Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
September is here – the time of harvests and back-to-school mayhem and geese flying overhead in honking V formations.
The hedgerows are rich with tangles of plump blackberries, the mushrooms are sprouting up in the forest and the days are getting noticeably shorter.
Starshine is also noticeably quieter as the summer ends, settling into its new rhythms as the holiday season winds up and we head towards autumn.
I always loved autumn as a kid, even as a teenager when I pretty much hated everything.
I liked the slight sense of melancholy as the leaves fell, the mysterious feeling that change was just around the corner.
I could often get the whole beach to myself and spent hours traipsing over the crunchy carpet of the forest floor.
My mum always used to say that I liked it because of my hair – the autumn colours gave me camouflage.
Today, though, Mother Nature is playing tricks on us – gifting us with a gloriously sunny day that feels just as warm, just as bright, as any we’ve encountered during the long, hot summer.
Guy and I have made the most of it by coming on a long and gentle walk, me showing him some of the sights we haven’t visited before and giving him a potted history lesson as we go.
‘And that,’ I say, pointing upwards, ‘is Bibbington Hill. If you’re here on New Year’s Day and it’s been snowing, you can join in with the great annual sledding session.
It’s pretty terrifying, but everyone does, toddlers to pensioners – great hangover cure.
Though I can’t see myself on a sled by that stage, I’ll be the size of a house. ’
‘You’re already the size of a small shed,’ he says, gazing at my belly. ‘Maybe one of those portable toilets they have at festivals?’
‘Wow. What a charming comparison. You’re such a sweet talker.’
‘I know, it’s a gift,’ he replies, holding my hand and leading me along the path. There’s a small, wooded area at the bottom of the hill, and the path emerges out into a pretty clearing of fields and now-fading wildflowers.
‘Is that a house, in the middle of the field?’ he asks, frowning and looking ahead.
‘It is. It belongs to Ed and Viola – they’re an elderly couple who live up on the hillside at the back of the village.
They used to own a load of holiday lets in Starshine itself – those cottages that are all named after birds, like Kittiwake and Kingfisher?
– but they sold them to Jake, Ella’s husband.
Not this one, though, from the looks of it. Bit run-down, isn’t it?’
He nods, taking in the information, his eyes fixed on the slightly shabby-looking building. It’s not unusual to see places like this in rural areas, but I am surprised that this one hasn’t been snapped up.
Starshine is an affluent place filled with sneakily successful people like Connie and the baking Betties, and Jake who used to be a property developer.
It’s one of the reasons the village is so thriving – they all pay a kind of tithe to the community fund, which is used to support local activities, invest in projects, and keep the place looking tip-top.
It’ll also be the fund that pays Guy his wages when he signs on as their handyman.
I have no clue why this poor old house has been left to its fate like this. Maybe it’s just a little bit too far out of the way and has slipped under the radar in its little secluded nook.
‘Do you think we could go and look?’ Guy asks.
‘I don’t see why not. It’s unlikely anyone will wave a shotgun at us and tell us to get off their land. Might be haunted though.’
‘I can deal with either. Come on, let’s go and see it. Unless you need a rest?’
He pauses and looks down at me. The sun is shining on his hair, and his eyes are glinting with gold, and he is so damn handsome it’s enough to make a grown woman weep.
I reach up and wind my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
It is a lush and delicious thing that makes me melt against him, his hands firm against the small of my back, his lips perfect against mine.
Guy and I are now very much a couple. We have progressed from snuggling to canoodling to the next stage, though it turns out I’m not quite as limber as a Cirque du Soleil performer after all, at least not at the moment.
The whole thing has been slow and steady and completely exquisite – it turns out he understands my body just as well as he understands my mind.
I pull back from the kiss and love the little frustrated groan he lets out when I move away from him. I can tell he wants more; truthfully so do I, but a girl’s got to find her fun where she can.
‘Not bad for a woman who resembles a portable toilet, huh? Come on, slowcoach…’
I set off down the sloping field, the long grass tickling my ankles over my Converse, my hair streaming in the mild breeze. I need to get it cut, it’s as out of control as the grass, but I never quite find the time to let Cally do it.
Guy and I approach the old house, which is far from dilapidated but is definitely feeling a bit sorry for itself.
It’s set smack bang in the middle of the field, with glorious views of the countryside all around, and a distant glimpse of the sea over the Starshine rooftops.
It’s big and square and handsome rather than pretty, the kind of well-proportioned house that a child might draw.
The chimney is leaning to one side, I notice, and as we get closer I see that the wooden window frames are riddled with rot, the blue paint on the front door flaking.
I try the handle, unsurprised to find it open. I raise my eyebrows at Guy, and say: ‘Are you ready to face the ghosts?’
He nods and goes in ahead of me – presumably to protect me from the hooded claw, or to take the first blast of the shotgun pellets. He’s romantic like that.
We stand in the big hallway, and glance around.
Turns out the place is mainly haunted by the eighties, which was very obviously the last time it was decorated.
There’s still furniture in here, but everything is old and unused, with the slightly musty smell that buildings get when they’ve been left empty for a while.
Guy wanders from room to room, and while I’m fascinated by the time-capsule vibe of the place, he’s paying a lot more attention to damp patches and mantelpieces.
We go up the eerily creaky stairs, and the views from the rooms at the front are magnificent – right out to the coast in all its glory.
The beds are still made but obviously haven’t been used in a long time.
Despite its neglected air, it doesn’t feel at all haunted – it’s more ghost town than actual ghosts.
We finish our tour, passing through a serviceable kitchen with a dusty old AGA, and go out into the back garden.
I am filled with delight at what we find out here, the wild splendour of it all.
Apple and pear trees are dripping with fruit, the shrubs are dense and overgrown, and the whole place is giving off serious Secret Garden energy.
It’s laid out in terraces, rising up a fairly steep incline, a path leading to a shady little spot at the top, complete with a small pond and a bench.
Dragonflies are skimming the water, birds are twittering in the boughs of the hawthorn and elm, and if colours had a scent, this place would smell green. It’s absolutely lush.
I lower myself down onto the pretty wrought-iron bench, and sigh as I gaze out at the view – the beautiful, brilliant sea, glittering turquoise in the sunlight. It’s completely idyllic out here, surrounded by nature. The garden that time forgot.
‘This is a good house,’ Guy says thoughtfully, ‘solid bones. Nothing fundamentally wrong with it at all, just needs a bit of work.’
‘The kind of work a handyman could do in his sleep?’ I say, turning my face up to the sun for a recharge.
‘Maybe not in his sleep, but definitely when he was awake. It’s just right, isn’t it? It’s what, maybe a mile from the village – so it’s easy to walk to, but far enough to give us some distance and independence…’
He’s staring speculatively at the back of the building. ‘And it’s big,’ he adds. ‘Plenty of space for people to stay with us. Lots of room out here in the garden for kids to play.’
I realise with a jolt of surprise that he isn’t actually talking all that speculatively after all. That he is looking at this gently run-down house and picturing it as a home – our home. A home where there would be visitors, and children, and a life spent together.
My eyes go wide, and I’m not at all sure exactly how I feel about that.
Excited, intrigued, terrified? All three at once?
At the moment, I am happy enough at my dad’s cottage, and although Guy does spend some nights with me there, he also still has his tent base camp.
I suppose I’ve not really looked too far ahead, choosing instead to enjoy these early times without burdening them too much with the weight of expectation.
But I suppose he’s right – that’s not a feasible long-term plan. The tent-dwelling will get rough when the weather turns, for a start.
He walks back over to me on the bench, meets my slightly shocked gaze, and smiles. It’s a humdinger of a smile, and I’m glad I’m already sitting down. I might swoon.
‘Are you about to have a heart attack? Are you planning your escape route?’ he asks, knowing me too well to avoid the obvious. ‘Or is this something you can see for us?’
‘Um… a bit of both, perhaps? I don’t mean to be negative, I’m just surprised. I didn’t know your mind was going down that path.’