Chapter 5
I t’s cool in here, almost chilly, as I climb down the stone steps into dark main room, where I plan to offer my afternoon teas, a set menu and trolley of daily bakes.
In the cooler months I’ll light the fire and some candles, and in summer, there will be flowers on the tables and more tables outside where visitors can watch the birds.
I walk to the back of the room past the cogs that turned the circular stones that used to grind grain into flour when it was a working mill and that I plan to make a talking point about how this place had a past, but today a whole new lease on life.
A bit like me. I put my hand on the cold, worn stones as I pass.
The walls are covered with colourful graffiti – and not the artistic kind. Rough, crude images and words from orange and red spray cans that need to be scrubbed off and painted over. But that shouldn’t take me too long. I know where to get the paint and where to hire a ladder.
I walk through the dusty room around the debris on the wooden floorboards that need cleaning and polishing.
At the very back, there is an open wooden staircase to the upper floors.
Straight ahead I can see a stone step and an archway with a curtain across it, and in front of that, against the whitewashed wall, is a basic kitchen.
I pull my new wicker basket off my shoulder and leave it on the wooden work surface, put in for its functionality rather than its appearance I’m guessing.
With a bit of paint and maybe some gingham curtains to cover the open shelves, I’m sure I can get it Instagram-ready.
I’m excited to make a start and know exactly where I’ll find the red and white curtains I want at the Monday market in the next town.
I’ll take some pictures now for before-and-after shots.
I pull out my phone and photograph the kitchen and the millstone workings in the middle of what will be the dining area.
Again, I send them to Annie, and get smiley faces and thumbs-up emojis back.
She may be tired now, although still enjoying the pictures.
I remember how drained treatment could make me feel.
I venture beyond the kitchen through the archway with the curtain.
I pull it back. It’s just as I remember it from the viewing I arranged as soon as I arrived here.
The estate agent thought I was just a nosy tourist and could barely raise any enthusiasm for the place.
He couldn’t believe it when I made the offer there and then.
There is a small living area behind the curtain, with a wood-burning stove, and more wooden stairs up to a mezzanine that will be perfect for my living and sleeping area.
The small window looks down the drive over fields to the village beyond.
I take a few more pictures. This will suit me perfectly.
A little studio for one. I have a mattress being delivered later, and the rest of the room will be my living room.
I’ll put in the television and get a chair, or maybe a sofa.
I’ll be perfectly cosy here, I think, running my hand over the walls as I head up the stairs to the open-plan first floor, where there is a chute towards the cogs and workings downstairs.
I walk over to the windows at the front, overlooking the lake.
I take more pictures and put them all in the family WhatsApp group.
Later, I’ll save them in a folder for my Instagram and Facebook accounts when I open for business.
My phone rings, making me jump. It’s Maddie, on video call, and I answer it quickly, hoping nothing’s wrong. ‘Hello, love. Everything okay?’
‘Hi, Mum.’ She pauses and I hold my breath. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. Just …’ I wait for her to continue. ‘It’s just weird without you here.’
I give a little laugh of relief. ‘Maddie, you don’t live at home.’
‘I know, but I liked knowing you were there if I needed you.’
I smile affectionately. ‘I’m only across the water. You can come any time! Come as soon as you like.’
‘I know,’ she says quietly. ‘But, it’s just strange. You and Dad. You were like constant. I don’t seem able to stay with the same person for longer than a fortnight before I’m bored. How did you do it, Mum, for all those years?’
‘Well, I suppose I married my best friend. We liked being together, doing things together.’
‘But not any more.’
‘No,’ I say, ‘not any more. We want different things. But that doesn’t mean we don’t still care about each other. We do. We want each other to be happy. We’re just not a couple any more. But that’s not to say we won’t stay friends. Have you spoken to your dad?’
‘Yes. He’s okay. Keeping to his routines.’ We give a gentle laugh. ‘He seems happy enough.’
‘That’s good,’ I say, and feel a pang of regret, loss … pain for his pain, but also a sort of peace that this is right for us.
‘He’ll be fine, Mum,’ she says. ‘Mandy from the golf club is taking him out for coffee this week. They may even make it a regular thing.’ I can hear her smile down the phone. ‘And he’s got a supermarket delivery coming every Wednesday. She showed him how to set up an account.’
I can’t help but smile, knowing he’s found someone to go for Sunday-morning coffee with. ‘And you? You’re okay?’ I ask. ‘And Heidi?’
‘We finished.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I’ve met someone else. But it’s exhausting going through the whole getting-to-know-you thing again. Sometimes I wish I could be happy on my own.’
‘Well, I can recommend it. I’m enjoying just being me.’
‘Do you think you’ll meet someone else, Mum?’
‘Well …’ I’m suddenly thrown. I hadn’t thought about it.
‘You’re an attractive woman.’
I laugh. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Don’t be hard on yourself. You’re not over the hill yet!’
And I laugh again at her direct, slightly tactless style, which is all Maddie.
‘Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet a charming Frenchman,’ I joke back.
‘Maybe you will, Mum. Like you said, life is for living.’
I take a moment to let this sink in. It is, and that’s what I’m doing. ‘I’m here at the mill. I’ve just sent pictures.’
‘I saw them,’ she says. ‘You sound happy, Mum.’ She’s much softer than usual Maddie.
‘I am.’
‘That’s good, really good … Look, I don’t think we realised everything you did when you were here. Always being there when we needed you. I just … well, I just wanted to say thank you.’
I feel choked. ‘It’s fine,’ I say, not really knowing what to say. ‘I’m still here for you. I’m still Mum. I’m just finding out who Juliet is.’
‘I know. Enjoy. And if you’re not enjoying, come home,’ she says.
Our roles are reversed, it seems, making me laugh. ‘I will.’
Our eyes fill with tears and we look at each other through the blurry lens of the phone. Then Maddie sniffs and is back to her to-the-point self. ‘Okay, well, stay in touch.’
‘Of course!’ I say. ‘I’m having fun. I’m writing a to-do list!’
‘Love you,’ she says uncharacteristically.
‘And you, lovely. And Dad … because we’ll always be Mum and Dad even if we’re not living together any more. We’re just off on different journeys.’
‘I know. Bye, Mum.’
‘Bye, lovely,’ and we hang up.
I head for the stairs, feeling everything has fallen into place now that she understands why I’m here and why I needed to do this. Everything is working out as well as I could have hoped.
My stomach rumbles and I remember my bread and cheese and the glass of champagne, which I’m more than ready for now. I head downstairs to the kitchen area and actually take a little leap down the final step. Just as I do, the wooden trapdoor, leading to the cellar, rattles.
I jump back, a scream catching in my throat. I stare at it. Did I just imagine that? I’m sure that trapdoor just rattled as if something or someone was underneath it. It rattles again.
My heart is racing and I’m terrified. What on earth am I thinking?
That this is some romantic story with a happy-ever-after?
It’s an abandoned watermill, out of the village, with graffitied walls, etched by vandals.
Anything could happen to me here. No wonder no one has bought the place.
No one said it came with ghosts! Someone should have told me it had history.
I’m frozen to the spot. I can’t move. I can’t run past it. I can only stare at it. And then the trapdoor starts to lift.