Chapter 5
FIVE
‘It’s all got to be green. I’m ditching chemicals,’ said Nancy, as she led the builder into the kitchen.
He padded in in his socks and she’d been cheered that he had taken his shoes off at the front door.
She liked that, liked the fact he was respectful.
She also liked that he had his company logo on his polo shirt: Dean Chapman Builders.
He had a kind face that was weathered permanently brown from at least two decades of working outside.
‘I want to change this floor too,’ she added, pointing.
‘I know it looks new but it’s laminate.’
‘Oh?’ said Dean.
‘It gives off toxic fumes for the first ten years at least. Could I have natural limestone?’
‘You can have anything you like,’ said Dean.
‘I want to replace the front door as well. It’s drab.
Much of this house is drab,’ she mused, looking around at the pewter-coloured walls.
They sucked the life out of the room. Nancy liked colour.
Colour gave everything a sunny levity. Her own furniture was helping a little.
Most of it she’d never seen in situ before.
Moving from a tiny two-bedroomed flat to this large, airy, four-bedroomed barn meant she’d had to go shopping and she’d spent a few days wandering around sustainable furniture shops, picking out eight-seater dining tables with a beautiful oak grain and soft sofas the colour of cornflowers.
She’d had a sense of guilt at first. Never before in her life had she been able to spend such sums. It was all for Lara, she’d reminded herself.
It was what she and Sam, Lara’s dad, had always dreamed of for her.
Once purchased, all the furniture had gone into storage, only brought to life now, once she’d finally moved.
She switched on the kettle. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Dean, pulling a notebook from the back pocket of his shorts. ‘So are you planning to redecorate?’
‘God, yeah. This place needs cheering up. But the paint needs to be non-VOC. My daughter, she’s got asthma.
It gets aggravated easily.’ Nancy had spent hours researching what was best and for the first time in her life she had some control over what Lara breathed in.
The persistent mould on the walls and the formaldehyde from laminate in a rented flat was not something she had to suck up any more.
She had the money to be able to provide a safe home for her child.
‘And I mentioned the garden on the phone to you as well,’ she continued.
‘Do you have any experience of natural pools? You know, the ones you can swim in that are kept clear without any chlorine. Like wild swimming.’ Nancy had come across a picture of one in a magazine in the hospital waiting room a few months ago.
It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.
A large pond – a pool, really – with crystal-clear water and bulrushes and purple irises growing around the edge.
Giant rocks on one side formed both a jetty and diving-off point.
It was idyllic, a picture that seemed as if it was from a more simple and innocent time.
There was the reservoir, of course, but a natural pool would be private, warmer and somewhere Lara could play where she could keep an eye on her.
‘That’s a specialist job, but I know someone who could help you out,’ said Dean. ‘Did you say you only moved in yesterday?’
Nancy shrugged. ‘I want to get it changed as soon as possible. And I quite fancy chickens. A coop or whatever it is you need for them.’
Dean laughed. ‘Now that I can help you with. My wife is a farmer. Hannah.’
Nancy’s eyes lit up in recognition. ‘I think I met her this morning. At the school. With Jakob?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Village life. It’s small. You’ll get to know everyone and everyone will get to know you. And your business.’
Nancy smiled. ‘Got nothing to hide.’
‘Just as well. What made you choose Ripton?’
‘I used to go to university in Derby, years ago. With a friend. She still lives in the city.’
‘That’s a way away.’
‘Only thirty miles.’
‘Might as well be three hundred. Chalk and cheese.’
She handed Dean the tea she’d made. ‘Do you want to see the rooms that need decorating?’
‘Sure.’
‘Let’s start upstairs.’ She led him up to the bedrooms, opening the door of hers first. ‘I was thinking of a light blue in here,’ she said, walking over to the bi-fold doors, which she’d opened earlier.
A soft breeze came into the room, lifting the curtains.
The reservoir shone in the sunshine. ‘Something to echo the colour of the water,’ said Nancy, ‘although I’m sure it can go every which shade depending on the weather. ’
‘It certainly can.’
‘Have you swum in it?’
He laughed. ‘Swimming’s not my thing. But loads of people do. Some nutters go in all year round but there’s also a start-of-season swim in March. To coincide with the Straw Bear Festival.’
‘What’s that?’
Dean pointed out of the bi-fold doors. ‘See that yew tree?’
Nancy stepped onto the balcony. She wasn’t sure what a yew was but further along the water’s edge, towards the reservoir cafe, there was one particular tree that stood alone.
It was huge, majestic. The trunk looked as if it was made of a collection of wooden stalagmites, all packed tightly together, out of which grew gnarled, crooked limbs.
‘That’s where I was standing in my straw bear outfit the night of the spring solstice, before being slain,’ said Dean.
‘Slain?’
‘It’s a village tradition. Every year someone from the village gets the joy of dressing from head to toe in a straw costume – you can’t even see their face – and they parade through the village with the Spring Queen.
When the bear reaches the two-thousand-year-old tree, it’s “slain” by the Queen and the spirit of spring is released.
Yeah, it’s pretty nuts. But you know these centuries-old traditions, no one really wants to give them up. ’
Nancy nodded, even though she personally thought the Straw Bear Festival sounded a little disturbing. ‘Who’s next year’s bear?’
‘Dylan Wood. Married to Imogen. You might have met her this morning too.’
Nancy thought of the beautiful blonde. ‘I did.’
Then something caught her eye out in the water. She gasped and stepped forward, unable to truly make sense of what she was seeing.
‘Is that a . . . spire?’ she asked.
Way out in the centre of the reservoir, a tall, pyramidal stone point broke through the surface of the water, a black cross at its tip.
‘Old church,’ said Dean. ‘The site of the reservoir used to be a hamlet – Wakeley Green. When they decided to flood it they moved some of the buildings but about eleven remain. At this time of year, when the water levels have dropped, you can see the roofs of some. Sometimes you’ll have a view of the chimney pots too. ’
The spire was darkened by decades of being submerged in the cold of the reservoir. No doubt it was slippery with algae. There was something ghostly about it and Nancy tried to imagine the rest of the church sunken beneath the surface. People’s homes too. She shivered.
‘You want to show me the rest of the house?’ asked Dean. ‘Then I can work up a quote for everything.’
‘Sure,’ said Nancy. She pulled her gaze from the water and led him out of the room.