Chapter 23
HELENA PULLED INTO the gravel drive next to Margery, who had just parked her three-wheeler. Johnny’s van was up by the garage, newly emblazoned with the logo of his landscape gardening business. As Margery unlocked the door, the delicious smell of roasting potatoes made Helena’s stomach rumble.
‘Excellent timing!’ Johnny called out from the kitchen as Helena followed her inside.
‘Doesn’t it smell fabulous?’ Margery chuckled in delight.
Helena couldn’t remember the last time anyone had cooked her a roast. It must have been years.
‘It’s almost ready,’ he said, grinning up at her as he slid the tray of golden potatoes back into the Aga. ‘Aunty Marge gave me a call on the way, said you’d be staying for a bit. It’ll be great to have you.’
Helena felt awkward enough that she was intruding on their Sunday lunch, let alone their home, but Johnny put her at ease immediately, engulfing her in a bear hug like a long-lost friend and chattering away as though moving into someone’s house with absolutely no notice was the most normal thing in the world.
She noticed that he was rather endearingly wearing Margery’s floral pinny.
‘Let’s leave your stuff for now, we can bring it in later,’ Margery said, pulling a bottle of wine off the rack. ‘I expect you could do with a drink, Helena.’
‘Let’s crack this open,’ Johnny said as he located the corkscrew and poured a glass.
‘I’m actually okay thank you,’ she said, thinking about how much she had been drinking these last few weeks and how it was about time she stopped using alcohol to numb her pain. ‘I’ll just have some water if that’s alright.’
‘Of course,’ Johnny said, handing the wine to Margery and filling a tumbler from the tap for Helena. ‘It sounds like it’s been a rough few weeks.’ He gave her a sympathetic smile.
‘It certainly has,’ Helena said, grateful that he wasn’t forcing her to elaborate.
She knew Margery would have filled him in.
She wondered what he must think of her, if he would judge her for having been left like that by Noah, as if she was somehow responsible.
But the expression in his eyes was so understanding and so kind, Helena told herself to relax.
She was sure in Margery’s account of events that Noah would have come across as the villain.
‘Cheers!’ he said as he clinked his glass against Helena’s. His blue eyes crinkled as he dazzled her with the warmest of smiles. ‘It’s lovely to see you again.’
‘Thanks for having me.’
‘I hope you like roast pork?’ he asked as he carefully removed a sizzling joint from the roasting oven, covered in golden, bubbling crackling.
‘It’s my favourite. It smells divine,’ Helena sighed.
‘Well that’s a relief,’ Johnny laughed. ‘It’s my first time doing a roast in the Aga so let’s hope it’s turned out okay.’
Margery noticed Helena glancing across the road to Banham Cottage. ‘Does it feel awfully strange knowing someone else will be there soon?’
‘It’s so weird. I’m not sure I’ll be ready to meet the new inhabitants for a while. I think they’re moving in any day now.’
‘Well there’s no need to rush into that,’ Margery smiled. ‘Oh yes, I completely forgot. Have you heard about the Crooked Hook?’
Helena shook her head. ‘What’s happened to it?’
‘It’s closing down at the end of the month.’
‘No!’ Helena gasped. ‘Why?’
‘I was in there the other day for a pint, chatting to Dave,’ Johnny explained. ‘Apparently it’s been making a loss for a while and it’s no longer a viable business. He is devastated.’
‘I can’t believe it, where will he go?’ Helena asked.
‘He’s still going to live in the flat above for now.’
Margery took a sip of her wine and sighed. ‘There are hardly any pubs left around us. First the White Swan, then The Bell…’
‘It’s so sad.’ Helena frowned. ‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s such a terrible shame. The last village amenity, gone,’ Margery shook her head.
‘My dad owned a pub,’ Johnny said as he splashed some red wine into the gravy and gave it a stir. ‘Growing up it was hard to imagine a village without one.’
‘I didn’t know that!’ Helena smiled at the thought of little Johnny, remembering a photo Margery had of him up in her bedroom, sitting on a tractor with a beaming grin, next to a tall man with a big beard. ‘Was he your brother, Margery?’
‘He certainly was. A publican through and through.’
‘Our pub was the life and soul of the community,’ Johnny said. ‘Like so many others, it’s no longer there.’
‘Like the village hall,’ Margery said. ‘Where I used to do my performances and where we had the community choir. Do you remember Johnny? You know there used to be a village shop, and a post office too when we first moved here. Now all we’ve got is the pub.
And without that, there’ll be nowhere for anyone to go. ’
‘Poor Dave,’ Helena said, she knew it must have been a hard decision to make.
‘What is the world coming to?’ Johnny said as he strained the vegetables, adding some of the water to the gravy as he did so. He uncovered the resting pork and began to carve.
‘Last time the pub closed for refurbishments, I once went a whole week without talking to another person. Not a single word.’ Margery’s cheeks flushed pink at the memory. ‘I felt sure I must have done something wrong with my life to have ended up in such a pitiful state.’
‘Oh Margery,’ Helena couldn’t help welling up at the thought. Her heart went out to her. It was so hard to admit to feeling lonely. ‘A whole week? You poor thing.’ She could see, now, how easily that could happen.
‘I hope you know that it was nothing you did wrong?’ Johnny pulled out a chair for her to sit down. ‘It’s society that’s to blame. Everyone is so isolated these days.’
‘Yes, I do now. Awful, isn’t it?’ Margery took a sip of her wine, a wistful expression on her face.
‘I used to go to the pub every day at lunch for a lemonade and a natter while I did the crossword. I was at a loss without it. Then it moved to only being open in the evenings and weekends, and now… nothing at all.’
Johnny passed Helena a jug full of gravy and handed them plates full of pork and crackling, before transferring the potatoes and vegetables to serving dishes and putting them on the table. ‘Help yourselves!’ he announced.
‘Thank you. This all looks so delicious.’ She piled her plate high with food, suddenly ravenous. ‘Do you know what Dave’s going to do with the place?’ Helena asked as she passed Margery the apple sauce.
‘I think he’s applying to the council to change it to a residential building,’ Johnny said. ‘That way he can convert the ground floor into another flat and sell it for a lot more money.’
‘Makes sense,’ Helena nodded. ‘It’s just such a shame. A massive loss for Hambleton.’
They chatted about the demise of pubs as they devoured their platefuls of food.
Helena and Johnny both had seconds, Johnny even went on to have thirds.
Helena felt a bit rebellious as she helped herself to extra potatoes, like a child scoffing sweets while no one was looking.
She savoured each mouthful of roast potato.
She had forgotten how delicious they were, having not been allowed to cook them for so long, that golden crisp crunch as she bit into them, the soft fluffiness within.
It was all cooked to perfection. She realised it was the first time in four years anyone had cooked a meal for Helena where she hadn’t had to lift a finger, not even to buy the ingredients.
With good food, excellent company and a warm, cosy kitchen, she finally felt herself begin to relax.
She had forgotten what excellent talkers they both were.
They asked so many questions, and they had both led such interesting lives that Helena felt full of curiosity to find out more about them.
Johnny showed Helena pictures of a property he had been to view in a nearby village, the Old Rectory, and talked about what he would do to the place if he bought it.
The cottage was covered in a rambling white rose, with traditional sash windows and an overgrown garden which Johnny couldn’t wait to start working on.
It was her dream home, all original features, the opposite of the neat cream and beige interior Banham Cottage had been, which was much more to Noah’s taste than hers.
Unsurprisingly, she hadn’t had much of a say in the matter.
She fought back envy at the thought of being able to own a place like that, for no one to be able to kick you out at a moment’s notice.
She craved the security that would bring, the roots she could put down somewhere, and wondered whether she would ever be in a position to buy a place of her own.
In case the tears came pricking back again, she changed the subject.
‘I saw you’ve got a new logo on your van?’
‘Oh yes, what do you think?’
‘Very nice, I like the gold lettering. What does it stand for?’
‘Johnathan Dean Landscape Gardening.’
‘It sounds very professional, and I am his first client,’ Margery said proudly. ‘Oh, you must tell Helena about the witch.’
‘Witch?' Helena asked, intrigued.
‘Ah yes, Malcolm,’ Johnny said, a twinkle in his eye. ‘A new client of mine. He has purple hair.’
‘A male witch? I didn’t know such a thing existed!’ Helena laughed.
‘Apparently so. And I’d better watch out… he specialises in love potions,’ Johnny winked.
Helena couldn’t help doubting Johnny would ever need one of those. Despite his rumpled appearance and a fondness for extra potatoes, she could tell he would make someone a wonderful partner. ‘How hilarious!’
‘He’s got a massive following online: @MagicMalcolm if you’re interested.’
‘Oh what nonsense,’ Margery laughed. ‘Next you’ll be telling me he dresses up in a witch’s hat with a cat and a broomstick.’
‘No seriously! He’s got his own YouTube channel. I watched a couple of his videos. He’s got nearly a quarter of a million followers.’