Selena stood in the street outside St Bartholomew’s church, gazing at a cluster of tiny cottages, all smartly renovated. She wondered if Laura and her father lived in one of them: she had said her home was near the church. The Royal Oak was a few minutes’ walk away and it was not quite seven fifteen; she would be early. She continued on, hugging her jacket tightly against the evening breeze. It seemed strange to Selena that she was in a small village, miles from Manchester, where she had casually strolled into wine bars and clubs by herself to meet friends, but here, in this remote rural place, walking into a little pub alone made her feel nervous.
The Royal Oak was a white stone-built building set back from the road; it claimed to be an original seventeenth-century inn and its low doors and small windows showed its original dimensions, although, as Selena walked in to the bar, the interior was open, modern and extended, with painted beams, comfortable cushion-covered seating and bright lights.
Laura was nowhere to be seen; the clock showed that it was just after seven-twenty. There were only a handful of customers, mostly middle-aged men seated in groups, supping pints. A restaurant in the adjoining room was half-full, several couples sharing dinner at small tables.
Selena approached the bar attendant, a woman who was wearing a spotted blouse; she greeted Selena with a friendly smile. ‘Hello. What can I get you?’
‘I’ll have…’ Selena tried to remember what Laura drank. ‘Half a pint of Badger Spit, please.’
The woman moved to a pump, pulling the long handle. ‘Are you visiting Ashcombe? Are you here by yourself?’
‘I’m meeting someone.’ Selena watched as the fizzy drink gurgled to the top of the glass, bubbles rising and frothing over the surface. ‘I’m staying locally.’
‘She’s living in Sloe Cottage, up in Chitterwell,’ a deep voice behind her remarked.
Selena twisted round; she wasn’t sure which one of the four men at the table had made the comment. She studied them; two were older men, wearing flat caps and heavy coats, huddled over pints of beer. The other two were younger, one slim with thinning hair and glasses, intellectual-looking, and one muscular, broad-shouldered, with a ready grin.
Selena nodded. ‘Yes, I’m renting Sloe Cottage.’ She assumed that, since they knew already, there could be no harm in saying so.
The slim, intellectual-looking man nodded. ‘Ian Russell told me he had a renter. He says you’re an artist, from the north.’
‘Manchester, that’s right.’ Selena sipped from her glass of cider. The drink was sweet, fizzing on her tongue.
‘It’s a nice place, Sloe Cottage. Ian’s done a lot of work to it over the years. I helped him build the conservatory.’ The muscular man offered a friendly smile.
‘It’s very old though,’ one of the cap-wearing men said, staring into his pint. ‘There’s a lot of history in there.’
‘Yes,’ Selena agreed. ‘I’d like to find out more about it.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged,’ the man in the cap replied matter-of-factly, glancing towards his companions.
‘How are you finding life there?’ The intellectual man’s glasses shone. ‘It’s not everybody’s cup of tea, Chitterwell being a walk up from the village.’
‘Oh, I really like it,’ Selena said, sipping her drink again. ‘It’s a lovely house and I’m feeling quite settled already.’
‘Friendly folk here, mostly,’ the other man in a cap agreed.
‘So, welcome to Ashcombe and The Royal Oak.’ The muscular man hadn’t lost his grin as he lifted a half-pint glass.
‘Thanks.’ Selena glanced at the door; a woman with lilac hair had blundered into the pub, waving an arm.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Selena.’ Laura turned to the men. ‘Evening, gents. How are you all?’
One of the men said, ‘Evening, Laura. Not too bad. How’s your father?’
‘Hi, Scott. He’s on the internet, roaming through Roman Somerset again, looking at the city of Bath, which used to be called Aquae Sulis apparently,’ Laura breathed, her voice oozing patience. The bar assistant had already poured half a pint of Badger Spit. ‘Thanks, Angie – shall we sit over here, Selena?’ Laura pointed to a low wooden table and two armchairs, next to the hearth. The fire was unlit; a metal container of dried leaves had been placed in the grate.
The women sat down. Laura adjusted her glasses.
‘Lovely to catch up again. I see you’ve met some of the locals.’
‘They seem nice.’
Laura lowered her voice. ‘Jack and Owen Jeffries are brothers – they own most of the farmland around here, including a lot of the fields up at Chitterwell. Matty Boswell does a lot of work for them – tree felling, hedging. And Scott Finch teaches in the primary school. They are all lovely people – they’ll help you out if you need anything.’
‘That’s good to know,’ Selena said.
Laura reached for her pint. ‘So – how is the work going?’
‘Great.’ Selena’s face shone. ‘I’ve completed two paintings of the oak tree just beyond the gate of the cottage; one is a view from the trunk, looking up into the branches at acorns, and the other is a close-up of the bark. I managed to work in some interesting shades of the texture, the gnarled greys and browns.’
‘I must come over and see,’ Laura said. ‘If I’m invited.’
‘Come to dinner.’ Selena was pleased with herself: she had been spontaneous in her invitation. It was a step forward to becoming more sociable, to healing.
Laura widened her eyes. ‘Oh, I’d love to, yes please.’
‘My friend, Claire, is coming to stay with me at the end of the bank holiday weekend – why don’t you come then, on the Sunday evening? You could bring your father.’
‘That would be fantastic – and it would be so good for him to get out socially – everything he does is with local history groups, which are mostly older men. So don’t be surprised if he starts telling everyone all about the Roman cemetery unearthed in Somerton.’
‘He sounds really interesting – and I’m always looking for new places to paint.’ Selena cradled her glass. ‘It’s working out really well, being here.’
‘Don’t you miss your life in Manchester? Isn’t it too quiet here in the sticks? I know I miss the life I had in Bristol sometimes, having friends round, the house parties.’
‘I miss the gallery and Claire, yes, but…’ Selena chose her words. ‘I came here to get some peace and quiet.’
‘I don’t suppose there was a man behind your decision to get away for a bit, someone you don’t want to bump into? There usually is, in my experience.’ Laura pressed Selena’s hand. ‘Oh, I don’t mean to intrude – how rude of me.’
Selena smiled. ‘No, you’re exactly right. David… I didn’t realise he was married – then I did, and he told me it was over with his wife… he promised me it was, and I believed him. I was so wrong…’
‘Oh, Selena…’ Laura made a fist and rapped the table. ‘How could he cheat on his wife and string you along like that? It makes my blood boil.’
Selena was surprised to hear herself blurt out, ‘I was pregnant and that’s why he left me. Then he told his wife I’d been pestering him, and she phoned me, wanting to know the truth…’
‘That’s awful.’ Laura was full of sympathy. She spoke softly. ‘And what about the baby?’
‘I lost it…’
‘Oh, you poor love, no wonder you came here for a break.’
Selena felt familiar tears cloud her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Laura – I didn’t mean to tell you all my troubles…’
‘I’m glad you did. Now I understand why you came here, and anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.’ Laura’s expression was full of concern. ‘I really mean it.’
‘You’re helping more than you know,’ Selena said slowly, realising the truth of her words. ‘I feel a lot better, having told someone else besides Claire.’
‘And is his wife still phoning you?’
‘I’ve blocked her calls. She must feel so insecure – she keeps asking me lots of questions, but I’m not up to talking about David yet. She clearly loves him.’ Selena shrugged. ‘He is very persuasive, very easy to believe.’
‘It must be so hard for you…’ Laura jumped as her own phone began to ring. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I must get this.’ She pressed the phone against her ear. ‘Hello, ah, what’s happened, Dad?’ She frowned, listening. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be on my way soon. No, it’s no trouble at all, honestly – I’ll be ten minutes.’
‘Is everything all right…?’ Selena began.
‘That was my father.’ Laura reached for her cider and drank the last quarter of a pint in two gulps. ‘He’s due to take his evening tablets and he can’t find his medication. I know exactly where it is. He often loses things when he’s busy researching. He can only concentrate on one thing at a time.’
‘Is he very old?’
‘Seventy-two – so no, and he’s fit as a fiddle apart from the blood pressure being a bit high, but he can be very fastidious with his research and he gets so involved in it, nothing else seems to matter, and he loses things. I’m the same – I must get it from him.’ Laura laughed, then sadness clouded her face. ‘My mother was organised and sensible.’
Selena offered her a warm smile. ‘Oh, well, we’ve almost finished our drink – you’d better head back and help him out.’
‘I could have managed another. I’m so sorry to have to leave so soon – I feel awful.’
‘Please don’t worry. We can do this again…’
‘Definitely.’ Laura scraped back her seat and called across the bar. ‘Jack, could you give Selena a lift home?’
‘I don’t need a lift, honestly,’ Selena said. ‘I can walk.’
One of the men in flat caps replied, his voice a deep rumble, ‘I’m not going home just yet, Laura.’
‘Oh, I just thought…’ Laura waved a hand.
‘I’ll give you a lift – I ought to be getting back now.’ The younger muscular man stood up; he was tall and sturdy in jeans and T-shirt. ‘I’ve only had a half of Badger – I’ll get you home in no time.’ He jingled his car keys.
Laura smiled. ‘You’ll be all right with Matty.’ She bent forward and kissed Selena’s cheek. ‘I’m really sorry to have to rush off. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll text. Bye, Selena.’ She rushed to the bar and handed over some money, then hurried towards the door, turned to wave and was gone.
Selena glanced across the bar where the young man was already by the door, delving in his pocket for his keys. She left her drink unfinished and stood up, not wanting to keep him waiting. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer me a lift.’
‘It’s no problem at all,’ the man said amiably.
Five minutes later, Selena was sitting in the tattered seat of a faded Land Rover. Matty had started the engine and it was rattling loudly. Selena was suddenly uncomfortable; she was alone with a man she didn’t know and he was driving her home. She was unsure what to say and she realised that David had left her doubting her own instincts; she had lost her ability to trust people, especially men, and Matty was good-looking, dark hair falling over twinkling eyes, which made her feel uneasy.
She said, ‘I hope it’s not out of your way…’
He seemed surprised. ‘No, it’s only five minutes in the Land Rover.’ They were moving from the car park, the engine drowning his words. ‘I live in the opposite direction. I have a plot of land halfway up Wychanger Lane.’
‘Oh.’ Selena wasn’t sure what to say.
Matty helped her out. ‘So, what sort of paintings do you do?’
‘Landscapes, mostly – trees and fields, that kind of thing.’
Matty raised an eyebrow. ‘Like Constable?’
‘Not really.’ Selena imagined Constable’s idyllic rural paintings and then her own alongside, stark and moody, turbulent skies, dusky rolling hills. ‘Mine are a bit darker…’
‘Do they sell well?’ Matty’s eyes were on the road. ‘I mean, that’s your living, you’re an artist – nothing else? You don’t work in a shop as well?’
Selena smiled. ‘I have a gallery with a friend of mine – we sell our own paintings and other artists’ work from there. So, yes, I suppose I do work in a shop too.’
‘Did it take you a long time to learn to be an artist?’
‘I did a Fine Arts degree at Manchester, years ago. That’s where I met my flatmate, Claire.’
‘It all sounds very nice,’ Matty grinned. ‘We folks have a quieter life here – working on the land, you get very attached to it, like it becomes a part of who you are. I suppose you do that through your paintings though, you know, you get to connect with a place as you paint it, then there’s a sort of symbiosis.’
Selena nodded. She was impressed with the way Matty had made a simple but succinct comparison between his own work and her paintings. ‘You’re exactly right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s a sort of bonding – the landscape becomes part of you while you’re creating the painting.’
Matty said, ‘Same with trees, plants and hedges – it’s like we’re all different parts of the same big picture. Well, here we are.’ The Land Rover slowed and was idling outside Sloe Cottage. He met her eyes and smiled. ‘I hope you’ll be okay.’
‘Thanks, I will.’ Selena unclipped her seat belt.
‘You have a big stove in there,’ Matty observed as she reached for the car door. Selena wondered if he was looking at the chimney or if he’d ever been inside the house and seen it.
‘Yes, I do…’
‘I’ll bring you some wood sometime,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Thanks.’ Selena clambered out and stood back as he turned the Land Rover round in the drive, reversing expertly, the engine knocking loudly, then he roared away in a cloud of diesel smoke.
Selena reached in her bag for the keys and began to walk towards the house. It was twilight now and the corners of the garden were full of shifting grey shadows. As she stood in the porch and pushed the key into the lock, the blackthorn tree swayed towards her in the breeze.