Chapter 10
Molly had never used a range in her life and she was sceptical about using one now. But it was either that or go hungry, because she fully intended to make herself spaghetti bolognese for tea, but she couldn’t do that without something to cook it on.
As well as purchasing a fridge, she had also bought a new oven, but the items weren’t coming until Friday and she didn’t think her bank balance could carry on being able to afford takeaways every evening, and neither could her waistline. So she’d bought a bag of salad leaves, half a cucumber and a couple of tomatoes, which she intended to eat with her spaghetti bolognese this evening. But first, she had to cook it, and until the oven arrived the only option was to light the range. It sat in an alcove at the far end of the kitchen, black and menacing, and she eyed it with caution.
She was right to. Even though she had looked up instructions on how to light the fire on the internet, thirty-five minutes later all she had to show for her efforts was a kitchen full of smoke and a pile of pathetic ashes. Not only that, she guessed it was probably a good thing she hadn’t lit it, because no doubt the chimney would need sweeping. Even though she’d assumed the chimney in the sitting room would need to be swept, it hadn’t occurred to her until now that there would be a chimney attached to the range in the kitchen.
Good grief, adulting wasn’t easy, was it? And neither was home ownership.
There was nothing for it but to use the old camping stove, so she took the ingredients for her meal outside and cooked her supper al fresco. It would have been fun if she hadn’t had to do it; if she had been camping properly with friends and had a couple of glasses of something fizzy and alcoholic, she might have enjoyed the experience, but as it was, using the camping stove was simply a means to an end. However, once she had loaded up her plate with spaghetti and salad, she felt quite pleased with herself, so she continued with the al fresco theme and sat on the back step to eat it, with her plate on her knees and Jet by her side.
‘Stop dribbling,’ she told him as he gazed mournfully at her food. ‘It’s not your best look.’
She’d already fed him, but the dog was a dustbin on legs. He seemed to be perpetually hungry, and he hoovered up the little bit of spaghetti she gave him and looked for more.
Meal eaten, she picked up the dog’s lead and attached it to his newly purchased collar, then she grabbed a ball and popped it in her pocket.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ she asked, and the dog bounced excitedly around her legs, nearly tripping her up.
Molly had hardly got out of the door, when she spotted Bill and Patch in the distance. Jet saw them at the same time, and his tail began to wag furiously, clearly recognising the old man and his canine companion.
As she approached, Molly was aware that Bill was studying the dog.
‘Well, I never,’ he said, when she grew close enough to hear him. ‘Have you taken him in?’
‘I certainly have. I couldn’t have a stray dog wandering around the park, not when I’m living here.’ She nodded at the cottage. ‘He seems to have settled in, but it’s early days yet.’
‘He’s looking better already,’ Bill said, and she fell into step with him as they dawdled along the path.
Seeing that there was no one else around, Molly let Jet off the lead, and the two dogs sniffed each other and began to play.
‘You haven’t taken those boards off them upstairs windows,’ Bill pointed out.
‘Not yet. My parents are away on holiday at the moment, but they’ll be back on Saturday, and my dad said he’d help me remove them on Sunday. I haven’t got a ladder – well, not one that reaches up to the first floor, and even if I did, I wouldn’t trust myself on it.’ She was about to say that she’d also had help with the last of the downstairs ones, but it brought Jack Feathers firmly into the forefront of her mind and she didn’t want to think about him right now. In fact, she didn’t want to think about him at all. He had been such a disappointment.
But even as she was busy trying to divert her thoughts away from his face, her eyes were scanning the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in his Lycra and his trainers.
‘I see you had an electrician in,’ Bill said.
Crikey, the old man didn’t miss much, she thought. ‘I did. The cottage needs rewiring.’
‘It needs a lot more than that,’ he grumbled.
‘Actually, it’s not too bad. Surprisingly the building itself is sound. I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise. The inside needs updating, but most of it is cosmetic, although I intend to leave some of the period features.’
‘The rats, you mean?’
‘There aren’t any rats,’ she objected. ‘And if there were, I’m sure Jet would see them off. I’ll probably have to get new windows at some point and new exterior doors, but the interior doors are lovely. They are old fashioned, with oval panes of glass in them, and they’re made from real wood – none of this woodchip rubbish. And you ought to see the bannister. They don’t make them like that these days.’
‘Seen a lot of bannisters in your time, have you?’
‘Actually, I have. You forget I’m an estate agent. I get to see a lot of properties.’
‘Oh, yes, so you are. In that case, I’d have thought you’d have more sense than to buy that old place.’
Molly smiled. If she was honest, she had to admit she had let her heart rule her head. Although the park keeper’s cottage hadn’t been terribly expensive, neither had it been dirt cheap, and with the cost of the renovations...
Telling herself it would be gorgeous when it was finished, even if that did take a while due to lack of funds and her being only one person, she lifted her chin. ‘I like it,’ she replied firmly.
‘That’s OK, then,’ Bill said. ‘I still wouldn’t have bought it,’ he added.
‘So you keep telling me.’ She took a breath. ‘I went to the council offices today.’
‘Oh, aye?’
‘I met with the Parks and Highways Officer to complain about the state of the park.’
‘Bet you didn’t get anywhere.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘I told him the park needed litter bins, and there might be some issues with health and safety. He came back with the news that the council is going to demolish the bandstand and the old cafe, and they’re going to fill in the pond. That’s not what I wanted them to do at all.’
‘Got any better ideas?’
‘Yes, I do. Do you go walking around the pond?’
‘Not often these days.’
‘It’s got a shopping trolley in it, maybe more than one. And discarded tyres. I suggested that they dredge it, but this Jack chap was having none of it. Doesn’t he realise it’s a magnet for wildlife? And I would love to see the bandstand restored and the cafeteria opened again.’
Bill was looking at her strangely. ‘Who do you suggest is going to pay for all this?’ he asked.
‘The council, of course.’
‘They’ve got other things they need to spend their money on. All those ruddy great big potholes in the roads for a start.’
‘But aren’t parks important, too?’
‘Only if people appreciate them and use them,’ Bill shot back.
‘That’s more or less what he told me. He also said they’ve tried to make it nice in the past, but people around here don’t appreciate it.’
‘They don’t. You’ve seen for yourself the youngsters hanging about till all hours of the night, smoking and drinking and dropping their fast-food wrappers everywhere.’ He gave her a meaningful look and she knew he’d definitely seen her peering through the window the other night. ‘I have noticed something, though,’ he said. ‘There ain’t so much litter this past day or so.’
‘That’s because I picked it up this morning,’ she admitted.
‘I thought the council had been out.’
Molly snorted. ‘Fat chance. I’m going to try to litter pick every morning. There’s no point in me whingeing about it if I’m not prepared to do something about it myself.’
‘Good for you.’
‘And not only that, I’ve also decided I’m going to try to spruce the park up a bit.’
It was Bill’s turn to snort. ‘Haven’t you got enough on your plate?’
‘I have,’ she agreed, ‘but it won’t hurt to tidy up a flower bed or two.’
‘You’ll be lucky if you manage even that. The park is a big place. You’ll need an army of people to knock it into shape.’
‘I was only thinking about a couple of flower beds,’ she replied, chastened.
‘If I was younger, I’d give you a hand.’ Bill looked cross, as though he was annoyed with himself for his advanced age.
‘That’s OK, I can manage,’ Molly assured him, but deep down she wondered whether she could manage at all. It was one thing to say she was going to tidy up the park, it was another thing to do it. Still, she would try her best, and she would also keep on at the council.
First, though, she had a cottage to renovate.
***
Jack didn’t appreciate feeling a heel, but that was exactly what he felt like today. After his meeting with Molly Brown, he returned to his office feeling rather discontented. He wished he had the funds available to help clean up the park, but he simply didn’t have them. It wasn’t his money to spend, and he was accountable for every penny of it. If there was an immediate health and safety issue he could do something about it and he would, but as for making the park a more pleasant place to be, his hands were tied. His budget was set for the rest of the financial year and nearly all of it was already accounted for, and he knew exactly where the peaks and troughs would be in terms of expenditure. There was money set aside for emergencies such as when trees needed to be felled or cleared, but that didn’t mean to say he could spend it willy-nilly.
He’d gone home in a right grump, and totally out of sorts. He felt as though he’d let Molly down personally, even though it was a professional matter, and he felt he was to blame for her obvious disappointment. He could tell she thought so too, by the look in her eyes.
He had intended to go for a run this evening to let off some steam before he returned to his decorating, but unless he varied his route he would end up going through the park, and he didn’t think he could face it.
Instead, he dinged a ready meal in the microwave and gulped it down, burning the roof of his mouth in the process, before hastily changing into some old clothes. Picking up the paintbrush once again, he went upstairs and examined the walls in the spare room critically before deciding they would do. He couldn’t see any obvious bits he’d missed, so he re-hung the curtains after giving them a quick once over with the iron, and then he closed the door. One room down, six more to go: seven if he included the hall, stairs and landing.
Feeling daunted, he walked into his sister’s old room. Before he’d downed tools last night, he had given it a good sort out and a thorough clean, and had draped everything remaining in the room with old sheets so he would be ready to start work as soon as he got home today.
He had painted one and a half walls and was on a roll, when he heard a knock on the door. Jack thought about ignoring it, as he wasn’t expecting any visitors and neither was he expecting a parcel. It was probably someone out canvassing; local elections were coming up shortly, which, he suspected, was one of the reasons there was a job evaluation exercise taking place at work, and rumours that every department was going to be restructured and some of them amalgamated. He tried not to think about it because it made him feel sick. He didn’t know what he would do if he was made redundant. His living arrangements were precarious enough as it was, without adding losing his job to his worries.
He cursed himself for not questioning Chantelle yesterday when she’d cornered him in the cafeteria, but he had been too eager to get away. She might know what was going on, what with working in HR, so the next time he saw her he vowed to pick her brains.
On second thoughts though, maybe he wouldn’t. For one thing, she shouldn’t tell him anything, and for another it didn’t seem right cosying up to her just to get information. He didn’t want to give her any hope they might get back together.
Chantelle was still very much on his mind when he went downstairs to answer the door, and for a moment he thought he must have conjured her up when he saw her standing on his step, smiling brightly and holding a bottle of wine.
‘What are you doing here?’ he blurted.
‘That’s charming,’ she said pushing past him and walking into the hall.
Jack blinked, hesitating before closing the door and going into the living room after her.
‘Did you want something?’ he asked, thinking she had a cheek to barge in.
‘A couple of things, actually,’ she said. ‘I wondered if you’d found anything of mine?’ She simpered and fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Anything personal. The sort of thing you couldn’t bring to work.’
Jack was flummoxed. ‘Like what?’
‘You know, underwear...?’
‘Sorry, no. Have you lost something?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, but you never know,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to help you look?’
‘If you haven’t lost anything, there’s no point in you looking for it, is there, because you don’t know what you’re looking for,’ Jack pointed out reasonably.
‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘The second thing is, I thought I’d give you a hand with the decorating.’
He realised she was wearing brand-new white overalls and her long blond hair was tied up with a length of fabric in a messy bun on the top of her head. Knowing Chantelle as he did, it had probably taken her ages. Her makeup was also immaculate, as usual. He wondered how she would cope if she got paint on her nails, and he realised that along with the bottle of wine, she also had a pair of bright yellow gloves in her hand.
‘I don’t need any help,’ he began, but before he could say anything else, she said, ‘Nonsense. Of course you need help. It’s unreasonable of Della to expect you to decorate the whole house by yourself.’
‘But she can’t help,’ Jack reminded her. ‘She’s in Alaska.’
‘Lucky for some.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ He didn’t envy Della being in Alaska as such, but what he did envy was the fact that his sister had found love. She was blissfully, deeply, madly in love.
‘I still think she could have made an effort to come back and help,’ Chantelle was saying. ‘It’s not fair to leave it all to you. But you don’t have to do it all on your own, do you? I’m here now.’
‘It’s fine, honestly.’
Chantelle ignored him. ‘Shall we tackle this room first?’ She was gazing around the living room, her nose wrinkling.
‘I’m doing upstairs and working my way down.’
‘Oh, upstairs.’ Chantelle shot him a look from underneath lowered lashes. It was meant to be seductive, but all Jack felt was nervous. ‘I see you’ve started without me.’ She pointed to his clothes
He glanced down at his old T-shirt and faded joggers. There were smears of paint over both of them. ‘Look Chantelle, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t need your help. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.’
‘I’ve kept this evening free especially for you,’ she said, and he shook his head in despair.
There was nothing for it, he was going to have to be extremely blunt and tell her to leave.
He opened his mouth to tell her precisely that, when she said, ‘There is something else. I mentioned yesterday that I’m back at my old place, living with Mel. It’s not ideal. She wants her boyfriend to move in, so she wants me to move out. I thought that considering both you and I will soon be homeless – unless you’ve managed to find somewhere else already?’ She looked at him questioningly and he shook his head. ‘Then might it be a good idea for us to find somewhere together? It would make total financial sense,’ she added.
It wouldn’t make emotional sense, Jack thought. It would be the most disastrous thing he could think of doing. He had managed to get rid of her once, and he couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be if both their names were on the rental agreement. He shuddered at the thought.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Chantelle, you know I think the world of you, but me and you don’t work.’
‘I can see that,’ she said, but the look in her eyes told him she didn’t see that at all. ‘This would be as friends,’ she insisted.
‘No, sorry.’ He said it as gently as he could, but he could see the disappointment in her face, which quickly turned to anger. Chantelle had never liked being thwarted.
‘Don’t come running to me when you haven’t got anywhere to live,’ she snapped. ‘I was only trying to be friendly. I was doing this for you, not me, because I’ve already got something lined up.’
Despite himself he said, ‘You have? Good for you.’
‘And I didn’t mean we would be anything other than housemates, because I wouldn’t get back with you if you begged me. I’m seeing someone else.’
‘I’m pleased for you,’ he said mildly, wondering if it was true. Only yesterday she had come on to him, suggesting they got back together, and this evening she had openly flirted with him.
‘He’s ten times the man you are,’ she said. ‘He knows how to treat a woman.’
‘That’s good.’ Jack was nodding inanely, wishing she would leave. He knew she was trying to save face and his rejection must hurt, but she was taking things to the extreme.
‘Don’t bother seeing me out,’ she said, thrusting the bottle of wine at him. ‘Consider this a moving present.’
Jack took it automatically and as he was dithering, wondering whether he should hand it back to her, she strode past him and into the hall. He hurried after her and was just in time to see her waltz through the door and slam it. The frame rattled as the whole house shook, and he winced.
If it was at all possible, Jack felt even more of a heel now than he had done after meeting Molly Brown. It wasn’t as though he’d treated Chantelle shabbily, but she had made him feel as though he had. They simply weren’t compatible, but she didn’t seem to understand that, or accept it.
However, his overwhelming feeling was one of relief that she’d gone. Which made him feel even worse.
How can you live with someone for nearly a year and feel nothing for them? Did that make him a bad person?
He hoped not, but even as he was thinking it, Molly’s face popped into his mind. She clearly thought he was, and in some ways he couldn’t blame her. For the umpteenth time that day he wished he could do something to help. Maybe he could litter pick? It was a thought.
Sighing despondently, he dismissed the idea. He had far too much going on in his life at the moment to think about adding anything else to it. His immediate concern was getting the house ready before the estate agent arrived on Monday to take photos, and when that was done, he simply must turn his attention to finding somewhere else to live. After he’d gone to bed last night, he had been unable to sleep and had scrolled through various property sites for ages. He would bet his last pound he’d probably end up doing the same thing again tonight.
The problem with painting, Jack mused as he rollered his way across another wall, was that it didn’t occupy the brain, and yet again he found his thoughts turning to the woman living in the park keeper’s cottage.
He didn’t know why she kept popping into his mind, but he couldn’t seem to get rid of her, which annoyed him considerably – because even if he was interested in her (he wasn’t: he didn’t have the time nor the energy) he had a feeling he had well and truly burnt his bridges as far as she was concerned.