Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
ANDY
‘ H ello? Cath, you in here?’
Andy came to a halt at the makeshift barrier Cath had constructed out of several panels of loaned puppy fencing. After Evelyn’s surprise visit, they’d decided they needed to do something to ensure visitors didn’t wander into the disaster zone in search of Cath and risk getting crushed by the teetering piles of rubbish.
Considering he’d helped Cath to shift an entire van full of recycling out of the building the previous day, Andy couldn’t quite fathom how it somehow felt more cramped in here than before.
‘I’m here! Two secs, I’ll come to you!’
Cath’s voice reached him from somewhere near the back wall, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see her, no matter how much he craned his neck.
‘EEP!’
Crash!
The surprised squeak had been closely followed by a cave-in of what looked like an eight-foot-high stack of old newspapers.
‘Do I need to send in a rescue party?!’ he called.
‘I’m good! Save yourself!’
Cath’s laughing face appeared at last, and Andy felt the now-familiar flip in his stomach at the sight of her. How anyone could be quite so bouncy and enthusiastic while surrounded by so much rubbish was beyond him. But Cath’s enthusiasm was infectious… and from what he’d witnessed over the past few days, it wasn’t just him that was falling a little bit in love with their new curator.
It had turned out that reinstating the Cheswell Cup had been the perfect opportunity for Cath to meet a whole load of Crumbleton’s residents in a seriously short amount of time. Caroline had popped a call-to-action on the newspaper’s social media pages, asking anyone with memories, photos, or memorabilia of the competition to contact Cath at the museum. The news had spread like wildfire, and there had been a steady trickle of visitors turning up ever since.
‘Have a seat!’ yelled Cath. ‘I need to clear a path to you. It’ll take me a moment!’
Andy grinned and flopped down into the old sofa that was now in pride of place on one side of the little hallway. He’d given Cath a hand to deep-clean it, and now it was coming into its own as part of the makeshift visitors’ centre. The hallway was the only clear, clean and safe spot in the whole museum, and Cath had needed somewhere to sit with the visitors and take notes as they told her their stories… preferably without having to risk their necks in the process.
‘Okay, I’m here!’ puffed Cath, shifting the fence a little so that she could sidle around it. ‘Sorry about that, I was just trying to disentangle the net a bit and I got the corner caught on a pile of newspapers.’
‘Ah… that explains the landslide,’ said Andy, turning to smile at her as she collapsed into the sofa next to him with a happy sigh.
‘Yep, but it’s fine… they were destined for the next recycling run anyway, so no harm done really.’
‘Blimey,’ said Andy, raising an eyebrow. ‘That’s very decisive of you!’
Cath had been cautious about getting rid of any of the thousands of newspapers they’d unearthed, just in case they held a record of “something important” within their pages. So the news that she was ready to discard an eight-foot stack of history was rather surprising.
‘It was an easy decision,’ said Cath, returning his smile. ‘The whole stack was made up of hundreds of copies of the same issue of the Crumbleton Times and Echo from the 1990s. I figure I only need to keep one of them to check there’s nothing important in there!’
‘Or Caroline might know something about it,’ said Andy.
‘Good call, I’ll ask her… just in case,’ said Cath. ‘In a way, I hope I can just scrap them all with a clear conscience—I swear it’s getting worse back there, not better!’
‘Yeah… I thought that too,’ said Andy. ‘Is it me, or is there more stuff in here than when I stopped by to pick up the line-painting machine yesterday?’
‘Yep!’ said Cath, rolling her eyes. ‘Caroline’s post on social media has been brilliant for gathering a bit of social history—and meeting half the town all in one go—but the drawback is they all turn up with stuff they want to donate.’
‘You can start saying “no” you know,’ chuckled Andy.
‘I have,’ said Cath. ‘Just this morning, I sent Stuart Bendall’s elderly mum away with a bunch of “vintage” plastic jelly moulds she wanted to donate.’
‘You did what?’ gasped Andy in mock outrage. ‘But… you might need them!’
‘I might?’ said Cath, looking concerned.
‘Think of the history! I can’t believe you’d just cast it aside like that!’ Andy elbowed her gently in the ribs.
‘Git!’ she chuckled, nudging him right back. ‘You’ll be glad to know I did keep one of her donations though. A really important one.’
‘Oh?’ said Andy, doing his best not to get lost in the tiny navy flecks dancing in Cath’s eyes.
‘Here,’ she said. Leaning forward, she grabbed a tin from the top of an upturned tea chest acting as a makeshift coffee table. Cath prised the lid off and wafted the contents under his nose.
‘Shortbread?’ he said.
‘Only the best shortbread I’ve ever tasted,’ she said, taking a piece and gesturing for him to do the same. ‘Even better, Agatha’s volunteered to bake a whole ton of it for the tournament. Apparently, the WI ladies are keen to help too, and they want to know if Fergus would be willing for them to run a cake stall on the day—all proceeds going to the museum.’
‘That’s brilliant!’ said Andy, taking a bite and then letting out a whimper of delight as the buttery sweetness dissolved on his tongue. ‘Oh. My. Goodness.’
‘Right?’ said Cath.
Andy nodded, taking another bite.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘and Agatha mentioned they’d be happy to be in charge of doling out the strawberries and cream too.’
‘Ah,’ said Andy, ‘so… that’s actually what I came to talk to you about. Stuart can’t get the strawberries.’
‘But… I thought Stuart could basically get anything?’ Cath frowned. ‘I mean his shop is…’
‘A modern miracle?’ said Andy, nodding. There couldn’t be that many places in the world where you could grab a pint of milk and a set of chimney-sweeping brushes at the same time.
‘He really can’t get us the strawberries?’ said Cath. ‘I don’t mean to sound like a drama lama, but that could be a bit of a disaster. I mean, literally every single person I’ve had in here has asked whether there’ll be local strawberries.’
‘Yeah,’ sighed Andy. ‘He was really sorry. It’s quite late in the season as it is, and it’s got something to do with the bad weather at the start of the summer wiping out most of his supplier’s crop. The other guy he thought might be able to help has just retired.’
‘Gutted,’ said Cath.
‘He said he could get his hands on plenty of blueberries… or gooseberries… or rhubarb…’ Andy trailed off. It was pretty clear from the look on her face what Cath thought of those options.
‘Okay, well… don’t get your hopes up, but I do have another idea.’
‘Tell me!’ said Cath, immediately perking up.
‘Well, there’s this garden I can see into when I mend the town steps,’ said Andy. ‘It belongs to old Harold Pottinger, and I know I’ve seen strawberries growing in there before. I’m not sure how many, mind, but it might be worth asking?’
‘Is it a big garden?’ said Cath. ‘I mean, we’re going to need quite a lot.’
‘Not sure,’ said Andy. ‘His wife makes jam I think, so there’s a good chance he grows a decent crop.’
‘But surely they’ll be spoken for?’ said Cath.
Andy shrugged. ‘Shall we go and find out?’
‘Why not?’ Cath nodded, jumping to her feet. ‘I could do with a break from the boxes anyway.’
Andy couldn’t help but send up his silent thanks for the narrow steps as Cath trotted down the hill ahead of him. If they had been able to walk side-by-side, it would have been as much as he could do not to reach out and take her hand. He hadn’t wanted to let go when she’d pulled him up out of the sofa just now, and he could swear his palms were still tingling from contact.
Idiot!
They might be spending lots of time together, but Andy wasn’t about to kid himself. Although Cath seemed to be happy whenever he was around, he knew she was probably just being polite. He knew she was glad of his help, but he was under no allusions—Cath Walker was about as capable as they came. She could do all this on her own… blindfolded.
Still, Andy liked helping her and it was the perfect excuse to spend more time with her. What he’d do after the weekend, when the Cheswell Cup was awarded and the tournament was all over… well he didn’t want to think about that right now.
‘How far down is it?’ said Cath, pausing about five steps below and peering back at him over her shoulder.
‘See that white house there?’ he said, pointing at the upper floors of a classic Crumbleton townhouse above the stone walls and greenery.
Cath nodded. ‘And we can really see into their garden from back here?’
‘Just a tiny part, but yes,’ said Andy, hurrying after her and then pointing at a gap where the high stone wall met a patch of laurel hedge.
Cath leaned in, using her hands to part the glossy leaves so that she could peer through.
‘I see strawberries!’ she said excitedly.
‘Great!’ said Andy with a sigh of relief. Just because he’d seen them there in previous years didn’t mean Harold was necessarily growing them again this year. That’s why they’d decided to check it out first. ‘Come on, let’s go knock on the door and find out more.’
The pair of them cut through a side alley back onto the high street, emerging just across the road from the Crumbleton Times and Echo offices.
Andy led the way past a couple of buildings up the hill and then knocked on a smart, navy blue front door.
‘Andy?’
Andy beamed at the elderly gent who’d just opened the door. His white candyfloss hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and he leaned heavily on a wooden walking stick.
‘Hi Harold. Sorry to drop in unannounced,’ said Andy.
‘Don’t apologise, dear boy,’ said Harold with a broad smile. ‘I like company, and unexpected company is even better… especially when they turn up with beautiful women in tow!’
Andy grinned as a splutter of surprised laughter escaped from Cath.
‘Harold, let me introduce Cath Walker, she’s—’
‘Ah!’ said Harold, cutting across him. ‘Our new curator. Yes… the town’s abuzz with your exploits!’
‘It is?’ said Cath in surprise.
‘Certainly,’ said Harold, nodding and looking impressed. ‘Here not much more than a week, and you’re already making the headlines.’
‘I’ve got Caroline to thank for that,’ said Cath, smiling at him.
‘Hmm, more like your own hard work, I suspect,’ said Harold.
Andy nodded in agreement.
‘Well, I was hoping you might come to see me,’ he added, before beckoning them both to follow him inside.
Cath raised her eyebrows at Andy briefly, but he just grinned at her and stood back so that she could follow on behind Harold. After all, he was just there to make the introductions. Cath was the one with the magic touch when it came to making the whole of Crumbleton fall in love with her.
‘Erm… wow!’ breathed Cath, as they followed Harold along a narrow hallway and into a large kitchen at the back of the building.
Andy knew she wasn’t talking about the house itself—as lovely as it was. He had a feeling her surprise might be more down to the fact that every available nook and cranny was stuffed with jars of jam. No matter which way he looked, pretty, cloth-frilled jars with gleaming, ruby-red conserve stared back at him.
‘That’s a lot, Harold!’ chuckled Andy.
‘The jam?’ said the old man, sinking into a chair at the scrubbed kitchen table and indicating for them to do the same.
Andy nodded and watched as Cath inspected some of the handwritten labels on the jars lining the old-fashioned wooden dresser.
‘It’s the wife,’ said Harold. ‘She’s obsessed. She’s out at the moment, otherwise I’d introduce you. She’ll be back soon enough, though.’
‘But… this is several years’ worth!’ gasped Cath, staring around at the hundreds of jars.
‘You don’t need to tell me that, love,’ said Harold. ‘More than I can eat in several lifetimes. We’ve been together for more than fifty years… and she’s made strawberry jam every single one of them.’
‘Wow,’ breathed Andy.
‘Wow doesn’t cover it, lad,’ said Harold with a smile. ‘I don’t have the heart to tell her I prefer marmalade!’
Cath snorted and her laugh was echoed by Harold.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered.
‘You young people apologise too much!’ he said in amusement. ‘Anyway, I’m guessing you’ve come to see me about my strawberries?’
‘We have!’ said Andy in surprise. ‘But how did you…?’
‘I had a feeling you might be after some the minute I heard you were bringing back the Cheswell Cup,’ he said. ‘Good news for you is—being this side of the hill—mine are always on the late side to ripen up. So I’ve not picked the blighters yet.’
‘And you’d be willing for us to have them for the event?’ said Andy.
‘Willing? You’d be doing me a favour,’ said Harold with a decided nod. ‘Annie’s already started to mither about me picking them at the weekend so that she can make this year’s jam… but there’s no way she’d deprive a good cause! They can be my donation… and you might just be saving the house from a giant jam explosion.’
‘Wow, thank you,’ said Cath, coming to sit next to Andy.
He could feel the warmth and excitement coming off her in waves. He only hoped she wasn’t getting her hopes up for nothing. They might have seen a few plants through the gap in the hedge, but the fruit they’d seen would barely be enough to feed the pair of them, let alone half the town.
‘Erm… do you think there might be enough for several portions?’ said Andy, not quite sure how to ask the question without offending the elderly gent.
‘Enough?’ hooted Harold. ‘Why don’t you come outside and see for yourselves?’