Chapter 10 Tori
Tori
Share Something of Value with Someone
Dear Notebook,
Yesterday, woke feeling bit better so settled on window seat with The Buccaneers.
Was in the mood for female friendship and fresh breeze coming in from front lawn was nice on face.
Upgraded to slouchy jeans (wearing joggers not helping mental state) and hair in loose curly ponytail, as bun giving headache.
Wore fluffy grey jumper which hangs off one shoulder, showing off year-round tan (aka partly Mediterranean skin), but comfy and soft.
Later, sitting at kitchen counter with coffee and more lemon cake, forgot that night happened for a moment, and felt nearly normal again.
Until memories flooded back. Shook them off, stuffed cake in mouth and closed eyes to savour taste.
Sabina messaged saying hoped I got voicemail and to check out new Ed Sheeran song, because it’s good. Wish she was here for a hug. No, can’t take risk yet. Need to see what happens with court process, and police.
Checked watch. Was time to meet Albie. Stomach churned as went to collect post for first time in days, seeing a missive about kindness tribes pinned on noticeboard, before traipsing to library. Kept checking over shoulder, fists balled at my sides.
Albie waited with wide smile, eyes pleased. ‘Good morning, my dear. Thank you for the invite.’
‘Hi,’ I said, shy. ‘Thanks for coming.’
He gave a small courtly bow, forcing tiny laugh from me.
More relaxed, strode to double doors edged by heavy maroon curtains leading onto front terrace.
Escape route established. Raised concrete dais outside overlooks green fields and eyesore buildings in village.
With east and west wings fanning out either side, beautiful grand library is the heart of downstairs, dining room wedged in next to entrance hall, with study (spied elaborately detailed marble chimney-piece) and ballroom across the wide corridor.
Library smelt of fragrant lilacs, and sunlight shone through spotless windows. Room is grand, but somehow a cosy haven too.
Spent half hour with Albie, running fingers over bound book spines, exchanging information about reading, literature and previous journalistic career.
He asked how I got started and his blue eyes were so gentle, couldn’t help responding.
Kept respectful distance, putting me at ease, and felt undefinable awakening as described writing in secondary school then English degree.
Mentioned favourite articles and fascinating subjects, responsibility to report news, working way up from intern to junior reporter on local paper, to assistant editor on regional newspaper.
Spoke of colleagues and friends, and when Albie handed me lacy handkerchief and carefully patted my shoulder, realised tears rolling down my cheeks.
Shocked to be crying in front of him, but better for the release.
Once I dried face, he asked why I love reading so much.
Sniffed, ‘Because it offers an escape into other worlds. I enjoy getting pulled into someone else’s story, someone whose shoes I can stand in.
I also adore the variety of characters, settings and dilemmas.
’ Nodding, gathered speed, ‘So much in life feels out of control, but I can choose whether to enter a love story, mystery, or adventure of a lifetime. Best of all, when the emotions leap off the page and a passage resonates, it makes me feel like I’m not alone, because someone else feels the same.
’ Voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It’s like the author’s reaching through the pages and touching my heart.
’ Forgotten passion for reading coursed through veins, making me want to jump in car and find bookshop.
Breathe in scent of printed pages. Loiter among the shelves.
Listen to booksellers recommending paperbacks to customers. Leave with stack of new books.
Been a long time since had that desire. Weird, but good, sensation.
Albie got emotional, saying my answer was beautiful and should start writing again. Brushed him off, didn’t tell him about this notebook. It’s not really writing, more… spilling guts. Shudder as description too visceral. Needed to be alone then, and told Albie I was expecting a delivery.
‘That’s a shame, but thank you for sharing something you value with me. I enjoyed it.’
On short walk to flat, was thinking he’s right. Books and words are high value. We use them to explore and understand the world, our hopes and dreams, and each other.
When he mentioned Ethan, I immediately shut down, yanking on sleeves and wrapping arms round waist. Ethan is tall, broad-shouldered, blond hair, open face, annoyingly sunny disposition.
Have always gone for dark, brooding types.
Am not entertaining any romantic ideas, just good to know so can avoid him.
‘He’ll be back soon,’ Albie said as we stopped outside my door. ‘We’ll need to talk our thoughts through with him. Which reminds me.’ Produced small index card from pocket of disgusting mustard cardigan.
Was an invite to walking meeting to look at cottages.
Still don’t see point. Can’t get excited about spending time, energy, money on rebuilding something in such a sorry state.
Can barely muster energy to bind pieces of myself together.
‘Maybe next time.’ Easier to fob off than refuse altogether.
Paused. ‘Why do you think Ethan wants to help?’
Albie pursed his lips. ‘Because he oversaw the manor conversion, and loves his job? I wouldn’t be surprised if he joins in with the physical work too. He told me he likes fixing things.’ Paused, studying me. ‘He’s very nice, you know.’
Chewed lip, uneasy. ‘Irrelevant. Some things can’t be fixed.’
‘But some can. I’m anticipating he’ll be here a lot.’ Raised eyebrows. ‘He likes you.’
No. Wrapped arms around stomach, squeezing tight. ‘He’s onto a loser there. Besides, you never know what someone’s like until you see the worst of them.’
‘Or when you need support, and you see the best.’ His voice was gentle.
‘Speaking of, I need assistance on my walk tomorrow. Accompany me, in case my knees give me trouble, or I run out of puff? There are lovely views and paths around here. I think you’d enjoy them.
’ Pulled a beseeching face, peering at me.
‘I’d very much appreciate it. And we can talk about your favourite book. ’
‘Too many to whittle down to one. But okay.’ Reluctant at thought of leaving manor, but excited about talking books again. Oddly, also don’t want to upset him.
‘Marvellous, see you here at 8.30 a.m.’
‘Half eight?’ Groaned.
‘Dear girl, I get up much earlier to see the sun rise over the hills, and you’re missing a special part of the day if you don’t watch the world awaken and hear the dawn chorus.’
‘Whatever. Just don’t expect me to be perky and chatty.’
‘Are you perky at any time?’ He quipped, before ambling along hallway to his door. Cheekiness had me snorting as I went into my flat.
Big part of me wants to stay inside hidden away, but another part’s pulling me in direction of fields, trees, sunshine and flowers (a novelty after living in a city) and an old man with kind blue eyes. Besides, what’s worst thing that can happen on walk?
Reading on bedroom window seat overlooking front car park, spied rabble of neighbours traipsing up driveway later that evening, including Albie and a good-looking guy with baby strapped to chest. Opened window to eavesdrop.
Chatting about cake but laughing was forced, like they were trying to shrug off a disappointment.
Not surprised. Seriously think they can breathe colour and life into village after all these years?
So ambitious. Although, if they manage it and people come, would make good story for local paper…
no. Although, after time with Albie today, feel a softening. A new emotion. Possibility?
Then Ethan arrived, exiting battered car and sliding arms into suit jacket, before striding towards main door.
Stopped to pull out his phone, scowling before shoving into trouser pocket.
Lifting head, his eyes scanned front of building and I ducked down with hot cheeks.
After he’d gone, stared blankly at pages of book, feeling a spot of warmth along my spine where it was pressed to wall.
Must be water pipe? Wriggled against it, seeking comfort. For some reason, it worked.
Restless night’s sleep. Woke early with start.
Dreamt about drinking in bar, numerous faces crowding in, and a glint of light reflecting off sharp object.
Woke with a start, hairline sweaty, but cool shower blasted nightmare away.
Left hair to dry naturally as couldn’t face scalp ache from tying back.
Gilly and Ariel (remembered names from meeting, brain previously so good with details cranking back to life) noisy last night and this morning.
Soft feminine moans and creaking bed audible through ceiling.
Hope they’re not always having make-up sex.
Soundtrack to life will get boring and would have to drown them out with soft rock.
This morning visited entrance hall to check for daily missive, and found one about sharing something of value with someone. Words familiar, couldn’t quite place why. Curious. Returned to flat to find Albie waiting for me. Greeting me with smile, asked if I was ready to go.
No, but did it anyway.
Glad was brave. Stroll along dusty tree-lined paths filled with proud-headed white-petalled wild garlic was lovely as day warmed.
Green grass, leafy bushes, multi-hued fields stretching into distance, birds tweeting, bright sunlight on face, crisp fresh air.
Albie was right, a shame to waste this part of day.
Talked about favourite books and debated film adaptations.
Lost track of time and walked for over an hour.
When got back to manor, invited me into his apartment. Nervous, so asked to leave front door open. He gave me quizzical look but agreed.
Followed him into lounge, which backed onto mine.
Gasped. Not my style, but impressive. Filled with stunning antique furniture, like out of Alex Brown postcard series novel.
He pointed out mahogany writing desk, Victorian rosewood mantel clock on shelf above neoclassical fireplace, gold gilded wall mirror, walnut bureau table holding TV, floral sofa, patterned wallpaper, polished floorboards, delicate painted vases.
Gleaming treasure trove of bygone era. Must be a collector.
Or maybe his late wife? Seeing my expression, Albie explained they’d enjoyed collecting beautiful things and he’d kept them all.
Some they’d bought, some inherited, some given.
Given? Asked in disbelief. Stuff must be worth fortune.
Smiling, ‘Over the years, we took people in or aided them, and some donated pieces. Remember what I said at the meeting. Choose kindness, every day.’
And get things in return? Didn’t say aloud as felt uncharitable.
Also, came across random acts of kindness in journalistic career, so wasn’t always cynical.
Yes, lots of stories about terrible events, but also wrote about a stranger saving a dog from drowning, good Samaritan rescuing family from car wreck, or someone knitting free toys for local neonatal unit.
Hopeful about the world, writing those. Now every day is herculean task to bear.
Albie seems to cherish time he has, and is colourful.
Today, emulating Sherlock Holmes in formal trousers, smoking jacket, silk cravat at neck.
Half expected him to don deerstalker and produce pipe.
Sat on sofa as he detailed rebuild plans and showed me pad of scribbles.
Squinted. He explained ideas about starting with his cottage and grouping funds written quickly, so not usual penmanship.
Asked why notes not taken on a device, and he chortled.
‘I don’t like technology, and my typing speed is about twenty words per minute. Plunk, plunk, plunk.’
Before could think through, offered to type up notes and circulate via email.
‘Thank you, that’s kind. Rose always used to—’ Stopped and rubbed centre of his chest.
‘Sorry.’ I murmured. ‘Does it hurt to talk about her?’
‘I miss her, that’s all.’ Leaned toward me. ‘Sometimes, I speak to her as if she’s still here.’
We’re a right pair. Him conversing with someone long gone, me trying to avoid conversing with living. Odd to think I was nearly not among them. Black thought made me shiver.
Be brave, Tori.
Taking a breath, reached out and clasped his hand. Was comforting, not scary. Maybe Albie, and this place, bringing me back to life.
Gazing around awe-inspiring room, mahogany and walnut furniture gleaming and perfectly suited to manor, thought of note from entrance hall and recalled he used similar words yesterday. Interesting. Think my theory is right. I smiled. ‘Albie, thank you for sharing something of value with me.’
Mantel clock gonged, and he jumped, putting a hand to his chest.
‘What’s wrong?’ I frowned.
Tilting his head, he stared at clock. ‘I— Nothing. It’s just that’s been broken for over fifteen years. And it only strikes on the hour, and half hour. Which is not now.’
Huh. Strange thought, but maybe not just me being brought back to life. Other things too.