Читать книгу Heading Over the Hill - Judy Leigh - Страница 11

As soon as Dawnie entered the house, an end terrace with a garage attached and a garden to the rear, she could smell the warm scent of baking. Lester led her and Billy into the kitchen and called out to his wife to come and meet his new friends. A woman with honey-coloured hair that came to her shoulders, and pretty dimples in her cheeks, rushed over with open arms. She smelled of sweet honeysuckle.

‘So pleased to meet you. I’m Ursula.’

Dawnie hugged her. ‘Pleased to meet you too, Ursula. I’m Dawnie Smith. I can hear an accent. Is it German?’

‘I am from Würzburg, in Bavaria, although I’ve been living over here for five years. Come into the conservatory, Dawnie. I will make us some tea. I have made cake already.’

Billy and Lester shuffled past the women, each with the same sheepish expression on his face. Billy patted Dawnie’s shoulder, and Lester muttered, ‘Will you both be all right if Billy and I spend some time in the shed?’

Ursula nodded, her voice soft in reply. ‘It will give us time to get to know each other. Off you go, Lester, and take your new friend with you. Dawnie and I are going to eat cake and drink tea together.’

Lester and Billy slunk away towards the garden. Ursula picked up a tray with a tea pot and cups and led the way to the conservatory, which overlooked a neat patio and a flower bed. Through the sparkling glass, Dawnie could see Billy and Lester outside, fumbling at the locked door of a large wooden building, their heads close together. Ursula smiled. ‘I don’t think we’ll see those boys for at least an hour. Can I offer you something to eat?’

Dawnie sat in a wicker chair and accepted a cup of tea and a generous portion of cake, filled with cream and chocolate. Dawnie licked her lips.

‘Kirschtorte.’ Ursula cut a liberal slice for herself. ‘I hope you like cherries.’

Dawnie shovelled a dainty forkful into her mouth, looking around at the neat conservatory with cream blinds, wicker chairs with soft cushions and a small table on which Ursula had placed the tray. Next to it was a book entitled Brilliant Bugs. It had a chocolate brown cover featuring a glossy photograph of a huge beetle with long creepy legs and beady eyes. The author’s name was Dr Lester Wainwright. Dawnie glanced at Ursula; in her floral blouse and dark trousers, she sat stiffly in her seat and smiled a little awkwardly at Dawnie.

‘Great cake.’ Dawnie thought she would put her hostess at ease. ‘Did you make it? I bet you have plenty of time to cook, what with Lester studying insects and being out on his Harley all the time.’

Ursula’s face was troubled as she nodded slowly. ‘He is always busy, writing, taking photographs or fixing up his bike. I like to keep myself occupied.’

Dawnie studied the other woman. Her skin was smooth apart from laughter lines around her eyes. She could be in her late fifties or early sixties. It would be polite to ask her to talk about herself. Dawnie raised inquisitive eyebrows. ‘Do you work in Barnstaple, Ursula?’

Ursula chuckled. ‘No, I don’t work now, not since I came to England. In Germany I was a receptionist in a hotel. That is where I met Lester.’

Dawnie slurped her tea and nodded encouragingly. ‘How did you meet him?’

Ursula’s eyes shone with a soft light. ‘Seven years ago, I was a divorcee and I met Lester. He had a broken relationship, a wife who had taken him for granted and then taken everything he owned. He needed a fresh start. Every year, the local Bavarian club would invite over their English riders, both clubs were affiliated together, and they all stayed in the hotel where I worked. Lester was part of the group. We met that year and struck up a sort of friendship.’ Ursula patted her warming cheeks with soft fingers. ‘The truth was I was very taken with him. He was such a gentleman and I thought he was so intelligent and well-spoken. Then, the next year, he came back and we met again. I suppose you would say we dated. We emailed each other, telephoned for a year and then, five years ago, he asked me to marry him and I said yes and came over to England to live here.’ She beamed. ‘And we bought this house and settled down. Lester has tried to retire but he’s still very busy. And that is our story and we are very happy.’

Dawnie clapped her hands. ‘That’s lovely. Do you have any children, you know, from your first marriage?’

‘One son, Meinke. He is still in Würzburg with his wife Frida and their daughter Liesel, my granddaughter.’

‘You must miss them all.’ Dawnie had finished her tea. The plate with the crumbs of cake lay on her lap.

Ursula nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’

‘I miss living with my daughter too, and granddaughter and great-grandchildren.’ Dawnie met Ursula’s eyes. ‘My son Buddy is in the USA. I’m not sure what he’s up to. I think he’s playing in a band.’ She sighed. ‘Kids are a worry, aren’t they, even when they are grown up.’

Ursula let out a long breath. ‘And the men, too. Lester is out riding his Harley Davidson in the wind and the rain and when he is late to come home, I think of terrible things that might have happened to him and I worry so much. I don’t drive myself. I don’t like it, all the busy cars roaring past. It is as much as I can do to take the bus into town. So of course, when Lester is on his motorcycle, I worry.’

‘I know what you mean about worry. Billy can be a real problem around the house, especially when he hasn’t slept properly and he’s all wound up like a caged animal. But I’m used to his ways now. He’s done his own thing for most of our married life and he’ll never change.’ She lifted another forkful of cake, her head filled with images of the past. The room had become quiet, the women sitting still, immersed in their private thoughts. Dawnie took a breath and gave a determined smile. ‘This is a beautiful house you have, Ursula. ‘

‘It is very comfortable. Lester and I have made many improvements. We added on this conservatory two years ago. It is my favourite room to sit in the afternoon with tea.’ She giggled softly. ‘I am becoming very English.’

Dawnie’s eyes lit up. ‘Talking of houses, I don’t suppose you could help me to choose somewhere to view…’ She reached over to her jacket and pulled out the estate agents’ leaflets, folded in her inside pocket. ‘Billy brought these back today. We’re looking for a house so that we can settle down somewhere close to the sea, for Billy. We want to buy a house that will be perfect for the pair of us, and soon.’

Ursula took the papers, reached for a pair of half-moon glasses and put them on, gazing with interest at the details. Her face brightened. Dawnie leaned forward, balancing the remains of the cake on her knee. ‘What do you think?’

‘This one is nice – and Chulmleigh’s so beautiful,’ Ursula sighed. ‘A lovely detached cottage, all original beams from the 1700s. But it is modernised inside, the kitchen is small but pretty. Or this one, in Saunton, with the large windows – this is very grand. It is called Chestnut House: it says in the print that it is only five minutes’ drive from the sea. I love the views around Saunton. And it is such an imposing building. Would five bedrooms be too many for you, I wonder, Dawnie?’

‘Not for Billy,’ Dawnie cackled. ‘He’d use three of them as man-caves: he’d put his bike parts in one bedroom, his drum kit in another and he’d set up the third as a workshop.’

Ursula’s laughter tinkled. ‘Oh, these men.’ She covered her mouth with dimpled hands but tears shone in her eyes. ‘They will be the ruin of us. But we love them so much.’

‘You’re right, Ursula. But this house move is really important for us both now,’ Dawnie grinned. ‘I think the world of Billy but it’s been tough going for us both for most of our married life, so I won’t settle for second best now. I want the perfect place. We deserve it. Billy deserves it after all he’s had to put up with…’

‘Is it me you’re talking about?’ Billy grunted good-humouredly from the doorway, making Dawnie jump and her cheeks flush. ‘I can feel my ears burning up.’

Lester was leaning over his shoulder, grinning. ‘Billy and I have had a great time talking about bikes in the shed, Liebling.’ He walked over and kissed the top of Ursula’s honey-coloured hair. ‘We might be able to help each other out with a few odd jobs and we can share spare parts too.’

Ursula stood up. ‘I will get you both a cup of tea and some cake. More tea for you, Dawnie?’

‘Oh yes, please. Sit down next to me, Billy. Ursula has found us a house I want to go and view. We’ll ring them up and book an appointment. It’s called Chestnut House; it has five bedrooms, a huge garage and it’s only a few minutes from the sea. What do you think?’

‘Five bedrooms and a garage?’ Billy’s eyes gleamed. ‘That could be ideal. I’d have plenty of room for my bike and my drum kit. I could even buy another classic bike… or two.’

Billy slowed the Harley down outside number thirteen Margot Street, and stopped the engine. Dawnie gazed over his shoulder at the curtains in number eleven from her pillion seat. There was no sign of movement inside the house. She slid from the seat and took off her helmet. ‘Billy, I’ve been thinking. I’m going to go and call in on our neighbours.’

‘Malcolm and his wife? Shall I come along with you?’

‘No.’ Dawnie bundled her jacket and helmet into Billy’s arms, adjusted the floral headscarf and met his eyes. ‘I want to pop in and apologise to them. I was a bit over the top last night, telling him tales about you being dangerous. I want to try to build some bridges. It might be best if I just go by myself for the first visit. Both of us together might be too much for them. You never know, Billy, he might start shouting and I don’t want you to have to deal with that. I’ll try to make the peace.’

She kissed Billy’s cheek through the raised visor of his helmet and he threw an arm around her shoulder. ‘All right, darlin’. You know best. While you’re gone, I can have a little look at these bits and pieces Lester gave me.’ He brandished a fist full of metal he’d pulled from his pocket, washers or nuts – Dawnie wasn’t sure.

She flashed her eyes at him. ‘I was hoping you’d get some of the painting done: you could finish that wall in the lounge.’

He patted her shoulder. ‘Leave it all with me, darlin’. I’ll sort it all.’

‘If I’m not back home in half an hour, send a rescue party,’ Dawnie chortled. ‘Malcolm might have murdered me…’

Dawnie waited for the front door to click. After Billy had gone inside, she took a deep breath, pulled her t-shirt straight, ignoring the blot of saffron paint on the hem, and adjusted her floral headscarf, teasing strands of platinum hair over the top. Then she knocked firmly with a clenched fist at the door of number eleven and waited. She knocked again. Almost immediately, someone peered through the curtains. Through the slice of opened door, Dawnie saw a woman with neat white hair, the fringe held back with a grip, her ample figure encased in a blue flowery dress. The neighbour frowned at Dawnie. ‘Yes?’

Dawnie offered her most compelling smile. ‘Mrs Frost, isn’t it? I’m Dawnie Smith. My husband and I live next door at number thirteen.’ She paused, hoping the woman would introduce herself properly.

‘Yes?’

‘I wonder if I might come in a moment.’

Gillian Frost pressed her lips together. ‘Malcolm is out.’

‘Please?’ Dawnie raised her eyebrows encouragingly. ‘I just wanted to apologise.’

Gillian’s expression seemed to soften at the word apologise. She opened the door a little more. ‘All right, just for a moment.’

Dawnie followed her neighbour into a tidy lounge with a cream carpet and a brown leather suite. In the corner was an oak table and the door to the small kitchen was open, revealing a white cooker and cream cabinets. The room smelled of furniture polish. Dawnie waited to be asked to sit down but Gillian Frost turned squarely to face her, as if they were about to begin a bout of armed combat. ‘Well, what do you want?’

‘Mrs Frost, I was hoping your husband would be in too.’

‘He’s gone out for his constitutional.’

Dawnie frowned, wondering why Gillian hadn’t joined him on his walk. She stared into the woman’s narrowing gaze and immediately knew there was no chance of a neighbourly cup of tea, let alone a biscuit. She breathed in. ‘Well, as I was saying, Billy and I have rented the place next door and I wanted to make sure we didn’t all get off on the wrong foot.’

Gillian folded her arms and said nothing.

‘I may have been a bit rude to your husband last night. I’m afraid he caught me at a bad moment.’ Dawnie almost giggled, a nervous choke in her throat. She turned it into a cough. ‘The drumming outburst was a mistake. It won’t happen again. And about the bike too, and the Transit van being in your way – we’ll make sure it’s parked closer to Sylv and Aude’s Fiat so it won’t inconvenience you…’

She looked hopefully at Gillian, who still said nothing, but continued her hard stare. Dawnie was reminded of being at school, years ago, scolded by a particularly heartless headmistress who was trying to shame her into obedience. Dawnie thrust out her chin. Her encounter with Gillian made her feel exactly the same, except Dawnie was seventy, not seven years old.

She tried the charismatic grin again. ‘I hope that will go some way to sorting things out between us.’

Gillian nodded. ‘I’ll tell Malcolm about it when he gets back.’

Dawnie glanced around the room. There was a picture on the mantelpiece: a young man in uniform with a serious expression. Dawnie picked it up to examine the soldier’s face.

‘Put that down,’ Gillian snapped.

Dawnie glanced at her, her face apologetic. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought…’ She placed the photograph back carefully. ‘Is that your son?’

Gillian nodded. ‘James.’

‘Is he still in the forces?’

Gillian looked away. The silence in the room felt cold and Dawnie shivered. She thought about mentioning her own children, Lindy Lou and Buddy, but Gillian’s face was set hard and her eyes glittered. Somehow it didn’t feel right. Instead, Dawnie offered a broad grin. ‘It’s a lovely photograph.’

Gillian nodded curtly and folded her arms.

‘And…’ Dawnie’s smile broadened; it was now so wide it made her cheeks hurt. Her mind moved quickly for something to say that would create a sense of harmony. ‘We’re neighbours, so I hope that means we can become good friends.’

‘Friends?’ Gillian’s face held a doubtful expression.

Dawnie racked her brain in a desperate attempt to be sociable. ‘You know, help each other out, remind each other about putting out the bins, move heavy furniture together and swap recipes and such.’

Gillian pursed her lips, making her mouth appear like a tightly stitched sock. ‘Recipes?’

For a moment there was silence. Dawnie’s mind raced, realising that Gillian disapproved of her suggestion, trying to find any way to endear herself to her neighbour. Then suddenly, unable to stop herself, she began to chatter about the first idea that came into her head.

‘Recipes. Different dishes, exotic ones, traditional ones. I make a great hotpot. I could give you the recipe. Billy does a good Irish stew, not that we have it very often. We hardly had it at all when my children were growing up, of course, with Billy being away a lot, but we did have the hotpot, proper Lancashire hotpot all the time, three times a week, and I do a great spotted dick. I bet you’d love to try some spotted dick with jam… and custard…’

Dawnie gave up. Gillian was staring at her. She breathed out again, in defeat. ‘Well, I’ll be off now, shall I? It was nice talking to you…’ She searched for the woman’s name but it occurred to her that she didn’t know it, so she settled for a formality. ‘Mrs Frost.’

Gillian nodded. ‘I’ll show you out, Mrs Smith.’

‘Ms Smith. Billy’s my husband and he’s a Murphy but I’ve always been…’ Dawnie recognised the blank lack of interest on Gillian’s face. She considered hugging her neighbour but decided it was probably too early in their relationship. Dawnie adjusted her headscarf, flicked her fringe and grinned.

‘Well. I’ll get off home now, shall I? Next door?’ She gave a wild laugh and made a rush towards the exit. ‘Have a good evening then and – we’ll be as quiet as possible – not that we are normally quiet, mind, but we’ll do our best and – and – and give my love to Malcolm.’

Dawnie heard Gillian close her front door sharply behind her. She breathed out in relief and realised she didn’t have a key to number thirteen. She rapped on the front door with her fist, forgetting that it had both a bell and a knocker, and when Billy opened the door she threw her arms around him with a desperate gasp.

‘Let me in quickly and get the home brew out, Billy, or the brandy. I need a stiff drink. I’ve just been through the silent inquisition ordeal next door and I’m definitely not going back in there again – ever.’