wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did.’

Never allowed pets as children, Lucy and Emily had made do with a stuffed Scooby-Doo (great at the sit command – rubbish at fetch). Their mother wasn’t one for the mess and inconvenience that invariably came with animals: stray clumps of hair, unhygienic food bowls and muddy paw prints on her immaculate white tiled kitchen floor. But there was something about cats that appealed to Lucy. They were independent yet loving. They didn’t demand much apart from a lap and they didn’t judge you on your silly comments or untidy nature.

‘Fine, but it’s the third time I’ve caught it in my house and I’m losing patience, so I’m going with the shooting option…’ He shrugged his wide shoulders. Was he joking? And could she live with herself if he wasn’t?

‘Okay, I’ll find my shoes and come over,’ she sighed.

‘Right,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome,’ Lucy mumbled under her breath as he walked out through her front gate.

A few minutes later Lucy was at his front door. After some clumping and huffing, it swung open and he stood back for her to enter. When she realised she wasn’t going to get a word out of him, she stepped inside and followed him down the long hallway.

As he strode away, the musky scent of Paco Rabanne lingered long enough to make her head turn like a hungry Bisto kid. Cross with her nose for leading her mind astray, she tried to peek through the open doors as she followed him without being obvious. There was nothing dotted about; no ornaments, no photographs, no personal objects whatsoever. What little furniture there was looked brand new and insubstantial. Goodness knows why it had taken the removers most of the day. Perhaps he hadn’t finished unpacking yet, although there weren’t any boxes lying about.

‘Through here,’ the slightly scary bear of a man said as he gestured to a door at the end of the corridor.

Lucy walked into the utility and looked in the direction he was pointing. She bent down in front of the washing machine. Two of the yellowest, widest eyes blinked back from the dark.

‘Come here, sweetheart.’ Lucy put her hand tentatively between the two machines and made kissy noises.

‘Huh. It will take more than that. I’ve been here half an hour and all I’ve got is an allergic reaction for my trouble.’ To make his point, he blinked his puffy eyes. ‘I’ve had to abandon the contacts and I’ll be damned if I can find my spare pair of glasses.’

No one was more surprised than Lucy when the cat, head low and ears back, came towards her.

‘Well, I’ll be…’ He reversed like a cartoon elephant backing away from a mouse as the cat emerged from the gap. ‘We clearly have a Doctor Dolittle in the neighbourhood.’

Lucy coaxed out the small black streak, but it bypassed her and walked over to the homeowner, rubbing around his legs and purring softly, even as he stepped away. Looking down at the animal though, his expression changed from alarm to compassion. He stopped his retreat and let it have a moment of contentment getting to know his trouser leg. His hand twitched, as if he was considering bending down for a stroke, but then Lucy heard him sniff. Reminded of his allergy, his whole body stiffened. She walked over and scooped up the cat.

‘So, just you in this great big house?’ she asked, hoping for more than a one-word answer.

‘Yes.’

She persevered. ‘My house has been divided into three flats and I rent the ground floor. It gives me a bit of garden and the couple on the top floor are never there because they travel…’

He looked at his watch, bringing it Mr Magoo-style close to his face. A combination of no contact lenses and the allergic reaction, she assumed. ‘Right. Look, I don’t do small talk. Nothing personal. Only child thing. Probably why I choose to be on my own,’ he said pointedly.

‘What a shame. You have no one to chat with about your day. No one pleased to see you when you walk through the door…’

‘Yeah, well, sometimes company isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’ It wasn’t an aggressive response, more a contemplative one.

‘Nonsense. Even one of these darling creatures would make a great companion,’ she said, snuggling up to the cat. ‘Shame I’m not allowed pets at the flat. Even a goldfish can be a good sounding board when life gets stressful.’ She turned her attention to the bag of fur and bones she was holding, scrunching up her nose like a squirrel and wiggling her face in close. ‘I would have given you a home. Yes I would. I would have cuddled and snuggled you, and rubbed your fluffy, little tummy…’

A dismissive snort came from the man, but the deepest, rumbliest purr came from the cat as it rubbed its tiny head on Lucy’s chin.

‘Aww. It’s such a friendly, trusting little thing.’

‘I’m sure it’s the loveliest creature ever to grace this earth, but I’m really struggling here.’ He rubbed his fingers underneath his bloodshot eyes, trying to alleviate the itchiness without adding to the irritation. ‘So perhaps…?’ He waved towards the front door and walked out to the hall, obviously expecting Lucy and the cat to follow. It was clear they’d outstayed their welcome, not that either of them had been particularly welcome in the first place.

‘Of course. Sorry. I’m Lucy Baker, by the way,’ she said, turning back as she reached the front door with her refugee.

‘George Aberdour.’ He nodded briefly and then firmly closed the door on them both.

‘A thank you would have been nice. I mean, it wasn’t even my cat.’

Lucy was filling Brenda in on the details of her visit to George’s house as she handed over a small bag of shopping she’d picked up for her friend after work. Although Brenda would happily trot into the town centre, both the large supermarkets were on the outskirts, and you needed transport to get to them – which Brenda no longer had.

This close friendship, which began in earnest after bumping into each other near the Mills and Boons at the local library and giggling over the bare-chested men on the covers, quickly became important to them both. The yawning age difference meant nothing to two lost women in need of companionship. Lucy’s youthful energy and altruism complemented Brenda’s assertiveness and wisdom, each looking to the other for qualities they wished to possess.

‘But despite his manner, there’s karma at play,’ Lucy continued, ‘because no sooner had I walked up his path than the cat wriggled free and ran to the back of his house. If he so much as opens a window, the cat will be back inside like a dieting woman to an opened bar of Galaxy.’

‘Agreed,’ said Brenda, as she stepped into the hall, allowing Lucy space to enter. Lucy stopping for tea and cake after delivering the shopping was a given, established the previous year as Brenda’s way of saying thank you. ‘That little fellow is on a mission and George is the goal. I think our little stray has found a home there.’

‘I find that highly unlikely. Mr Aberdour is definitely not a cat lover.’ Lucy shook her head gently, thinking of his less than complimentary descriptions of the cat.

Brenda smiled. ‘Oh, the universe is cleverer than you give it credit for, my dear.’

‘Now I know you’re losing the plot,’ Lucy joked, but an uncomfortable silence followed.

They lingered in the long hallway, surrounded by the ticking and tocking of Brenda’s many clocks. Every time Lucy visited, she had the strange feeling they were collectively counting down to something, but she hadn’t quite worked out what. A small pile of brown paper packages sat on the Shaker table by the front door awaiting collection and a potent mix of rosemary and tea tree drifted out from the kitchen. Whether it was the fragrant scents, the rhythm of the clocks or merely being with a good friend, Lucy felt more at ease in this house than she did anywhere else in the world.

‘As it’s such a pleasant evening, I thought we could have the tea in the garden,’ said Brenda, rallying. ‘I wanted to talk to you about…’ She frowned. ‘It will come back to me in a minute. And perhaps today we could try the valerian and chamomile?’

‘That sounds lovely.’ Lucy was in no hurry to return to her flat, but wished she’d thought to grab her knitting. There was something rather fun about having Poldark across your knee, even if he was in 4 ply.

Ten minutes later, the pair stepped through the back door and delicate chimes tinkled as the door swung shut behind them. Lucy carried the tray of tea and placed it on the cast-iron bistro set on the patio. Like her garden, Brenda’s was small, but it was overflowing with flowers, herbs and unrestrained trees and somehow managed to look about four times the size of her own. A light breeze toyed with Lucy’s hair and she smiled as a group of starlings perched around the birdbath stopped their chatter in deference to the kindly old lady who kept their drinking water so efficiently topped up.

‘So how has your week been, my darling?’ Brenda asked, pouring the highly scented tea into garish Sixties bone-china cups.

‘It started well. It was my niece’s birthday on Monday and she was delighted with the foldaway kitchen I sent – one of the perks of working at a toy wholesaler. Emily helped her Skype me to say thanks and it was hilarious. She dressed up for the occasion, even donning a tiara, and sat on a beanbag, all serious and formal. It was like watching a mini version of the Queen’s Speech. And then little Gracie walked across the screen and merry hell kicked off.’

‘Awww, I know how much you love those little girls. Shame they don’t live closer.’

Lucy often talked to Brenda about her nieces and showed her the Facebook pictures of their latest exploits. They’d both been in hysterics recently over a short video her sister had posted of Rosie trying to hula-hoop. Every single time, the hoop slid gently to the ground whilst an exuberant four-year-old thrust her hips backwards and forwards like a demented Mick Jagger. How she hadn’t snapped the hoop in half at the end out of utter frustration was a mystery.

Lucy moved on to talk about the upcoming birthday party, Brenda studying her face intently the whole time.

‘I don’t know why it worries you so much,’ Brenda said, tipping her head to the side. ‘You needn’t pretend with me – I see that troubled expression. It’s obvious you aren’t looking forward to it one bit.’

Lucy sighed, realising she was more readable than a large-print library book. ‘Whenever we visit family, my mother can’t stop gushing about Emily and how proud she is of her career and lifestyle, and I sit there, wanting to put up my hand like a schoolchild and shout, “what about me?” But, of course, I don’t.’

‘Sometimes, you need to be a bit more forceful, young lady. Put a spin doctor head on those young shoulders of yours and shout about your strengths. Tell people how much you enjoy your job and want to get on in life. How kind you are, and that you have so many friends in the neighbourhood. Talk about your beautiful knitting—’

‘My knitting?’ Lucy was confused.

‘Absolutely. Can Emily knit?’

Lucy smiled. ‘She wouldn’t even know which end of the needle to poke in the wool.’

‘Well there you go. You underestimate yourself and your abilities. Look at the beautiful things you create from a couple of balls of wool and your effortless dexterity – they are real masterpieces.’

‘It’s just knitting.’ Her woolly Poldark was hardly Turner Prize-worthy.

‘It’s not just knitting. It’s a definite skill. Oh, how I wish you could see what others see. You are such a beautiful, intelligent and kind girl, who deserves recognition, success and love…’ Brenda’s voice trailed off and her bright button eyes pinged wide as she slapped her hand on her thigh. ‘I remember what I wanted to talk about now,’ she said. ‘I wanted to do something about you and that young man.’ Lucy’s stomach tightened. ‘And I have something that will help…’

With some difficulty, and refusing Lucy’s help, Brenda stood up and shuffled back to the house. Lucy assumed she was having another distant moment (what young man?), but she returned clutching something to her chest.

‘Close your eyes and put out your hand,’ she instructed.

Lucy reluctantly did as she was told and felt cold metal slide into her palm.

‘Sometimes we all need a little help along the way. I want you to have this because I’ve become incredibly fond of you, and I know you’ll use it wisely. Besides, once he gets to know you, I’ve a feeling the pair of you will get on like a house on fire,’ and she giggled to herself. ‘You can open your eyes now.’

Lucy looked into her open hand. Nestled in her palm, with a chain coiled around it, was a silver locket. It was oval and had the circumference of a small egg. There were engraved flowers and swirls on the front face and it had a beautiful filigree edge.

‘I can’t possibly take this, Brenda, but thank you.’

‘If it opens for you, I insist you take it. It’s a very special locket and doesn’t open for everyone.’

Did Brenda mean there was some trick to opening it? Or merely that it needed a good squirt of WD-40? Lucy studied it closer. On the side facing the hinges was a tiny button, so she pressed it and the locket popped open. Inside, instead of the usual space for photographs or a lock of your beloved’s hair, were two silver panels. Each side was engraved with words in an ornate script. Lucy tipped the locket towards the sun, trying to make out the inscription, but Brenda knew the words by heart:

‘Deserved of love, this locket finds you

Use these spells to forever bind you.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Lucy said, looking over to her friend.

‘It means that the locket finds its way to a deserving person and using the spells will help you be with your true love.’

Brenda was off again, with her mumbo jumbo.

Humouring her friend, she turned the locket over, but there were no further inscriptions. ‘What spells?’ Lucy asked.

‘You’ll see. The locket isn’t ready to tell you yet, but it will. When the time is right.’

‘I’m really grateful that you’ve entrusted this beautiful locket to me but—’

‘Do you think I’m some doddery old lady who is losing her marbles, Lucy?’ Brenda gave her a challenging stare.

Lucy swallowed. ‘No.’

‘Then take it. And do what it says. And I’m telling you, that great big scary man from next door is the one you should be aiming for.’

‘George?’ Lucy coughed out the word. ‘He’s not really my type,’ she said. The locket really would have to be magic to break down his defences, but she knew deep down it was merely a pretty trinket, something Brenda was trying to persuade her was more special than it was.

‘Nonsense. With a body like that, even the Queen would have trouble keeping her majesterial hands to herself. I know I struggled when I met him on the pavement yesterday. Can you imagine being enfolded in those arms? His magnificent biceps either side of your body as he pinned you to the bed? Heaven…’ Her crinkled eyes scrunched up tight with the thought, and a grin spread across her face.

Despite not wanting a mental image of George pinning her to the bed, it did momentarily flash up and a little shiver pulsed through Lucy. She was clearly reading far too much Mills and Boon than was healthy.

‘Well, I’m absolutely certain I’m not his type.’ She crossed her arms.

‘Double nonsense. A pretty thing like yourself. The man would need glasses not to notice you.’

‘Funnily enough, he does need glasses, especially since that stray cat has been paying him uninvited visits. But, honestly, I didn’t warm to him at all.’

‘That’s often how the best romances start. Haven’t you noticed?’

‘Only in films.’ Lucy smiled and let her arms fall back to her sides. Of course she wanted there to be a special someone in her life – her previous special someones had turned out to be mediocre at best. And perhaps that was what was missing? A person in her life to make her feel loved and to cheerlead team Lucy as she strove her to reach her potential – not in a motherly or neighbourly way, but in a sexy, you’re all woman and the yin to my yang kind of way.

‘I strongly suspect there’s a great big softie under there,’ Brenda said. ‘I’m sensing a reason for his odd behaviour. He’s had a great deal of unhappiness in his life.’ She scrutinised her young friend for a moment, as if mulling something over in her mind. ‘There’s something else you need to know about this locket; the wearer will be imbued with an inner confidence. It won’t make you do unsuitable things, like run naked across the cricket pitch at Lord’s during a test match, but it will enable you to project a confidence that you wouldn’t otherwise have. You’ll notice, as I did, how much bolder you feel when you have it around your neck.’

‘But—’

Brenda put out a thin hand to silence Lucy. ‘Think of it like this: it’s enabling a side of you that already exists to come to the fore. I thought about passing this on to you many times, but I feel the time is finally right. Let the locket boost your confidence at work and treat it like training wheels. It won’t be long before you’re free-wheeling.’

As Lucy put the chain over her head, a warm sensation flooded her body. She dismissed the notion it was anything to do with the locket, satisfied that it was merely the glow you experience when a dear friend shows their love and concern. She would wear it to please her friend, but it would be tucked somewhere for safekeeping the moment she got back to the flat.

Brenda wandered over to a pot of mint and nipped off the top few leaves, crushing them in her fingers and bringing them up to her nose. Her eyes seemed to lose focus and she looked rather lost for a moment. A blackbird swooped over the wall in front of her. She blinked and shook her head.

‘Do you have time for another cup before you have to see to the horses?’ she asked, looking over to Lucy.

It was about the third time in recent weeks Brenda momentarily thought she was talking to her long-dead sister-in-law – a keen horsewoman, with a small stable yard attached to her property, and a great friend to Brenda in years gone by.

‘I work at Tompkins, remember? Jess got me the job after all those redundancies at the council last year.’

‘Oh yes, silly me.’ The old lady’s face scrunched up and then she plastered her usual bright smile back under her anxious eyes, as she bent forward to pull up some faded blooms.

‘So sad these flowers have gone over,’ she said. ‘The pretty blue, with the startling yellow centre. They always were favourites of mine. Oh, why can’t I remember what they’re called?’

Lucy looked at the abandoned brown stems of the once glorious forget-me-nots, as Brenda fiddled with the end of her thin plait, muttered to herself, and shuffled down the flagstone path to her back door.