Chapter 18
‘Hello,’ said Kathleen, standing at the door. ‘You’re not busy, are you?’
‘Not at all,’ said Meg, thinking it was the only British response to a question like that. If you were in the middle of conducting heart surgery and someone knocked at the door of the operating room, a British surgeon would probably stop everything, invite whoever it was inside, and put the kettle on.
‘Would you like a cup of tea,’ she heard herself saying, as she opened the door wider and gestured to Kathleen to come inside. Kathleen beckoned to someone outside and for a moment Meg wondered if she’d inadvertently invited half of Applemore to have a coffee. She was surprised and relieved a moment later when Miranda, the burgundy-haired woman she’d met at Pilates, appeared with a cheerful wave.
‘We’re not getting under your feet?’
‘Absolutely not. I could do with a cup of tea, anyway.’ She led them through to the kitchen.
‘You have been busy,’ said Kathleen. ‘Helen’s going to be delighted.’
‘Or she’s going to spend months wondering where I’ve put things,’ laughed Meg as she made a cup of tea.
‘How are your legs after Pilates?’ asked Miranda.
‘Oh, terrible. I could hardly move. I felt like I’d been frozen solid.’
‘I’m still recovering. Looking forward to next week, though. I must be some kind of masochist.’
‘Me too.’ Meg fetched the jug of milk from the fridge and put three mugs down on the table.
‘So you’ve met my niece Miranda, then,’ said Kathleen, shaking her head no when offered sugar.
‘Yes, she rescued me when I was contemplating doing a runner before I’d even made it into the class.’
Kathleen smiled. ‘It’s never easy, going somewhere new by yourself. And trying something new into the bargain – I think it’s very impressive.’
Meg felt her cheeks going pink. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’d be terrified,’ confided Miranda. ‘But then I’ve never made it further than blooming Inverness.’
‘Yes, we were saying how brave you are to come up here all by yourself. Not everyone would do it.’
Meg smiled. ‘It didn’t feel that scary because it’s Helen’s place.’
‘Even so, landing up in a new village in the middle of nowhere takes some courage.’ Miranda raised her mug in a gesture of salute. ‘I agree.’
‘So what brought you up here? I mean I know you’re friends with Helen, but it’s still a long trip. Have you left… anyone back home?’
Meg shook her head. ‘No, nobody.’
‘Ah, you’re like me. I’m quite happy single with my little house and my job at the flower farm, and that’s more than enough to be going on with. I don’t have the energy to be dealing with men.’
‘Meg didn’t say she was single,’ chuckled Kathleen. ‘She might not have left someone back home, but she might have someone on the road. She’s a traveller, after all.’
Meg grimaced. ‘Not really a traveller. I only bought the van before I came up here, and only because I sold our house. I’m – well, I was – my husband died.’
‘Oh gosh,’ said Miranda, putting a hand out to squeeze her wrist. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Meg put both hands up in a stop gesture. ‘Don’t be. We – it –’ she still struggled to work out how to say it without sounding callous.
‘It’s complicated?’ Kathleen raised her eyebrows gently.
‘It was a bit, yes.’
Ah,’ said Miranda with a sage nod. ‘Say no more.’
But something in Meg wanted to get it out in the open, and to make it official. ‘We weren’t particularly happy,’ she said, after a moment’s thought.
It was Miranda’s turn to grimace. ‘Oh that’s grim, I’m sorry.’
Meg sipped her tea. ‘The thing is,’ she said, surprising herself, ‘it’s hard because people expect a lot from widows, I’ve discovered. I had no idea that they were supposed to stay in their box and fulfil all the roles that society has mapped out for them.’
‘I would say from my experience,’ said Kathleen, ‘that there are a lot of widows out there who don’t fit into the box.’
‘Certainly not from what I’ve read online.’
‘Good on them,’ said Miranda. ‘I think women get enough flak for not fitting into the boxes we’re expected to.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Kathleen, raising her mug and clinking it gently against theirs.
Meg smiled.
‘Anyway,’ Miranda said a moment later. ‘We didn’t come here to give you the third-degree. We came to pop in on the library, only when we got there the shelves were bare. I’m guessing this isn’t some kind of avant-garde art installation?’
Meg shook her head. ‘No, I’m in the middle of sorting the books, so if you want to borrow anything now is the perfect time. Helen appears to have bought half a bookshop in case of emergencies, and now she’s decided she wants me to pass them on.’
‘Ooh,’ said Miranda, ‘Can I have first dibs?’
‘Of course. Do you want to come and see?’
Miranda was delighted by the piles of books scattered all over the carpet.
‘I’ll bring them back,’ she said, beaming. ‘Oh and look, the new Monty Don. Can I take that one too?’
‘Of course!’ Meg passed it over.
‘Miranda works very hard up at the flower farm on the Applemore Estate,’ said Kathleen, proudly.
‘You need to come and see us. If you love flowers and gardening, you’ll die on the spot. It’s covered in tulips right now, and the blossom is almost here on the fruit trees.’
‘I’d love that. Is it open for visitors?’
‘Officially only at the weekend, but Beth never minds if it’s locals. Pop in whenever.’
‘I will.’
‘So what’s going on here with the wrapping?’ Miranda picked up the newly covered copy of Pride and Prejudice.
Meg explained the idea.
‘Oh I love that,’ said Kathleen, turning over one of the other books in her hand. ‘I bet people will pick up stories they’d never have even considered. I was worried when the bookshop closed and we lost the library service. Reading is such a lovely way to see inside someone else’s way of thinking, isn’t it?’
Meg beamed. ‘Absolutely. I – when I was married, reading was my escape. I think people can be really snobbish about books like this.’ She picked up a feel-good romance with a pretty flower-scattered cover. ‘But it’s so good to read something that you know is going to have a happy ending, especially when your life…’
She tailed off, trying to find the words.
‘Especially when your life doesn’t look like a storybook?’ Miranda nodded. ‘The last thing you need when you’ve got drama in your life is to sit down and read something stressful, I think. I love a good cosy romance so I might nab this one, actually. I love Holly Martin’s books.’
Miranda picked up another couple of books and balanced them on the side of the sofa, turning over the one she’d chosen to read the back cover.
It was strange, Meg thought as she sipped her drink, that somehow it didn’t feel particularly uncomfortable to have two women who were pretty much complete strangers sitting here chatting and drinking tea in the cottage. Back in Heatherby the only person who’d ever come into the house was Janey – Michael had never been a fan of people dropping by. Helen’s cottage, however, seemed to be the sort of place where people turned up on the off chance someone might be around.
‘It’s good of you to get involved like this,’ said Kathleen.
Meg smiled. ‘Helen would be surprised to hear someone say that.’
‘Not your usual style?’ Kathleen looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I might mention, come to think of it, that we could perhaps put a little book exchange in the mini supermarket. An extension, not a replacement. The little library is all very well, but it’s not very helpful for people who have mobility challenges.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ Miranda put the book down reluctantly, looking at it as if she’d quite like to curl up on the sofa and get stuck in. ‘Hard to get down here with a buggy as well, if you’ve got small children.’
Unless you’ve got a baby backpack, thought Meg. She’d been thinking about the girl on and off ever since she’d first seen her, wondering if she was okay.
‘I could bring a selection up to the village,’ she heard herself saying. ‘We’ve got a nice little pile of children’s books.’
‘Wonderful.’ Kathleen put her cup down on the coffee table. ‘We might even be able to find a little shelf somewhere. I’ve got a house full of old furniture.’
They said their goodbyes then and headed off for a walk along the beach in the spring sunshine. Meg – still achy and stiff from the Pilates class - trundled down to the library and back twice over with piles and piles of almost-new books. She returned, headed to Helen’s craft room and made a brand-new little sign to hang inside.
Help Yourself, she wrote, wondering as she did if she was treading on toes. But the idea of that young girl sneaking up and taking the eggs as if she was terrified she’d be caught out had haunted her ever since she’d spotted her the other day. She knew all too well how it felt to creep about, looking over your shoulder and feeling anxious. If she was only here for a short while, she could at least make a difference in that time.
Kathleen obviously wasn’t a woman who hung around once she had a plan in hand.
‘Morning,’ she said the next day, standing on the doorstep with a smile and arms full of a huge cardboard box. ‘I thought it was worth chancing my arm that you’d be at home.’
Meg dusted down the flour that covered her top. ‘Sorry, I was – well, I would say I was baking, but it feels more like a science experiment. Come in.’
Kathleen put the box down on the table in the hall and fished out a brown paper bag. ‘I’ve brought you some cake, although if you’re baking, perhaps it’ll be surplus to requirements, but I was going to pop some into the library in any case. I painted a little bookshelf last night and sent a message to Michelle, the manager of the supermarket. She’s more than happy to have a shelf by the door.’
‘A library offshoot.’ Meg smiled.
‘Exactly.’ Kathleen put the bag down on the kitchen table. Eliza, who had clearly decided that she was approved of, wandered over and allowed Kathleen to scratch her behind the ears. ‘Ah, you’re making sourdough.’
‘Well, that’s the intention. It turns out that Helen has left very detailed instructions in her little book, so I’m trying to revive the starter.’
She looked down at the dubious looking floury paste which she’d mixed in a Kilner jar. Apparently, this was going to come to life and turn into delicious bread by lunchtime tomorrow.
‘It always seems like a lot of effort to make a loaf of bread,’ remarked Kathleen, watching as Meg put it – as instructed – in the warmest part of the kitchen next to the hot-water pipes.
‘I tend to agree. But I’m rather intrigued now.’
‘I won’t keep you,’ said Kathleen. ‘I wanted to pop this in and pick up some books and take them up to the village as I’m on my way. Might as well strike while the iron is hot, don’t you agree?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And it’s the weekend. Nice for people to pop in and have something new to read, as well. Not everyone has the luxury of being able to jump in the car and go out for a day trip somewhere, and weekends can be very long if you’re at home with children.’
Meg smiled in what she hoped was a non-committal sort of way.
‘I imagine,’ added Kathleen. ‘We didn’t have any. My late husband and I – it simply didn’t happen, and after a while I accepted that they weren’t for me.’
Kathleen made her way down the sea path to the library. She was clearly well off, but it was clear that she could empathise with those who weren’t so fortunate in life. She’d baked two fruit loaves and wrapped them carefully in paper, and deposited them on the shelf alongside three boxes of eggs. Having closed the library doors securely, she headed back up the path, collecting the mixed bag of books that Meg had sorted for her. With a cheerful wave, she climbed into her little red Fiat and set off for the village.