The Magic Cottage Read Free Page B

eager child, making for the cottage door.
    I followed at a more leisurely pace, noticing that on closer inspection the late-May flowers were not quite as bright as they had appeared from the distance. They had, in fact, that end-of-summer look, when most flora is past its prime and wearying into decline, their petals curled and dry. Not to put too fine a point on it, they looked pretty sick. Weeds flourished everywhere, healthy enough specimens there. The path was made of flat broken stones, and long grass pushed through the cracks, almost smothering the hard surfaces in parts.
    I found Midge peering through a grimy curtainless window, one hand forming a shadowed tunnel between forehead and glass. Grubby though the panes may have been, they were of good old-fashioned thickness – I could see smooth ripples near the base where the glass had relaxed before hardening. Unfortunately, the frames were rotting and flaky.
    ‘Not exactly House-and-Gardens, is it?’ I ventured, leaning forward to peer in with Midge.
    ‘It’s empty,’ she said.
    ‘What did you expect?’
    ‘I thought there might still be furniture inside.’
    ‘Probably auctioned off soon after the Will was settled. We’ll have a better idea of how the place could look without the old lady’s clutter.’
    Midge gave me a reproving glance as she straightened. ‘Let’s see around the outside before we go in.’
    ‘Uh huh.’ I was still gazing through the window, wiping at the glass with my fingers for a better view. All I could make out was a big black range set into a chimney breast. ‘It’ll be great cooking on that.’
    ‘The range? It’ll be fun.’ There was no dampening her enthusiasm.
    ‘More like a forge,’ I added. ‘I suppose we could have both – an electric cooker as well as that monster. Still, no shortage of wood to fuel the thing.’
    Midge pulled at my arm. ‘Could be very avant-garde in a “back-to-our-roots” sort of way. Come on, let’s take a look around the back.’
    I pushed away from the window and she stabbed at my face with her lips, then was off again. I trailed behind, examining the front door as I went. The wood looked sturdy enough, although there were one or two thin cracks running the length of its lower panels. Above, set in the surround, were two narrow windows no more than four inches deep, and a pull-bell hung to one side of the door, mounted against the brickwork. The entrance was sheltered by an open-sided storm porch, which looked thoroughly useless to me. A coach lamp hung on the opposite side to the bell, its interior smeared with cobwebs. I tugged at the bell’s handle as I passed and its chime was dull and disinterested, but the clunk gave Midge cause to look back. I hunched over and did Quasimodo for her, mad-eyed and tongue filling one cheek.
    ‘Mind the wind doesn’t change,’ she called as she mounted the steps running around the building’s curve.
    I lumbered after her, catching up on the fourth moss-layered step. Arm in arm we rounded the curve and began to appreciate better the cottage’s structure. The main portion certainly was circular, with the kitchen area (where the range was located) and the rooms above branching off as an extension. All very small scale, you understand. The shape certainly gave Gramarye character, and undoubtedly added an odd charm. Unfortunately, its general condition was as poor as the unhealthy flowers in the garden.
    The brickwork, originally washed white but now greying and considerably stained, was crumbling in parts, the pointing virtually absent in several sections. Tiles littered the ground beneath our feet, so I imagined the roof to be pitted with holes. The steps had led us to another door, once painted a dismal olive green and now blistered and peeling, revealing rotted wood beneath. The door faced south and the woods that were no more than a hundred or so yards away across an expanse of tall grass and bramble, a few individual trees dotted here and there