3. Ghosts and habits
GHOSTS AND HABITS
There were days when Ursula wondered whether, if she could she live her life over again, she would never have worked at Talulah.
Today was one of those days and, like every other time when this regret plagued her, she came to the conclusion that no matter how many times she went back, she would always choose Talulah.
Because without it she would never have met Andi and, in spite of everything, life without Andi was just unthinkable.
But of one thing she was certain. If she had the chance to go back to that first day, she would make sure that this time, she’d say goodbye to her mum at Bennetts Hill and just keep on walking.
No stopping to check her reflection in a window, or to make a deal with herself about perfection.
Just keep going until she reached the shop. That much she was clear on.
Why she was having one of her regretful days today was no great mystery.
It was the feeling that had settled in her gut from the moment Andi told her about Pablo.
But what had started off as mild disquiet had ramped up to full-blown panic immediately after Ursula had offered to go to Wales.
That was three days ago. After endless conversations with herself about the need to break out of her routines, the panic had settled back down, but the sense of foreboding was still there, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
It was only her determination to save Andi that was keeping her from backing out.
Although quite what she was saving Andi from wasn’t clear.
Was it from despair or from Pablo? Now that Ursula thought about it, they were one and the same thing.
She cut into a piece of cheddar, the sound of the knife echoing through the empty air as it escaped the cheese and smacked against the plate.
It made her teeth grate. Empty echoes always made her teeth grate.
She topped the cheese with a slice of apple and bit into it.
Habit made her chew soundlessly and, not for the first time, Ursula reminded herself it was a habit that needed to be broken.
She picked up a stray cheese crumb from the table and dropped it onto the plate.
Another habit. There were so many of them.
Perhaps she should write a list of the things that needed to be broken.
Or fixed. She’d begin one as soon as she was settled in Wales.
Anton would approve. He’d always been a big fan of lists.
At that thought, a devilish tut came out of her mouth and made her flick the cheese crumb off the plate, sending it skidding across the table. He definitely wouldn’t approve of that.
The last nub of cheddar, the remainder of the apple, and the dregs of a pot of Greek yoghurt finished off her meal. It wasn’t what she normally had for breakfast but she was using things up since she didn’t know how long she’d be away.
The chair scraped on the floor as she stood up and Ursula knew that it didn’t matter which room you were in, you would have heard it.
Triple glazing kept the outside sounds outside and the house was supposed to be noise free.
It had been designed for silence, but there was one design flaw that was obvious to Ursula, with her non-architectural brain.
Downstairs was completely open; there were no dividing walls between the functional areas.
The upper floor had individual rooms but they didn’t stretch as far as the dining area which was two storeys high.
So sounds carried and noises broke through, like small acts of defiance.
The idea of it conjured up old memories that made her smile and just because she could, she grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it up and down until even she found it too much.
She put the chair back in its place and looked up to the very top of the house.
‘Quiet enough for you?’ she shouted, so loud it bounced off the roof’s interior and boomeranged back to her.
Her gaze followed the two-storey wall of glass all the way down from the ceiling to the ground floor.
On the other side was the garden, immaculate as ever.
She paid someone to keep it that way. It was how Anton liked it.
She washed and dried the breakfast things, put them away and threw the last bits of rubbish in the dustbin.
There was almost nothing left to suggest she’d ever been here, except the imprint of her shape on one side of the leather couch.
Although you’d have to look really closely to see it, even after years of occupation.
And the cheese crumb, of course, still sitting mutinously on the table, willing her to break the habit of an almost lifetime.
A blackbird’s song greeted her as she opened the front door. One step across the threshold and she’d be in a different world. And yet… Ursula sighed, strode back to the table and picked up the cheese crumb. Bloody habits.
She locked the door, tossed the cheese in the blackbird’s direction, and walked to the car, determined not to look back.
She almost made it too. But as ever, her resolve wasn’t strong enough.
Her gaze sought out the same window that always drew her attention whenever she came and went.
Anton was there, of course he was, his eyes boring into her.
Ghosts and habits. She’d been ruled by them for so long that she couldn’t imagine life without them.
It was still early when she reached the allotments and, as always, there was no one else there.
Ursula loved the busy parts of the day here most of all.
Those were the times when there was always someone to stop and chat to, and a quick chat was all it took to make you feel a bit less alone.
But these quiet times had their benefits too.
There was a comfort in the peaceful solitude that came with the beginning and end of the day.
Samuel had told her that once. He’d been a great lover of solitude.
Even so, he’d often allowed her to share his.
She followed the path to her plot, abundant with vegetables waiting to be picked.
New potatoes, leeks, parsnips, and purple sprouting broccoli went into a box, along with three cauliflowers, two spring cabbages, and some garlic.
The box was full but there was plenty left on the plot.
Her friend Clyde would make sure the ripe produce didn’t go to waste.
He was taking care of everything while she was away.
He’d be here in half an hour, so there was still time for a little solitude.
Ursula stepped back onto the path and squeezed through a narrow gap in a nearby hedge.
The gap had been wider once and the hedge tidier.
Behind it were four more allotments, although it was hard to distinguish one from the other these days.
They’d been left to run wild after Samuel died because the council couldn’t make up their minds whether to rent them out or tarmac over them to extend the car park for the leisure centre next door.
It was a dreadful waste, and yet Ursula was secretly pleased.
It might look a mess but at least no one else had stamped their mark on it and erased Samuel.
She sat down in the garden chair that was a permanent fixture outside Samuel’s shed.
This was the place where she held her evening sunset vigils and even when there was no sun, she still came.
Ursula closed her eyes and imagined Samuel was with her, two old friends enjoying a quiet moment together.
If she concentrated really hard, she could feel him next to her, smell the earthy scent of him after a day’s work on the soil.
At least she liked to pretend she could because the one ghost she would have given anything to see, eluded her.
Samuel was gone, and all she had left of him was this straggly patch of weeds and her memories.
‘I wish you’d taken me with you,’ she whispered and, from somewhere deep within her heart, he replied: ‘So do I, Ursula.’
Something wet touched her hand and made her open her eyes.
It was Colonel, Clyde’s dog. His big, damp nose knocked against her bare skin.
He was hoping for biscuits. Colonel was always hoping for biscuits.
She ran a hand over his long black coat, just as Clyde appeared from the gap in the hedge.
‘I thought you’d be here. You want me to go away? ’
‘No, your timing’s perfect.’ Ursula looped her arm in his. ‘Let’s find a biscuit for Colonel.’
Clyde shook his head. ‘That dog’s gonna lose so much weight while you’re away.’
Colonel was at her heels looking very sorry for himself. She gave him another pat. ‘Poor boy. In that case, I’d better give him two.’
With the biscuits dispensed there was little else to do and Ursula had no more excuses to linger. Clyde carried the box of vegetables to her car and put them in the boot. He pushed his straw trilby back on his head a little and looked her squarely in the eye. ‘You gonna be okay, Ursula?’
‘Yes, it’s not that far.’
‘You’ll let me know when you’ve arrived safely?’
‘I’ll message you as soon as I get there.’
‘Call me anytime.’ His face settled into that grave, protective expression that had somehow become his normal countenance since Samuel’s death.
With her anyway. It wasn’t his natural look and she missed it.
He’d been the dry, straight man who was never far away from a tell-tale giggle, the Ernie to Samuel’s Eric.
She pecked him on the cheek. ‘I’m just going for a short break to help an old friend.’ Clyde didn’t look convinced. She couldn’t blame him; she was having a hard time trying to convince herself. ‘But yes, I’ll call you. If only to see how Colonel’s getting on with his biscuit-free starvation diet.’
She waited until Clyde was almost at his allotment before taking one last look around.
Some might think this place was just plots of land for people to grow flowers and food, but they’d be wrong.
It was a community, a way of life, a haven, and she was already feeling the wrench of leaving it.
Sadness was creeping over her. The melancholy was back again.
But her best friend needed her and that topped everything.
Even if it meant walking away from the place that had been her sanctuary for so long.
Even if the thought of that made her want to scream in terror.