Читать книгу When Alice Met Danny - T A Williams - Страница 18

Chapter 8

The sun was still shining the following day, although it was a cold start. Breakfast in the cosy kitchen would have been even more enormous if she hadn’t stopped Mrs Tinker from filling the frying pan with food. In the end she consumed a bowl of cereal, two fried eggs with bacon, toast and numerous cups of tea. She vowed not to eat again that day assuming, of course, that she could raise herself from her seat. Danny the dog was in a playful mood and she found she actually enjoyed his company. He kept giving her not so gentle nudges under the table when Mrs Tinker wasn’t looking. By the time she had demolished the bacon and eggs, she could feel his head resting on her thigh.

‘You can give him the bacon rind, if you like.’ Mrs Tinker was well aware of what was happening under the table. ‘It’s the one exception I allow and he knows it.’ At the sound of her voice, the dog emerged like magic and took the leftovers very delicately from Alice’s hesitant hand.

‘He’s very gentle, isn’t he? I thought he might have my hand off.’

‘He’s a lovely dog.’ Breakfast over, the dog wandered over to his mistress and sat at her side. She scratched his ears.

‘So, you’re staying on for another night?’

‘Yes, if that’s all right, but no cooked breakfast tomorrow, please. I have a dinner date on Saturday night and I need to have a bit of room left over.’

‘I was sure a pretty girl like you would have a young man. Have you been together long?’ Mrs Tinker had a distinct twinkle in her eye. It did not waver, even when Alice blushed red.

‘Oh no, he’s not a boyfriend or anything like that. He’s a friend from work. He’s going to rent my flat when I come down here.’

‘But you did use the word “date”, didn’t you, my dear?’

‘Well, yes, but it’s only an expression. We’re just friends, really.’

Mrs Tinker decided to change the subject. ‘So what are your plans for today?’

‘I thought I would do a bit of exploring this morning. This afternoon I’ve got an appointment with your Peter. I need to give him some keys and he’s promised me some prices.’

‘Why don’t you start here in the village? The church is eight hundred years old, you know. Danny and I will come and show you the way, if you like. It’s time for his walk.’ At the sound of this magic word, the dog leapt to his feet.

A few minutes later they set off. The dog was clearly delighted to be out in the fresh air. Alice was very impressed to see that he walked to heel, without the need of a lead, even though the first part of their walk was down a road. As they passed the pub, she could see the church tower sticking up just behind it.

‘I didn’t realise I was so close to the village centre last night.’

‘Woodcombe isn’t big. There used to be two pubs, but one closed down. Mind you, we’ve still got a shop, sort of a general store.’ She stopped as they reached the lychgate in front of the church. ‘Danny and I will leave you here. We go up in the fields beyond the church for our walk. I’ll see you later. Enjoy yourself.’

Alice watched them walk off then turned and went through the gate into the churchyard. She walked up among the tombstones, soon realising that the same three or four surnames appeared regularly. The earliest date she could read was 1667, but some of the stones were so covered in moss and lichen she felt sure they must be even older. The church was cold and a bit damp, but surprisingly light. Most of the windows were clear, although there were a few stained glass scenes here and there. George and a very fiery-looking dragon took pride of place behind the altar.

Between two rows of choir stalls she spotted a bottom.

‘Good morning.’ She felt she should say something.

The sound of her voice must have surprised him. He jumped visibly and she heard a thud as some part of his anatomy hit the woodwork.

‘Sorry if I gave you a shock. Are you all right?’ Her voice was hesitant.

He rose to his feet, gently rubbing the side of his head. He was a handsome man, dark-haired, with broad shoulders. He could have been her age, maybe a year or two older.

‘I’m fine.’ He looked a bit shifty and did not meet her eye. She began to feel strangely anxious. She glanced around the church. It was quite empty apart from the two of them.

‘Did you lose something?’ She did her best to keep her voice level.

‘No, just a bit of wet rot.’ He sounded more normal now. ‘The problem is, I’m not a carpenter.’

Reassured, Alice relaxed and took a better look at him. He was well-spoken and dressed in a dark jumper. Presumably he was the vicar. But she hadn’t seen such a handsome vicar before. She decided to introduce herself.

‘I’m Alice Grant.’ She reached out her hand. ‘I’ll be living here for the next six months or so, while my house in Beauchamp is being refurbished.’

‘Daniel Tremayne.’ She recognised one of the surnames that cropped up on a number of the tombstones outside. He turned towards the door, clearly uncomfortable. ‘I’d better get on the phone to somebody who can sort this out. Good morning.’ And he was gone.

She continued her tour of the village. The village green was surrounded by ancient trees, all just coming into leaf. In a few weeks it would no doubt be a lovely shady spot. She saw that the war memorial had recently been cleaned. The granite looked as if it had only been hewn a few days before. The brass letters of the names of the fallen had been polished and lacquered. She was appalled to see no fewer than thirty-six names of men killed between 1914 and 1918. All from just this one small village. Her eye was drawn to the name Tinker, Corporal A.J. No doubt a relative of her lovely landlady. Below that was Tremayne. No fewer than four names were listed. She wondered if they were all from the same family. She tried to imagine the grief of a mother at the loss of four sons.

As Alice walked back up to Drake Cottage, she found herself mulling over the possibility of making the Great War her chosen historical period. Although she had read a number of books on twentieth century history, she realised she knew relatively little about that age. She decided to look out for some suitable background reading.

The drive down to the seaside only took fifteen minutes. She turned into Lyndhurst Avenue and parked outside number 23. The heap of rubbish in the front garden looked even worse than she remembered. She hastily set off down the road to investigate what lay beyond. Part way down the road, she ran into Joyce Parker from number 44 and her spaniel.

‘You’re looking bit more cheerful today, my dear.’

Alice gave her a smile. ‘I’ve found a lovely bed and breakfast in Woodcombe. I feel much more at home already.’ She found she was stroking the dog’s ears as she talked. This was another sign that things were changing in her life. ‘Now I’m just going round to take a look at the garden of number 23.’ She couldn’t miss the grimace on Mrs Parker’s face.

‘It’s not pretty.’ She gave Alice an encouraging smile. ‘But it won’t take too much to get it shipshape again.’

Alice set off again. When she reached the turning circle at the end, she saw a footpath leading off to the left. This joined up with a narrow lane that ran along behind the row of houses. She followed it upwards, studying the rear elevations of the houses. There was no mistaking which was number 23.

The fence had all but disintegrated. All that remained were a few mouldy posts and an untidy pile of rotten planks. Beyond them was the garden. Or rather, what had once been a garden. All that remained now was a confused landscape of soil, weeds, rocks and rubbish. Probably, she thought to herself, not dissimilar to the battlefields of the First World War. The only good news was that there didn’t appear to be any poo out there. Maybe the council people had cleared it up, or the loony lady had preferred soiling other people’s gardens. She sighed deeply. At that moment her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket.

‘Hi Alice, it’s me.’ Sally had decided to check that she was OK. Alice sat down on the edge of an old cast iron bath and gave her the sordid details.

‘Oh, you poor thing.’ Sally sounded appalled. ‘So what are you going to do?’

Alice was on the point of telling her about Peter the surveyor and the industrial cleaning company he’d recommended when she spotted something moving by her foot. She glanced down. At first she saw nothing but then, suddenly, there was another movement. To her horror, a large rat emerged from underneath a broken flower pot, scrambled over a pile of broken crockery and set off in the direction of the house. She squealed, jumped to her feet and ran back down the lane as fast as she could. Only when she was by the river did she stop. She was still holding the phone. She raised it to her ear and could hear Sally’s frantic voice.

‘Alice, Alice. Oh my God, what’s happened?’ Sally’s voice sounded as terror-stricken as Alice felt. She cleared her throat and replied.

‘It’s all right, Sally. I’m all right. It was just a rat.’

‘Just a rat?’ Sally, while relieved to hear her friend’s voice once more, was far from reassured. ‘What the hell kind of place is it that you’ve bought?’

Alice spotted a bench by the water. The morning sun had already reached it and it looked dry. She sat down and took a few deep breaths. Then she told Sally the second half of her tale, up to and including the man in the church. Predictably, Sally was far more interested in Daniel Tremayne than the surveyor and the industrial cleaners.

‘That’s my girl, Al. That’s just what you need.’ A thought struck her. ‘What is it about you and men called Danny? Isn’t that the name of the tall boy I quite fancy, even if you don’t?’

Until that moment, Alice hadn’t associated the first name of Daniel Tremayne, the vicar, and Danny. She had been concentrating on his surname, because of the gravestones. Now it seemed really strange. ‘What you don’t know, Sal, is that there are now four males in my life called Danny. The one you know in London, the vicar of Woodcombe, a little boy of six months, and a four-legged one.’ She thought about Sally’s question. Yes, what is it about me and the name Danny?