Chapter Twelve
A week or two later, it began to rain as Jim walked into a small Wiltshire village he’d never seen before. He found a huge leafy tree to shelter under for a while, but to his dismay the rain didn’t ease. Indeed, after a while it began to beat down on the world even more strongly, big fat drops of moisture finding their way through the leaves and pounding away at him and the tree both.
When he looked up at the sky, he groaned at how dark the clouds had become. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to the weather today, that was certain, had been lost in memories and longings.
The wet weather had clearly set in for the day and water was dripping onto his face and shoulders. He couldn’t stay here or he’d be soaked to the skin and probably catch pneumonia. Gracie wouldn’t want him to do that. He’d have to look for proper shelter.
He pulled out a big black bin liner from his backpack. He’d already poked holes in the end to put his head and arms through, so he slipped it quickly over his clothes to keep them more or less dry, then plonked a child’s sou’wester on his head. Who cared what he looked like? He’d found it lying in the grass next to a minor road one day and it had obviously been there a while, so he’d taken it with him and cleaned it up. It had come in useful a few times since.
It matched his clothes in one way, though, a way he didn’t like. In fact, he felt ashamed of how ragged and dirty he must be looking now. He had a poor sense of smell these days, too, another gift of old age, and he didn’t dare think what the clothes must smell like. Or his body, either, though he did try to find ways to wash himself on warmer days. Little streams could be a godsend for that. He’d had a few rough baths that way.
Gracie would be furious at him for letting things get to this stage. He hadn’t cared at first, but now he did, which showed he was making progress.
Didn’t it?
He turned off the main road and set off walking along a narrow country road which led him into a village. It wasn’t a large place and had only one shop, so it only took a few minutes to walk all the way through it.
He stopped in surprise when he came to the last in the untidy row of mismatched houses and realised he’d reached the far end already. He’d have to turn back if he was to buy himself a nice warm mug of tea and maybe a packet of chocolate biscuits or small cakes from that shop. He’d be able to shelter from the rain there for a while as he sat eating them slowly, because there were several café-style tables inside, crammed into one corner, as well as the ones the rain was drumming on outside.
He’d just take a quick look at where this little turn-off led before he went back to the café. Sometimes you could find a place to stop for a few days if you went down the narrower, less-used lanes like this one – well, if you were lucky. Over the centuries, some farmers had plonked little sheds in stray corners of fields as well as near their houses.
Some of the old sheds were no longer in use and in a rather ramshackle condition, but they could be nice, peaceful places to sleep. Others were nearly in ruins, inhabited by little creatures, whose company he didn’t mind at all as long as the roof kept off the rain.
Was he going to be lucky today? He trudged slowly on, walking as closely as he could to the rhythm of the rain on the plastic liner. Thank goodness for it today because the rain seemed to be settling in. He dreaded to think what he must look like wearing it, though.
The turn-off led to some beautiful wrought-iron gates that barred the way to what looked like the drive of a large house. He couldn’t see a building from here, if there still was one, but drives like this didn’t usually lead to cottages, did they? There were no recent tyre marks on it so perhaps no one was in residence or else the house had fallen into ruins.
He couldn’t resist finding out. He pushed down the twirly iron handle of one gate, expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t. It moved easily and the gate swung back so he carried on through it, closing it carefully again behind him, of course, as you always should. Then he walked slowly along the curved drive, picking his way carefully between the potholes that were starting to fill with water as the rain continued to beat down steadily.
When a house came into view – not a stately home, just a largish house sitting squarely at the end of the drive with more land and trees behind and to one side of it – he stopped to study the whole scene before continuing. What an attractive building! It had two storeys with dormer attics in the roof forming a third one. There was a balanced eighteenth-century look to it. He loved the architecture of that era and nodded approval of its style.
He’d not try to get inside a place like that but would see if he could find somewhere to sleep in the grounds. If he went into the house, someone might call the police and accuse him of breaking and entering. He might walk round the outside of it the next day and have a look inside through the windows, but not today. He needed to find somewhere dry to stay the night. He did hope the rain would let up soon. He was wet enough, didn’t want to get even wetter. No, his first priority had to be to find shelter and then he’d go back into the village to get some food.
As he skirted the house, he could see that all the curtains were firmly closed and it had a neglected air to it. It looked as if it was sad for lack of occupants whose company it could enjoy. The gardens had been let go to seed too and looked equally sad. He’d love to sort them out.
He rolled his eyes at his own silliness in acting as though houses had feelings. Even if they did, how would he know about them? They’d have their own language, wouldn’t they? He had a quiet chuckle at himself. He was getting daft in his old age to think that way, but who would know? Or care?
When he went round to the rear of the house, he saw what looked like a former stable and several small sheds nearby. Outbuildings, they’d be called. One smaller shed stood on its own further from the house than the rest. It had what looked like an open-sided patio area attached to one end of it with a long rough bench along the wall it abutted. Perhaps the building had been a potting shed. It could have been. He’d had one similar to it. This one looked completely unused at the moment, though. What a waste when the garden needed so much attention!
There was even a rough track along the side hedge nearest the village that started near that particular shed. This way into the grounds looked to him as though it was meant for a gardener to bring in a vehicle carrying plants and other items without disturbing the people in the big house. Well, that’s how he’d have used it anyway.
He moved across towards the shed. Was it possible that he might be able to get into it? Could he be that lucky? He’d really like to stay here for a while because in spite of the rather sad air of neglect, there was a pleasant feel to the whole place.
He’d love to get his hands on the poor neglected grounds. These would repay you generously for some loving care, he was sure, because the soil looked fertile. He bent to rub a little of the damp earth between his fingertip and thumb, nodding approval. Yes, basically good soil, this, or would be with a bit of care.
He tried the shed door and to his delight it opened gently, not making even the faintest squeaking noise. A squeaking door always sounded like a protest to him and during his walk that noise had a couple of times been so sharp it had put him off entering.
The interior of this shed was nice and neat, too, with broad shelves along one side. The bench at the far end was underneath a dirty window which looked out onto the matching outside bench, and yes, it opened out onto it as well when the window was unlocked. Definitely a potting area.
He turned slowly round on the spot, staring. It felt as if someone had tidied the shed up just for him, so that he’d feel almost as comfortable here mentally as he had in his own garden when his lass was in charge of their home. Gracie had certainly known how to make a place feel cosy after a satisfying day’s work outside.
He stood for a minute or two in the doorway, taking it all in, then patted the door frame and murmured, ‘I’d like to stay for a few days here if you don’t mind.’
He felt a distinct sense of welcome after he said that, he really did, so he added, ‘I won’t make a mess, I promise.’ And if saying that was daft, who would ever know? It made him feel better about staying here and that was worth a lot these days.
There was enough space to spread out a couple of plastic bin liners on the floor and then he’d see if there was anything softer to lie on, so he peeped into the nearest of the scruffy-looking canvas bags standing on the top metal shelf. He let out an involuntary exclamation of delight when he found these contained shabby and in some cases tattered old curtains and blankets. Presumably these had been set aside for use as rags or for pet animals to lie on. They’d make him a much more comfortable bed than he’d enjoyed for a week or two.
‘Do you mind if I use a few of these covers?’ he asked aloud and one of the blankets fell out of the bag he’d just put back on the shelf and landed at his feet. He swallowed hard at that. Was there a ghost here? He didn’t believe in ghosts, not really, but there was something about this whole place that was … different. It was fey. That was a word Gracie had used in a couple of similar situations, so he said it aloud now.
The shed still felt welcoming, though, so he murmured another thank you, then set down his bin-liner bag of oddments in one corner and left it there. He went out again, closing the shed door carefully behind him because he needed to buy some food if he was to stay here. He was feeling quite hungry, for once.
He was taking a risk leaving his things, he knew, but if they were still here when he got back, he’d feel it was a sign that he was meant to linger here for a few days. He certainly wanted to. It had been a long day and he was feeling more tired than usual.
The rain had almost stopped now so he went out through the side entrance to the grounds and strolled down the rough track towards the road. He’d get to the village more quickly this way. It was quite a shortcut.
He stopped as he got close to the main road and saw how some overgrown bushes hid where the side track started. He hadn’t noticed it when he’d walked past it. He took care not to crush the leaves or longer clumps of grass, holding the branches to one side and edging past so that anything he trampled in passing was hidden by the lower branches of the trees and bushes.
He trudged back along the road to the little shop, taking off his improvised raincoat and hat before going inside so that he didn’t look quite so scruffy. Well, he hoped he didn’t.
He was greeted with a smile, so ordered a simple meal of egg and chips, washed down by a pot of good strong tea. As it was still raining and he seemed to have more appetite today, he also ordered some of their lovely fluffy scones with what was advertised as homemade strawberry jam.
The scones tasted nearly as good as his wife’s had done, nearly but not quite because they weren’t served up with a loving smile, just a cool friendly stranger’s smile. And the jam was indeed homemade. You could usually tell.
When it was time to leave, he was delighted to see that it had completely stopped raining and thank goodness for that.
He went into the shop part of the building and bought a packet of the same scones, a loaf, a bag of apples and a couple of tins of food. You couldn’t carry much when you were on the tramp – well, he couldn’t. He was losing some of his strength as he grew older, no doubt about it, though he wasn’t doing badly for a seventy-year-old. This time, however, he felt he dared buy enough food for a few meals. There was no sign of anyone living at that nice house, after all.
He found a two-day-old newspaper sticking out of the external rubbish bin of the shop and it had been sheltered from the rain by a rough roof of corrugated iron sheltering it. And since no one else was around to see him, he took the newspaper out of the bin and to his delight found it still clean all the way through, if a bit crumpled in places. He’d even have some reading material tonight till it grew dark and after he’d finished reading this, he’d have useful pieces of paper left to wrap things in.
He’d open a tin of baked beans for tea, he decided. They were nearly as nice cold as hot. Well, they were if you were a hungry man who’d walked for most of the day. They were very good for you too, people said. And you didn’t need butter to enjoy a slice of crusty bread, though he sometimes carried a jar of jam because that didn’t get squashed and make a mess like cartons of food did. He had some blackberry jam left at the moment. Wonderful! He’d spread some on a slice of bread for afters and tonight’s meal would feel like a feast. He’d eat the scones and an apple for breakfast.
He went back to the shed and studied its surroundings more carefully. There were two cottages nearby. The one further away from the road looked rather neglected and there was no sign of anyone living in it. He’d keep an eye on them, though, just in case people lived there.
He studied the area round his shed and found to his further delight that on the far side of it was what must have once been part of a kitchen garden. There were even some small self-set plants starting to show. Without taking any conscious decision, he bent down and pulled up some intrusive weeds to give three pale embryonic lettuces some time in the sun, then he found some other little plants that needed help too and liberated them from weeds.
He enjoyed a bit more general weeding. And why not? No one would object to him doing some free gardening for them and he’d greatly missed cherishing all sorts of plants and banishing useless weeds from food-producing areas. He cleared up a bigger area than he’d intended, the size he’d use if he wanted to put in a few runner beans and peas for himself. That made him feel sad. He so wished he could stay here and plant some things that would really be for himself. Oh, he did wish he was free to do that!
He knew suddenly that he’d had enough of tramping through the countryside. Did he dare settle somewhere near here? Who knew? He’d check out the area more carefully in the next day or two if he was able to stay.
He sat on an upturned old bucket with his back against the shed wall and read a few articles in the newspaper, catching up with the world a bit.
Then it was sunset so he went to lie down on his makeshift bed with the door open to the moon and stars. He slept better that night than he had for a long time. When he woke, he didn’t feel exactly happy but a bit more like a civilised person at least.
In the middle of the next day, he even managed a rapid all-over wash in a little stream he found at one side of the grounds. Gracie would have approved of him taking the trouble to do that, but it left him feeling a bit shivery and unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to get properly warm again.
How long would he be able to stay here? Several days, he hoped. Oh please, let it be more than one more night!
He had enough food to start his day, so he could do what he’d set his heart on, some proper gardening. He’d liberate some more of these self-set plants from weeds and grass. Maybe by the time they bore their little crops, someone would be here to eat them, even though he’d probably have had to move on long before then. If no one came here, there would be no harm done by his gardening and the birds might benefit, but it’d be a pity because this was definitely good soil.
Time passed quickly and he got quite a bit done, then realised that the sun was high in the sky and he’d better save some energy for walking into the village and buying more provisions. He’d stay there for a while to enjoy another flat white. He did love his coffees. But he didn’t have much appetite today. He’d probably done too much gardening.
He sat down for a rest but it didn’t do much good. He was still feeling rather weary and a bit sneezy. He prayed he wasn’t starting a cold. It would be hard to cope with one when you were living rough. He’d better buy another box of tissues, just in case.
He might treat himself to a hot meal at the café tonight. That’d do him good and banish the cold symptoms, he was sure. Or at least reduce them. Yes, another hot meal would be a lovely treat. There wasn’t always a café as close as this one to give him that pleasure.
After he’d eaten he’d come back and have another sound sleep. He really felt he had a chance of staying here, perhaps even a few days of it.
He looked up towards the sky, blue now and gently sunny, and offered up a little plea. Oh, please! Whatever fate was pushing him along, let it not force him to move on from here yet. He so needed a rest. Needed it quite desperately.