He was probably dreading the commute back to London on Monday, too. At least one of them didn’t have to worry about work any more. She could manage the decoration of Tornley Hall and just give him jobs to do in the evenings. That should take some pressure off.
Hannah decided to take Will over to the garage after dinner. It might encourage him to look beyond the cracks – to the future, and what this house would bring to their lives.
She let her head fall back and shut her eyes. This was idyllic. No sirens or buses; no voices from the fried-chicken shop on the corner; no drum and bass from passing cars, or taxi engines running outside the pub.
She swayed a little, and picked out the distant bray of an animal and a soft hiss, and wondered fancifully if it might come from the sea, across the marshes.
To her left, there was a rustle in the bushes.
Hannah opened her eyes.
There was a second rustle, this time further away.
‘Hello?’ she said, feeling silly. The nearest property must be fifty yards behind the high wall at the rear of the kitchen.
Hannah scanned the darkness. The rustling stopped. A rabbit, or a fox, probably. That would be part of the joy of this place. Nature right on their doorstep.
A stronger, colder wind buffeted the tall weeds. She picked one, and ran its spiky stem through her finger. Their schedule for Barbara coming was already tight. Only thirteen days from tomorrow to finish the whole house. Tidying the garden would steal at least one of those days, now.
Hannah imagined seeing this scruffy lawn through Barbara’s eyes.
You’ve taken on an awful lot here, Hannah. Maybe we should wait another few months?
She felt a flutter of panic and shook her head.
No. Not a single month more. She couldn’t bear it.
Hannah stamped her feet to shake off the day’s fatigue. Thinking about it, Day 14 wasn’t actually over yet.
She returned inside, picked up her marker pen, thought for a moment, then rewrote the first entry. Day 14: Saturday, REMOVAL DAY /START KITCHEN.
She found a box in the hall, and went to rip it open.
Just before she did so, however, she rattled the sitting-room door handle again, in case it was just stiff. Nothing happened.
This was so annoying. She put her nose to the keyhole and sniffed.
That was weird. She could swear she smelt petrol.
CHAPTER TWO
On his way out of Tornley, Will sped along the narrow Suffolk lane, turning the music up louder than he knew Hannah could bear. He opened the window, feeling as if he’d taken off a too-tight jumper, and let the pounding bass escape.
Yet another T-junction without signposts appeared ahead. His headlights illuminated a bald hedge beyond it. Cursing, he looked left, then right. Which way?
There was a crooked iron gate to the left, with a red rope tied to it. Something drifted into his memory about that gate, then out again. A flash of smooth thigh. Lights on a pickup truck. Music. To his right was just darkness. Already he was lost, five minutes from the house. How? It wasn’t as if anything round here ever changed.
He tried turning right, but a mile later the black silhouettes of the trees and hedges vanished into a navy sky, suggesting that he was nearly at the sea. After a six-point turn that nearly reversed him into a ditch, and five more miles of pitch-black roads, his headlights finally picked out a sign on the verge that said ‘Snadesdon’.
‘Thank you,’ he muttered.
A terrace of pink nineteenth-century cottages appeared next, as if conjured by magic and, suddenly, Will knew where he was. He swung into the village green, passed the shop, which – as he had guessed – had shut two hours ago, and parked by the Fox & Hounds. An old lad walking a Yorkshire terrier frowned at him. Nan Riley entered his thoughts. He turned the music down and gave the man a reassuring nod, receiving a raised walking stick in return. It wasn’t his fault, after all.
Will turned off the engine and surveyed Snadesdon.
Saturday
Hannah decided to take Will over to the garage after dinner. It might encourage him to look beyond the cracks – to the future, and what this house would bring to their lives.
She let her head fall back and shut her eyes. This was idyllic. No sirens or buses; no voices from the fried-chicken shop on the corner; no drum and bass from passing cars, or taxi engines running outside the pub.
She swayed a little, and picked out the distant bray of an animal and a soft hiss, and wondered fancifully if it might come from the sea, across the marshes.
To her left, there was a rustle in the bushes.
Hannah opened her eyes.
There was a second rustle, this time further away.
‘Hello?’ she said, feeling silly. The nearest property must be fifty yards behind the high wall at the rear of the kitchen.
Hannah scanned the darkness. The rustling stopped. A rabbit, or a fox, probably. That would be part of the joy of this place. Nature right on their doorstep.
A stronger, colder wind buffeted the tall weeds. She picked one, and ran its spiky stem through her finger. Their schedule for Barbara coming was already tight. Only thirteen days from tomorrow to finish the whole house. Tidying the garden would steal at least one of those days, now.
Hannah imagined seeing this scruffy lawn through Barbara’s eyes.
You’ve taken on an awful lot here, Hannah. Maybe we should wait another few months?
She felt a flutter of panic and shook her head.
No. Not a single month more. She couldn’t bear it.
Hannah stamped her feet to shake off the day’s fatigue. Thinking about it, Day 14 wasn’t actually over yet.
She returned inside, picked up her marker pen, thought for a moment, then rewrote the first entry. Day 14: Saturday, REMOVAL DAY /START KITCHEN.
She found a box in the hall, and went to rip it open.
Just before she did so, however, she rattled the sitting-room door handle again, in case it was just stiff. Nothing happened.
This was so annoying. She put her nose to the keyhole and sniffed.
That was weird. She could swear she smelt petrol.
CHAPTER TWO
On his way out of Tornley, Will sped along the narrow Suffolk lane, turning the music up louder than he knew Hannah could bear. He opened the window, feeling as if he’d taken off a too-tight jumper, and let the pounding bass escape.
Yet another T-junction without signposts appeared ahead. His headlights illuminated a bald hedge beyond it. Cursing, he looked left, then right. Which way?
There was a crooked iron gate to the left, with a red rope tied to it. Something drifted into his memory about that gate, then out again. A flash of smooth thigh. Lights on a pickup truck. Music. To his right was just darkness. Already he was lost, five minutes from the house. How? It wasn’t as if anything round here ever changed.
He tried turning right, but a mile later the black silhouettes of the trees and hedges vanished into a navy sky, suggesting that he was nearly at the sea. After a six-point turn that nearly reversed him into a ditch, and five more miles of pitch-black roads, his headlights finally picked out a sign on the verge that said ‘Snadesdon’.
‘Thank you,’ he muttered.
A terrace of pink nineteenth-century cottages appeared next, as if conjured by magic and, suddenly, Will knew where he was. He swung into the village green, passed the shop, which – as he had guessed – had shut two hours ago, and parked by the Fox & Hounds. An old lad walking a Yorkshire terrier frowned at him. Nan Riley entered his thoughts. He turned the music down and gave the man a reassuring nod, receiving a raised walking stick in return. It wasn’t his fault, after all.
Will turned off the engine and surveyed Snadesdon.
Saturday
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