New Beginnings for Bryony Bennett

Chapter Five

Bryony took two painkillers and started to brush her teeth. Her electric toothbrush, whirred, stopped and flashed its low battery light. Figured. She put it on charge and hunted out a new manual one. Dario had insisted on walking down the lane with her. Apart from a grunted goodbye to the assembled members of the village people, and a grumpily uttered ‘watch out for dog shit’, they hadn’t spoken on the five minute journey. For a brief moment, she wondered if she needed to invite him in, and if she did there might be a pass she would have to stop, but there wasn’t. After a short, undignified tussle over who ought to open the door—he won—he’d nodded, ‘Let me know when you want to sell. It’s dark and lonely here,’ turned on his heel and began to walk back up the hill.

‘I’m not going to, you moron!’ Bryony yelled. And if I did, I’d make sure it didn’t go to you. Asshole. He didn’t acknowledge he’d heard her.

She spat out toothpaste, found the oversized t-shirt she preferred to sleep in, and turned off the light.

Damn it was dark.

Whoever said things look better in the morning, lied. She’d been woken well before the sun was even a hint in the sky by the sound of Mop throwing up. Evidently, he was suffering with the morning after the night before. An excess of crisps and sausages sneaked to him, Bryony suspected. No scones this time. She was amazed how normal she herself felt—until she’d seen Mop’s mess at any rate. After all, she had imbibed a lot more than her normal two glasses and switched from grain to grape. Perhaps the sausages and chips she’d eaten had helped. Whatever, if it hadn’t been for Mop, she suspected she would have slept a lot longer. As she remembered the number of boxes in the barn still to move and empty she grudgingly admitted it was just as well she was up and half awake.

By the time she’d cleared it all up, did her best not to add to the vomit—clearing up sick didn’t rate high on her scale of fun things to do—showered, and thrown her clothes and Mop’s bedding in the washer, the day had well dawned. Also, bugger it, the blasted green van had gone up, down, and up the lane again all in the space of half an hour and the weather matched her mood. Overcast. The last thing she felt like doing was more unpacking, and truth be told, there wasn’t a lot more essential stuff to unpack anyway.

‘C’mon Mop let’s go and explore.’ It was ridiculous how long she’d been around and not even gone though that gate just past her garden to see where the green van headed. There wasn’t a ‘private property, keep out’ sign anywhere to be seen, so she reckoned it was fair game. After all, the map said that once the lane petered out near the buildings over the hill, a footpath continued on for a few miles and joined the coastal track.

Time to do some sleuthing.

Bryony decided she had no need to look tidy. After all, she had no intention of going where she might meet more than the odd dog walker or someone tramping the cliff path. They wouldn’t be interested in her, surely? They’d be more concerned with the way markers and the thought of a pub lunch. Or if they were dedicated walkers, not the strollers she’d been told to expect, they would march on regardless.

Plus, now the clouds had broken, the morning held that indefinable hint of a long, drowsy, sunny, summer day. One where you took your time, meandered through the hours, and relished every minute, but you wanted to start that meandering, now. What her mum called a memory day. Perfect. Bryony decided there and then she would take the day for herself. Ignore what she had to do and do what she wanted instead. That want started with a walk.

Clad in shorts that had seen better days and sported a stain of dubious origin on the seat, a strappy top and trainers, she covered herself in sun cream and midge repellent. She filled a day sack with a raincoat and joggers—it was after all the British Isles—water, a collapsible bowl for Mop and some snacks for both of them and as soon as she fed the cats she was sorted. They yawned turned around in a circle and let her stroke them.

‘You two will be getting fat. No sardines for you at this rate.’ Crosby opened one eye and shut it again. Nash blinked. They both went back to sleep on the bottom of her bed. She shook her head. Some things never changed. They must be the only two felines alive who didn’t give a toss about going into a cattery as long as they had each other, their old pink sleeping blanket, a scratching post and plenty of food.

With a baseball cap so old its original red was pale pink and the lettering unreadable, Bryony was ready for most things. Except a bee that had its eye on her hat and caused her a few anxious moments as she did her best to stand still and not wave her arms about. Eventually it moved towards the one flourishing rose bush, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to do it any harm, but nor did she want to be stung.

A low flying RAF jet roared over so low that if the pilot had waved at her she would have seen the gesture. And returned it with one of her own. Not quite so polite. Mop took exception to it and howled. By the time she’d shushed him, and they turned out of the garden, Bryony was hot and bothered. The near miss with the bloody green van that weaved down the lane like the hobby horse in a Morris dance was the last straw. She danced back to avoid the van’s wheels and swore if she got the chance she’d put the driver through a mincer. If Dario had been anywhere near her, he’d be short of an appendage or three. She was ready to spit. Seriously, did Dario—if it was he—think that by messing around like a juvenile he’d scare her? She was made of stronger stuff than that. Although the magic scenario of flat tires and graffiti did come to mind.

Enough. Do not stoop to his level.

Her high moral standard made her laugh, and just made her all the more determined to do as she wanted. Not flat tires or graffiti, after all she wasn’t a vandal, but if he ran over a sharp rock and did the damage all by himself she wouldn’t be upset. The incident soured the day and her mood. She started down the track, got to within a hundred yards of the gate and stopped by a stile over the hedge with an ancient, weathered and bent signpost, which if you looked closely said ‘ferry 1 ⒈／⒉ mls’ next to it. Beyond it, an overgrown, but still recognisable path led along the side of a fallow field and over another stile to the cliff edge beyond.

Was she really ready for a confrontation, if it came to that? Mop leant on her legs and sighed. She knew how he felt. ‘Nope, not today eh, Mopsy? Come on, we’ll go the other way and walk down to the ferry. Just to see.’

Mop barked and pushed past Bryony to tug on his lead as he climbed up to the first step of the stile and whined.

‘Don’t give me that. I know fine well you’ll jump over this.’

He gave her a doggy-doubtful look. ‘Yes, okay you’re on a lead and no I daren’t take you off. Who knows what or who is lurking behind that fence? There might be sheep, or cows or even bogey men. You know dog catchers and other nasties.’

‘Bless you missy, he’ll be fine. I’m none ‘o them. You let ‘im go and I’ll catch ‘im if need be.’

Bryony jumped at the voice and dropped the lead. Mop bounded over the stile and the speaker - an old man in a cloth cap, an Iron Maiden t-shirt and shorts as old and disreputable as Bryony’s own - caught it with an agility she envied. She scrambled over the stile with a lot less grace and elegance than she would have preferred and smiled at the man who held on to Mop.

‘Thank you. He’s a class ‘A’ escapologist.’

‘He’s a beauty. Puts me in mind of my old Tess. Lost her a few years back. Fifteen she was. A good old age.’ He grinned. ‘Bit like me.’

‘No, you’re just a youngster,’ Bryony retorted, delighted with the exchange. Someone else didn’t mind her being around. ‘Thank you. He’s Mop and he’s still learning how to cope with the countryside.’

‘Townie, are you?’

‘Not any more Mr?’ Bryony stuck out her hand. ‘I live around here now.’

He shook hands firmly—that made for a nice change—and nodded. ‘You must be the new babber.’ He reddened. ‘Young lady in Cliff Cottage then.’

‘I guess I am.’ Should she? Was it going to make a difference? ‘Does that mean you’re going to mutter something about pushy townies and buying up all and sundry, so all the young people have to move?’

He patted her shoulder. ‘Bless you, no. I’m too old for that sort of malarkey. Jeb Bennett. I live in the cottage with the blue door round the back of the church. You buy what you can. Not your fault if our locals are asking what lots can’t pay. Supply and demand.’

‘True, and well, what a coincidence. I’m a Bennett as well. Bryony Bennett.’

He cackled. ‘There now, us Bennets’ll stick up for each other. Now...’ he winked. ‘You’d be my second cousin’s son’s girl. We lost touch when he went into the army.’

‘I am?’ It was the first she’d heard of it.

Jeb winked again. ‘Well, you are now eh? Won’t do no ‘arm.’

Bryony laughed. ‘That it won’t. Thank you.’

‘Well, there’s some misguided, some sore, and some bloody minded. I’m none of ‘em, even though my boy lives in Exeter and me daughter in Australia. Good luck to ‘em. And who’s this lovely boy, eh?’ He held out Mop’s lead.

Bryony took it. ‘Oh yes. This is Mop. Escapologist extraordinaire, if I’m not careful. I’m scared there are sheep around.’

‘Not around here. This land is arable, and then it’s the golf course down the hill towards the village. You’re safe.’ He paused and spat discreetly into the hedge. ‘Mind you, some’ud moan over anything so best to take care. I hear you’re running some bookshop or another for the fete? With our well known but reclusive local author as headline guest or some such thing? Rather you than me. I prefer the Times crossword and a pint in the Red Pig.’

Bryony laughed. ‘I reckon I would as well. Ah well, Maddie didn’t give me a chance to say no.’

‘Ah, she wouldn’t. Real whirlwind is Maddie Monk. Good hearted though, not like some I could mention. No name, no pack drill, but if you ain’t met her you soon will. Right then, I best get on. Get my constitutional over, check my lettuces for nasties and earth up my late tatties.’ He touched his cap and nipped over the stile in two nimble bounds.

The interlude cheered her up. At least she had one more ally in Little Brindish. That made two. Mop was happy to be on his lead as they made their way down the hill, around the golf course, and finally ended up near the ferry across the estuary. She sat on a bench—dedicated to the loving memory of Ivy Coombs, devoted wife and mother—and gave Mop a biscuit and a bowl of water as she munched on an apple and watched the scene in front of her.

The tide was on its way in with the mud flats gradually shrinking as the water covered them. Boats that had lain on one side sat upright, and began to bob and swirl in the currents. The ferry chugged across the estuary, dislodged its full compliment of passengers and took on several more, to retrace its route. Bryony gazed at it with longing. It took dogs, she knew it did, but she really ought to head back and do some more sorting out. Boxes didn’t empty themselves, and even a non domestic goddess as she was got sick of moving them out of the way and coping without half of the household stuff still packed away. Or lost.

Mop whined and tugged to chase a seagull with an attitude. Bryony fondled his ears. ‘Seagulls are off limit. They’re nastier than you are.’ Mop woofed. ‘Exactly that.’

The ferry was once more on its return journey. Bryony made her mind up. ‘Sod the boxes. Come on Mopsy. Let’s go on an adventure.’ She stood up, packed up Mop’s water bowl and made her way across the sands to where a flag emblazoned with the word ‘ferry’ was stuck. Three or four other people had wandered down in front of her, and by the time the ferry nosed into the bank several more, plus two dogs were behind. Although some looked like holiday makers, a couple of women, obviously local, glared at Bryony then studiously ignored her, except for a muttered, ‘bloody grockle.’ from one of them. The other tutted but nodded her agreement.

Judging by their lightweight jackets, one was a health worker and the other worked for a well-known supermarket chain. Bryony hoped they both changed before they started their shifts. The ferryman’s helper, or whatever he was called, chatted to them cheerfully as they made their way up the gangplank without recourse to holding his outstretched hand. He winked at Bryony. ‘You gonna do it yourself, or can I be gallant?’

She chuckled. ‘To me or my dog?’

‘Both of course.’

She took his hand as Mop walked sedately—for him—up the narrow, no handrail plank, and jumped into the well of the boat. Bryony scrambled after him and slid along the wooden seat until she and Mop were out of people’s way. The ferry was almost full, but the bench on either side of her was empty. Almost, she thought, amused, as if I have something catching. She ignored the passengers and stared at the wharfs across the river. In the industrial docks a crane was unloading a ship. Several lorries were in attendance, driving up to it empty, and then ten or so minutes later, leaving with their containers full. It was bustling, vibrant and interesting. The deckhand bent and grabbed hold of the ropes on either side of the gangplank in preparation to pull it up when someone shouted loudly.

‘Oi! Wait for me!’ Maddie Monk sprinted across the sand, and danced up the gangplank, with a grateful, ‘Benjy my boy you are a doll,’ to the deckhand who blushed and laughed.

‘Get away with you.’

The boat backed away from the beach as Maddie noticed the women and Bryony. She nodded to the women as she sat next to Bryony.

‘Lesley, Faye, have you met Jeb Bennett’s relative?’

The taller one scowled. ‘Nope, nor need to. Poor Dario. We don’t need incomers. The village is fine, as it is. Or was.’

‘Faye.’ The other woman said in an uncomfortable voice. ‘Shh.’

‘Why?’ Faye demanded, in a belligerent tone. Bryony made a mental note not to go to her checkout if she ever used the shop advertised on the woman’s jacket. She’d prefer to do her shopping unscathed.

‘I’m only saying what you and the rest think.’ Fay continued, forcefully. ‘Just most people are scared to put their money where their mouths are.’

Dario? What had he got to do with anything? Bryony shuffled up the seat to let Maddie sit down without having to rest her bum on the corner and mentally shrugged. She ought to have a bit of sympathy for the Faye woman. It must be so uncomfortable with such a big chip on your shoulder. She thought about it for a second. No, she didn’t.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Maddie said. ‘Not me. I’m happy to have Bryony here.’

‘Well, you would be.’

And whatever she meant by that Bryony never discovered, as the ferry nosed into the shale and sand at their destination, and people prepared to disembark. Mop, who was in raptures at his new best friend’s appearance, growled at the venom in Faye’s voice as she stood up and the movement brought her nearer to them.

‘Dogs shouldn’t be allowed out without a muzzle.’

Bryony had enough. ‘Neither should big mouthed, self opinionated bitches.’

Maddie stared at her as if she had two heads, and then guffawed. That was the only word for it. ‘Well, Faye Soole, she’s got your measure.’

Faye tossed her head, grabbed her companion—who must be the Lesley someone Maddie had mentioned—and almost manhandled her up the three steps to where the gangplank would be. When Benji whoever had manoeuvred it in place. They were first off.

‘Well,’ Bryony said, as the two women marched up the sands to the road. ‘Welcome to the community, eh? Is everyone like them? Hating me for not being local?’

Maddie sighed. ‘Not everyone. Only about seven eighths. And to be fair it’s not personal.’

‘No?’ Bryony asked, as they sauntered towards the promenade. ‘It feels like it.’

‘Well,’ Maddie temporised. ‘I mean, this time it’s directed at you, but it would be the same with any newbie. There are so few houses for sale around the Brindish villages, anyway. And most of them are out of the reach of first time buyers. There’s some idea that if outsiders didn’t buy stuff, the youngsters could. I’m not sure myself, but there you are. Minds made up and nothing will change them.’

‘But it’s hard for any first time buyer,’ Bryony protested. ‘You try it in London. You need a mortgage to get a mortgage, if you get me. Or a sugar daddy. Or a lot of scrimping and saving.’

‘Oh, I know, but try telling certain people that. Ach, ignore them. I’m glad you’ve come here. And so it seems, is your new uncle.’

Bryony giggled. ‘He’s a doll, eh?’

‘I’m not sure doll is the right sobriquet, but Jeb Bennett is a sweetie. With him on your side you’ll be accepted a lot sooner. Say ten years, not fifty.’

‘Thanks a lot. I’m not sure that reassures me.’

‘You’re welcome. So why did you come over the river?’

‘On a whim. A run in with a bloody green van, and a disinclination for more confrontation with it, your brother or anyone else. I didn’t manage it though, did I? You?’

‘To be your champion. I met Jeb in Little Bristow, and he was vociferous in your defence. You’ve got a champion there as well. ‘Terrible what them that should know better are sayin’ ‘bout that young gel. Not on it ain’t’. I’m quoting there. Then as I was parked along the road from the landing I saw the gruesome twosome head for the ferry and decided to run interference. Not,’ she added hastily, ‘because I thought you couldn’t cope, but because I love putting a spoke in their wheels. Harpies.’

Bryony laughed, her sour mood completely dissipated by Maddie’s sharp humour. ‘I can cope with numpties like them. I’ve developed a thick skin over my already thick skin and cultivated a sharp and ironic sense of humour.’

‘You’ll need them both, I’m afraid,’ Maddie said, in a sober fashion. ‘As for the green van? Hmm. Dario has one but he’s the safest, least aggressive driver I know.’

Bryony wasn’t so sure. ‘If you say so.’

Maddie peered at her intently. ‘You don’t agree. What’s been happening?’

‘Not a lot.’ Bryony rolled her shoulders. ‘It—well the driver, I don’t credit the van with murderous tendencies—just seems to take great pleasure in appearing threatening. You know, swerving to just miss me. Scaring the living daylights out of me and Mop. Loud music and engine revving. And tearing up and down the lane at all hours. Nothing major, but bloody annoying.’

‘Hmm. Detective Monk will look into it all. What a welcome.’ Maddie shook herself like Mop when he got out of a shower of water. Luckily, she had no water to spread around. ‘Right, so if you have nothing really in mind, how about a walk along the prom, an ice cream and then we’ll go back over, I’ll drive you up the hill, and we can go into the shop. You can have a look around and I’ll give you the gen on what you’ll need to know. And a key.’

‘I didn’t actually say yes, you know,’ Bryony pointed out, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed by Maddie the bulldozer. ‘It might not be for me.’

‘Course it is,’ Maddie said cheerfully. ‘And you’ll be in the best position to get the gossip.’

‘And be fodder for it. As in, bloody newcomer, not only bought one of our houses, taken one of our jobs.’

‘Oh, not the latter, believe you me. More like you’re crazy for working for me. ‘Right slave driver is that Maddie Monk. Gets her money’s worth and the rest. Wouldn’t work for her if it was the only job this side of the Tamar.’ The latter,’ she said with a snort, ‘is because I told one hopeful she’d be expected to work from eleven to five on alternate Saturdays and no she couldn’t leave early because she needed time to get ready for her date. Not once mind you, but every week. When I asked her what time she was going out, she said ‘eight but it took time to do her face.’ She didn’t start, let alone last.’

‘You cruel and heartless woman.’

‘That’s me,’ Maddie replied cheerfully. ‘So, is it ice cream and the ferry, with a trip to the shop before I treat you to a cream tea, cream before jam?’

‘Why not. but you don’t need to buy me a cream tea.’

‘I do, you know. Then I’ve got an excuse to have one as well. The kids and Dex are off swimming after school. I’m free as a bird until six, and then it’s takeaway for dinner.’

Who could refuse an offer like that?

‘Well,’ Maddie said several hours later, as they sat on the tiny lawn outside Maddie’s craft shop, Cosy Crafts, with a pot of tea, and some fantastic scones—gluten free for Bryony, gluten full for Maddie—cream and jam, from the tea shop a few doors down. The tea shop, Jenny’s (Eat and be Satisfied) had been crowded so they’d got what they wanted and decided to eat in the craft shop’s garden instead.

‘And no glares, stares, or tuts that I’m stuffing my face and chatting when my poor other half is running around after our kids. With the emphasis on ‘our’,’ Maddie said as she kicked off her sandals and curled her toes in the grass with a sigh of satisfaction.

‘And talking to the incomer?’

Maddie gave her raucous hoot of laughter. ‘More than likely. Oh, it’s not everyone honestly. Just a vociferous few. One of whom will be my bloody ex sister in law. She is a menace and not to put a too finer point on it, a blight on the landscape. Luckily, most of the time she pretends I don’t exist. Sadly, the rest of the time she’s a sodding nuisance. Ah well, into every life nastiness must fall.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ Bryony swallowed the last of her scone, cream on first, and glanced down at a snoozing Mop, who had a bone to gnaw on. ‘I suppose I’d better move. I only intended to be out for an hour, not five.’

‘Ah, but you enjoyed it.’

‘Oh, I did.’

‘Even your crash course in running the craft shop?’

Bryony laughed. ‘Yes, you arm twister, you. Even that.’ She patted her new tote bag. ‘And I’m looking forward to doing some tapestry again.’

‘See? I knew you’d be perfect. And you can bring it with you. For when we’re quiet. Although as the only craft shop for a good thirty miles we do brisk business. Even so, you’ll have time, and it looks good to the punters. Now, you’re okay for next week? I’ve sorted it so we take turns Wednesday to Friday alternative weeks. I’m sure I mentioned we close Monday and Tuesday at the moment, and that good old Mrs Gilchrist does weekends?’

Bryony nodded. ‘Yep.’

Maddie cackled. ‘I bet I kept repeating it as well. I did my darndest to make it sound all hunky dory and fab. Well it is, of course, but you know what I mean.’

Bryony nodded again. After all what else was there to say?

‘All you need to do is repeat after me, “that’s perfect Maddie, thank you. I’ll see you on Wednesday.’” Easy.’

Bryony took a deep breath. ‘Okay, but two weeks trial on both sides? I might be crap, or... well...any way. Two weeks trial, no hard feelings if one of us use that get out clause.’

‘You drive a hard bar...’ Maddie broke off what she was saying and groaned. ‘Fu...okay, just smile and pretend you don’t give a scooby about rude, rotten, residents.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Hello Josie. How’s the bad back?’

A young woman of around Bryony’s age smiled at Maddie and pointedly turned her back on Bryony. ‘It would be a lot better if the house was bigger and wasn’t so far away. I miss my mum, and the village. But of course,’ she sighed loudly. ‘We can’t afford village prices. Not now they’ve been driven up by all those incomers who can afford to pay silly money for places.’

Maddie’s eyes flashed. ‘To say nothing of the greedy so and so’s who put the houses up for those prices eh? Supply and demand is a bugger. But you know Josie, that it’s the seller who asks the price.’

Josie sniffed. ‘They buys them though.’

Maddie smiled. ‘Don’t we all?’

‘Ah, but some of us are born and bred here. It’s our heritage and all.’

Maddie grinned. ‘Tell your dad that. He sold his mum’s house for a tidy profit, didn’t he? To a grockle, no less. Why didn’t he let you have that?’

Josie flushed. ‘He needed the money.’

Maddie pounced. ‘Don’t we all? I rest my case. Can’t have it both ways, can you? Now I’m sure you want to get on, don’t let us keep you.’

The girl tossed her head. ‘I need to be back for when Ron gets home. I like to be there for him. That’s what a good wife does.’

The inference being Maddie wasn’t one of them. Maddie grinned. ‘Good for you.’ She waited until Josie was out of earshot. ‘Good God, Stepford wives or doormats spring to mind.’

‘Some people,’ Bryony said in a mild tone, ‘want to be wanted and need to show how. It works for them.’ To see Maddie on her soapbox was funny.

‘So do laxatives,’ Maddie snapped. ‘Work for some people. But I’d not recommend them unless you were ill.’