5. Welcome to Am-nawr
WELCOME TO AM-NAWR
They stood on the step for a while taking each other in.
It had been too long since they’d been this close physically and they’d both changed enough for it to be noticeable.
Age did that to you. Life did it too. Eventually, Andi let her hands drop.
‘It’s good to see you. Come in and let me show you around. ’
Ursula picked up the box of vegetables. ‘I brought these from the allotment. I thought you might find a use for them.’
‘Wonderful. We grow veg here but not too successfully. Not lately anyway. Maybe you can give us some tips? Let’s start with the kitchen.
We can drop these off in there.’ She set off across a wood-panelled hall that was as big as a room.
Ursula trailed after her, looking this way and that, noting the cobwebs dangling from the ceiling and corners.
Anton would have hated them. Actually, he’d have hated everything about this house.
‘Watch the cats,’ said Andi, just as two small creatures skittered across Ursula’s feet.
‘You have cats?’
‘Not just cats. Here we are.’ Andi took the box of vegetables and put them down on a long table in the middle of the room.
It immediately made Ursula think of the sewing room at Talulah.
It was probably that table and the worktops and shelves around its outer edges.
Talulah’s room didn’t have a Belfast sink, an Aga, or a Welsh dresser but in a funny way, it felt very much like that first day.
Except she and Andi were young then, their lives unmapped and unspoilt.
‘What’s your favourite song this week?’ said Andi, her face as straight as the first time she’d asked her. She must have realised what Ursula was thinking.
‘Oh, ‘Supernature’. I can’t stop dancing to it.’
They caught each other’s eye and, for a moment, all the sorrow, all the grief and heartache they were both caught up in melted away.
They opened their mouths to sing the chorus, but then they could already hear it.
Just not in the way they remembered. Suddenly, a man’s head appeared from behind a door, round and bald with chubby, red cheeks.
Seconds later, he was sashaying across the floor, singing.
It was absurdly high-pitched and off-key, and it was hilarious.
Their laughter seemed to be all the encouragement he needed to keep going and it wasn’t until he nearly tripped over a fleeing cat that he stopped and grabbed his side.
‘Bloody hell, I’ve got a stitch now. Sorry ladies, I couldn’t resist it. ’
‘You’re forgiven. Ursula, this is Don, our resident comedian. He’s doing the cooking today,’ said Andi.
His head jerked back with a look of outrage. ‘Today? I think you’ll find I do the cooking every day. Which is why I was skulking in the pantry when you came in. Welcome to Am-nawr, Ursula.’
Andi pointed to the box of vegetables. ‘Look what Ursula’s brought. They’re from her allotment.’
‘Excellent. Now kindly sod off and let me get on with my creations. Lunch will be served at one, as usual.’
‘He’s very funny,’ said Ursula when they were back in the hall.
‘Yes, he is. He’s one of the good guys.’
‘Are there bad guys here then?’
‘Define bad.’ Andi stared at a spider weaving a cobweb in between the banister posts. ‘I suppose Esme can be a bit edgy but she’s like that with most people, so don’t take it personally. You’re all right though, aren’t you, Urs? You’re not letting things get you down?’
‘Never mind me, what about you?’
She looked up and sighed. ‘Let’s just say I’m glad you’re here.’
The downstairs rooms were open to everyone.
Aside from the kitchen, there was a lounge, a quiet room that doubled as a library, and a small TV room.
Upstairs, the four permanent residents had their own private rooms, leaving two guest rooms, and two bathrooms. Andi showed Ursula the one that had been allocated to her.
‘It overlooks the vegetable garden. I thought you’d like that. ’
Stepping in from the dark landing was like leaving a tunnel on a sunny day.
It wasn’t so much that the sun had finally come back and filled the room, it was just that the room itself was like a summer’s day at its best. The walls were of the palest yellow hue that reminded Ursula of the light at the beginning of the day, before the sun got to full strength.
If the colour itself wasn’t enough to lift your spirits then the hundreds of hand-painted wild meadow flowers that covered them surely were.
‘The previous occupant was an artist who was recovering from some mental health problems. She said this was her therapy,’ said Andi.
‘It’s extraordinary.’
‘It’s one of the prettiest rooms in the house. Esme’s been after it, but we decided to keep it for guests. Shall I leave you to unpack? Lunch is in the kitchen. It’s always at one but Don will sound the gong. It’s his little ritual.’
‘You get on well with him?’
‘I suppose so. He’s been great since Pablo left.’
‘Has Pablo been in touch since you spoke to him the other day?’
‘One or two messages. No explanations. I hate myself for saying this, but I miss him.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you miss Anton?’
‘I often think of him.’ How could she miss someone who’d never really left? Andi didn’t know that though. No one did. Ursula kept his hauntings to herself.
‘That wasn’t the question. Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not as though it’s the same thing. Anton didn’t leave you.’ Andi squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’
Ursula waited for the door to close before giving the room the once over.
A double bed with a small table either side, one wardrobe, one chest of drawers and a washbasin.
All a little ancient but perfectly functional.
She went over to the window. Someone was working in the garden below.
A woman. Esme, perhaps. Esme who was edgy around most people, and an artist recovering from mental health problems. Andi had a knack of attracting people with issues.
She looked further out, beyond the garden to a hill that dwarfed everything else around it.
Sheep, white woollen puffs occasionally flashing a glimpse of black leg, moved easily along its slope.
There was nothing else, just green pasture, darker green trees and the sheep.
Apart from … was that a figure standing there?
Yes, she thought it was. Her mind raced back to home, to the window of Anton’s office and she wondered if he was still there, expecting her to come home tonight.
Then, once again, she recalled that morning in 1978, nineteen years old and on the cusp of life.
And she wondered how that life might have turned out if only she hadn’t stopped to breathe.