Chapter 4
Eventually, Noah turned right into a tree-lined lane that would bring him into the east side of the village.
The Observatory Field housing development, a recent addition to the village, was visible atop the long, flat expanse of land that looked down onto the centre of Lower Brambleton.
The centre of the village itself was a cosy, welcoming place, with large tubs of flowers outside the small row of shops that provided a vibrant splash of colour.
The shops themselves, a miniscule village store and Post Office, a charming charity shop and an even smaller tearoom were all housed in red-bricked buildings that looked the epitome of an English country rural idyll.
Driving past the pub, the Star and Telescope, Noah was pleased to see that it was busy, with people sitting on the benches outside its door and the faint sound of music emanating from the bar.
Hanging baskets and tubs stuffed with geraniums and violas gave the pub a vibrant air, and Noah felt some of the tension draining out of his shoulders after the long drive, knowing he’d soon be at the cottage.
A couple of minutes later, when he arrived, though, his hands involuntarily clenched on the steering wheel.
Set at the left-hand side at the end of a terrace of four stone cottages that had once belonged to railway workers at the turn of the last century, the low-walled front garden looked tangled and wild.
The windows were showing signs of grime, and as he parked up, pulled his leather weekend holdall out of the boot of his Tesla and pushed open the wrought-iron gate that led to the front door, it gave a raucous squeak.
It had only been eight months since his grandfather had moved into the nursing home to live out his last days, and four months since his death, but the house looked as though it had lain unloved for far longer.
How quickly things had deteriorated with no one to keep an eye on them.
Noah paused on the doorstep, assailed by guilt at not coming back to check on the cottage sooner, and the painful knowledge that, when he entered, Grandpa Jack wouldn’t be there to welcome him.
Shaking his head in frustration, he pulled the key out of his jeans pocket and swiftly let himself in. It felt like ripping off a plaster.
The cottage smelt musty, the air still and quiet.
There were lighter patches on the hall walls where he and his brothers had taken down the ‘rogues gallery’ of family photographs that Jack had always kept there.
His share of them were in a cardboard box in his flat, waiting to be reframed with something more in keeping with his own tastes.
In the past, Jack had stood at the door, a welcoming smile on his face, while Monty, the irascible Bengal, yowled more of a warning than a welcome.
Noah found he even missed that sound, now.
But he didn’t have time to be maudlin. It was already nearly eight o’clock, and Noah had left London without thinking about what he was going to do for food when he got here.
He hadn’t even brought any coffee with him for the morning.
Dumping his bag in the hallway, he took a quick look around the downstairs of the cottage and switched the fridge back on.
Thankfully, the door had been left ajar so it hadn’t gone mouldy.
The place was emptier, and a lot sadder than it had been, but it would do for a night or two while he got to grips with what needed to be done.
But, as his stomach rumbled, what needed to be done immediately was find dinner.
He tucked his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled the keys back out of the front door where he’d left them when he’d walked in.
He’d had some good meals at the Star and Telescope, and hoped tonight would be no exception.
A short time later, he was enjoying the short walk to the pub, past the small bank of shops that he was always astounded could survive in such a small village.
The centrepiece of the row was Purrfect Paws, the charity shop that was linked to Monty’s current place of residence.
The window looked bright and appealing, and Noah was surprised at how well curated it was.
He felt a pang, though, as he saw a couple of discreetly positioned posters advertising some of their cats currently up for adoption.
It made him think of Monty. Pushing that thought firmly to one side, he continued walking.
As he walked into the pub and approached the bar, a cheerful voice broke into Noah’s thoughts. ‘What can I get you?’
‘A pint of Carter’s cider, please,’ Noah replied. He plopped his phone and wallet down on the bar and let out a long breath.
‘Long day?’
Noah, who was about to start checking his messages, glanced back up at the bartender, who had a rather startling bright red dye job on her long hair, and held his gaze with direct, clear blue eyes. He gave a brief nod. ‘You could say that.’
‘Well, there’s nothing a pint or two won’t fix!’
Noah grunted noncommittally. He had the feeling that not even the amber nectar of a decent pint of Somerset cider could do much to improve his current rather upsetting situation.
But the last person he wanted to get into that with was a stranger behind the bar.
All the same, as she finished pulling his pint and handed it to him, gesturing with her other hand at the contactless payment terminal to his left, he couldn’t help noticing what a welcoming smile she had.
He figured it was par for the course in a pub that relied so heavily on not just local trade but that of tourists, but it was still a nice smile.
He’d been so used to the hurly-burly and hectic nature of buying drinks in London that he’d forgotten how the slower pace of the countryside also meant that people were more prepared to spend time talking to you while they prepared your order.
‘So, what brings you to the Star and Telescope tonight?’
‘Dinner, mainly,’ Noah replied. He glanced at the blackboard behind the bar, and his stomach gave another anticipatory rumble at the many choices.
He had not had much of an appetite all week; stress tended to do that to him, and he knew that he’d been winding himself up about coming back here and sorting out his grandfather’s house.
However, now that the drive was over and he’d got over the first hurdle of letting himself into the house, some of the tension had started to dissipate.
‘Well, there’s plenty of good options as I’m sure you can see. Let me know what you want when you’re ready, and I can sort you out a table.’
‘Will do.’ Noah looked at the board for longer but for all of his appetite, he couldn’t decide.
His grandfather always used to laugh at him for not being able to make menu choices.
He’d often dined here with him, and he wondered if the phantom of his grandfather would be a help or a hindrance tonight.
Mulling things over, he finally glanced down at his phone and briefly checked his work emails, but nothing had come in since he left that afternoon.
He wasn’t surprised. The last week of July was often slow; people were more interested in going on holiday than they were in selling their houses.
All the same, he couldn’t help a slight sense of disquiet that no one had been in touch.
He’d have to chase up a couple of leads when he got back on Monday morning.
‘Table for one?’ The bartender broke into his thoughts.
‘Er, yeah, thanks.’ He was still browsing his messages, but he wondered if he’d seen the bartender’s left eyebrow give a little quirk. No matter. He’d dined alone plenty of times. He had the Kindle app on his phone and was more than happy at a table by himself.
‘Well, when you’re ready, there’s a table by the window in the bar – unless you want to sit in the restaurant.’
‘The bar is fine,’ Noah replied. He was checking through his other messages and was only half paying attention.
Realising though that he was being rude, he exited his message app and put his phone down on the bar.
Smiling apologetically, he looked at the bartender again properly for the first time since she’d served him his pint, noticing the rather jaunty duck-egg-blue ribbon that kept the ends of her braided long red hair out of the way.
She was wearing a striped matelot jersey and form-fitting dark blue cropped jeans, and she looked to be about his age, give or take.
The name badge pinned on her chest read ‘Bella’.
Noah took a long pull of his pint. It was cool and delicious with a sweet yet tart flavour that spoke of four generations of apple-growing excellence and expertise.
He never drank cider when he was in the city, far preferring a German lager or a decent glass of red.
But it seemed only fitting to raise a glass of cider in his grandfather’s memory.
The old boy considered himself a bit of a cider afficionado, and while he had always grumbled about the way the brew had changed over the years, far preferring a decent pint of the roughest scrumpy he could find, Noah felt that a pint of Carter’s Gold was a fitting substitute.
As he took another sip from the glass, he finally felt himself starting to relax.
There was a lull inside the pub, since so many people were taking advantage of the fine weather and sitting outside.
Bella was clearly at a bit of a loose end and hovered close by, watching the door for any customers coming in from the garden.
‘You look like you needed that,’ she observed as he put his glass down on the bar.
‘Long drive.’
‘Ah, I didn’t think you were a local. Down for the holidays?’