Four Snowdrop – Hope
Four
Snowdrop – Hope
Snowdrop Cottage, my grandmother’s old home, is a tiny two-up two-down terraced house in the middle of another narrow street, bizarrely called Down-Along, which leads up from the opposite end of the harbour to The Daisy Chain.
It’s not that far from the shop, but I need to pull up in front of the narrow whitewashed cottage to unload my stuff from the Range Rover, and in doing so I manage to block the entire road for a few minutes.
Eventually, after apologising to the queue of drivers I’ve held up, I park the car back at the nearby Pay and Display car park then return to the house to unpack.
It doesn’t take long, I haven’t brought that much stuff with me, so as soon as I’ve hung a couple of bits up in the bedroom I used to sleep in as a child with my brother, found some bedding and made up one of the twin beds, I take a quick look around the house.
The downstairs is much as I remember; the quiet, pretty bedroom I’ve chosen to sleep in is at the back of the house next to a tiny bathroom. At the front, looking out on to the street, is a cosy kitchen with pale blue wooden units, a black Aga range cooker, and a kitchen table with four chairs. Upstairs, my grandmother’s old bedroom at the front of the house is exactly as I remember it; there’s a huge wooden bed with a feathery patchwork eiderdown, standing in the middle of whitewashed wooden furniture that belongs in a much bigger room. At the back of the upstairs of the house there’s a light, bright sitting room, with a plump scarlet sofa covered in further patchwork cushions, a rocking chair, a small TV, and a large bookshelf packed with books, magazines and papers. The reason my grandmother had chosen to have her main living room upstairs is easy to see when you enter the room. Through an ornate pair of French windows that lead out on to a small balcony, the back of the house commands a glorious view of St Felix Bay that I remember vividly.
I take a quick peek through the windows. Sadly much of the view is blanketed in a dense sea mist and it’s tipping down with rain. But what I do notice standing out on the balcony, drinking up the raindrops pelting down on them, are bunches of drooping yellow daffodils and colourful tulips in a series of wooden planters.
My stomach growls as I stand there, and I realise I’ve not eaten since I stopped at the service station earlier. So I head downstairs and pull on a big navy mac with a hood that’s hanging on a peg outside the kitchen. I toy with the sou’wester that’s hanging next to it, but decide I look daft enough already in this get-up without adding to my humiliation.
Then I grab my bag, lock the door and head down into the town to find food.
It’s not long before the smell of fish and chips comes wafting towards my nostrils, so I head into Harbour Fish a bring-and-buy sale; a missing cat…
‘Ah, I see, that makes sense.’
‘But they won’t be best pleased if I waltz in with take-away when they’re not involved. I’ll probably eat this in my van.’
‘Good plan,’ the counter assistant says. And I hear paper being expertly wrapped around chips. ‘Nah, this one’s on me, mate. The wife loved them flowers you got for her. I owe you one.’
‘Cheers, Mickey!’ I hear Jake call. ‘See ya later, Lou,’ he says to the woman ahead of me in the queue, and as he leaves, the bell rings above the shop door.
Phew, he didn’t see me!
The lady called Lou orders, but has to wait for her chicken to be cooked; so then it’s my turn.
‘Yes, my love,’ Mickey says, grinning at me with a set of perfect teeth, which look even whiter against Mickey’s dark skin.
‘Cod and chips, please.’
‘Certainly, my love. Large cod?’
‘Oh yes, please, and large chips too.’
Mickey smiles over the counter. ‘Got an appetite, have we, tonight?’ he asks jovially.
‘A bit.’ I smile.
‘Cod’ll be ready in two minutes,’ he says. ‘Be good and fresh though. That OK?’
‘Of course.’
I stand back and smile at the other customer. Lou is an older lady wrapped up in a similar fashion to me to protect herself from the rain.
‘It’s a rare old night out there,’ she says, nodding at my mac. ‘Forecast is clear for tomorrow though.’
‘That’s good.’
‘It’s been a quiet day today in the town, I barely saw any customers.’
‘Which shop are you in?’ I ask, wondering if she’s one of The Daisy Chain’s neighbours.
‘I run the post office and newsagent,’ she says. ‘April can be a funny month; you see your regulars, obviously – they’re always about, whatever the month – but your tourists, they can vary so much at this time of the year, depending on the weather. We sell ice creams, drinks, sweets, all that kind of thing. Trade will rocket in a sunny week and dive in a wet one.’
I nod, wondering why she’s telling me all this in so much detail.
‘I notice a lot of the shops are empty these days.’
‘Yes, it’s very sad to see. It’s only really happened over the last year or so. Place used to be a bustling little town. It’s a real shame.’
‘Lou, yours is ready,’ Mickey calls from the counter. He hands her a large bag of wrapped food. ‘Blimey, where are all these appetites coming from tonight?’ he asks, grinning at us.
‘Oh, this isn’t all mine,’ Lou says. ‘My brother is down from Birmingham for a few days. He likes his food.’
Mickey nods. ‘Bon appetit to both of you then!’
Lou thanks him and heads out of the door. ‘See you around, Poppy,’ she calls, smiling at me.
I lift my hand and sort of half wave goodbye before it hits me: Hang on a minute, how did she know my name?
I try to watch her through the misty window as she stops to untie a large basset-hound whose lead is tied to the shop door opposite so he’s in the dry; then they head off down the road together.
‘Right,’ Mickey says, not allowing me time to think about it further. ‘Large cod and chips it is!’
He proceeds to pull a huge piece of cod from the fryer and lay it on some paper, then he fills a paper bag with chips. ‘I hope you won’t be eating this in your van alone?’ he asks.
I look blankly at him.
‘Oh, you mean like Jake?’ I say, then wish I hadn’t.
‘Yeah, poor fella. He’s never quite got over it, has he?’
Mickey has assumed because I know Jake’s name, I also know Jake.
I shake my head. ‘No…’ I say cautiously. ‘Do you think he ever will?’ I try, hoping this will prompt an appropriate answer.
Mickey finishes filling my parcel with chips, then deftly wraps white paper around the outside.
‘I don’t know. Losing your wife like that, it’s gonna hit any man hard, ain’t it. He’s done well though – I reckon the kids kept him going.’
‘Yes…’ I nod hurriedly, hoping Mickey will continue.
Does this mean Jake is a widower? Or did his wife leave him?
‘That gravestone at the church is one of the best kept you’ll ever see,’ Mickey says, totting up my bill on his cash register. ‘That’ll be ￡7 please, love. Fresh flowers every week without fail.’
So he’s a widower… Now I feel really bad.
‘Yes, that’s lovely,’ I say, paying him. I pick up my parcel. ‘Thanks for these.’
‘No worries, my love.’ He looks at me quizzically. ‘Have I seen you before around here? You look very familiar.’
‘Not for a while,’ I say truthfully. ‘I’m just back in town on some business.’
Mickey seems pleased with this explanation. ‘Never forget a face, me,’ he says, winking.
‘Bye for now!’ I call as I leave the shop. ‘I’m sure I’ll be back again while I’m here.’
I close the door behind me, pull up my hood, and I’m about to run back to the cottage with my food when I see a white van parked down by the harbour.
Painted in red on the side it says Jake Asher – Flowers .
I pause for a moment to think, then before I can chicken out, I purposefully change direction and head down towards the harbour and the van…