When I get home from work on Saturday Richard has left me a note: ‘bathroom all done – go have a look’. So I don’t bother taking off my coat and I wander over to the little side door of the barn and flick the light on.
As I step onto the smooth concrete floor the smell of damp plaster greets me and I notice the stud wall that divides the garage from the apartment has been skimmed. To my right a sink is plumbed into the wall and various electric wires hang out; Richard is waiting for me to choose the units to make up the kitchenette. I really do need to get a move on.
I am standing where the baby’s body was found. I’ve heard nothing from the archaeologists and I wonder how long it will take. I’m curious, but by the same token I don’t want to be landed with the tiny skeleton now Owen is back on the scene. Our little boat is rather too delicately poised to be rocked at the moment.
I look up at the end of the beam where it slots into the lime washed wall. Cyril’s mate from the Historical Society came around to take a look and he was fairly certain that because of the shape of the beams, the house and the barn were built at the same time. He got excited about the one that runs across the centre of the hall ceiling then dragged me out to the barn to show me this one but I still don’t really see what he meant. I guess you have to be an expert.
As well as the barn, he was very knowledgeable about which bits of the house were added when. Originally it was a two-up, two-down cottage with a ladder from what is now the snug (then the scullery – surprise, surprise) into my bedroom, which probably connected with a bigger room where the dressing room and landing are. Because it’s north facing he said that the hall would have been the dairy but I didn’t need him to tell me that either.
I climb the narrow stairway and cross the upper room to the bathroom. The terracotta and cream tiles give it some warmth and my pots of ochre emulsion stand ready for tomorrow. The lights are on dimmer switches and I turn them very low; the burnished copper taps glint invitingly and I am tempted to christen the Jacuzzi, but with no heating as yet it’s a bit too cold. I’ll have to bring a fan heater or two over tomorrow for when Owen and I are working. And maybe some towels and a bottle of wine for when we’ve finished. We did the friendship bit on Wednesday and that was OK; now it’s time to bring some romance back into our lives.
I get up early on Sunday and prime the bare wood before going back into the house to shower and have some breakfast. I take William for a quick wander up the garden then lock him in the garden room; I don’t want him running around getting paint on his fur – or growling at Owen for that matter. I tape a note to the door saying I’m in the barn.
It isn’t long before Owen arrives. I hear his footsteps on the stairs just as I am replenishing my paint tray. I straighten up and poke my nose around the door.
“I’m in here,” I call.
“Good morning, Alice,” he says with his usual politeness. “Sorry if I’m a bit late.”
“You’re not late – I just started early.”
“Saved something for me to do I hope?”
“Of course. If you’re worried about me standing on ladders then you can do the ceiling.”
It takes a good few hours to finish the job but eventually we’re able to sit on the edge of the Jacuzzi and admire the results of our labours.
“It looks smashing, Alice, really it does,” Owen tells me. “Really warm and inviting to have a long soak after a day walking on the Moors.”
“What about a soak after a hard day’s decorating? Fancy trying the Jacuzzi out?”
My heart is in my mouth as I say it, but Owen shakes his head. “The steam wouldn’t do the wet paint any good, would it?”
He is being pragmatic and decidedly unromantic, but you can’t fault his logic. I am desperate to close the physical space between us though so I pat the back of his hand. “Sensible as ever.” I tell him.
He looks at me sideways. “No, not always – sometimes the exact opposite.” He turns his hand over and intertwines his fingers with mine for a moment, before letting go and standing up. “Anyway, I’d better get on.”
“Oh. I was going to cook you a meal to say thank you.”
“Don’t worry – I’ve got some leftover chicken casserole of Adam’s that needs finishing up.”
It’s hard but I tell myself to be grown up about this and hide my disappointment. After all, he’s just spent most of his Sunday helping me out. But I must have failed because Owen stops at the bathroom door.
“Come to think of it, there’s quite a lot of chicken casserole – I’m sure it would stretch to two. There’s a few things I need to do right now, but if you wanted to come over at about 7.30...” he trails off, looking as uncertain as I feel.
I put on a bright smile. “It won’t have to stretch so far if I bring a pudding, will it?”
He grins back. “A veritable feast. See you later.”
I am left remembering the touch of his fingers on mine and thinking perhaps there is hope; maybe he just wants to play things ultra slowly.
When I arrive at his house he does nothing to disabuse me of this thought. I have changed into a skirt and pretty cardigan which I leave rather too unbuttoned and as he helps me off with my coat he briefly places his hands on my shoulders and tells me I look lovely, but that is all. Not even a little hug, and certainly no kiss, although for a moment I sense the thought of one in his eyes.
But he is happy and chatty as he dishes up the casserole and we put my apple crumble in the oven to warm. It is almost as though we have gone back to our early days – or to square one, in my book – except now I am craving intimacy even more because I know what I’m missing. Owen opens a bottle of wine and I pray that a couple of glasses will embolden one of us to make the first move.
So when he says, “Alice, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” I feel my mouth go dry.
I lean towards him over the table and rest my chin on my hand. “Go on,” I encourage.
“I think I’m about to get busy with my herbs again, in fact, I know I am. It might mean I don’t have much spare time for a while and...” he trails off.
“I don’t suppose you have the slightest idea how long...”
He shakes his head. “It’s another case of emphysema, like Audrey Cutt – word gets around.”
“It’s because you’re so good at helping people,” I find myself saying and suddenly I feel very proud of him.
He looks down at his hands. “I use the gifts I have been given, that is all.”
“Have you ever thought of making a career as a herbalist?”
“No. These are gifts, Alice. They are not to be used for profit.”
I nod as though I understand. “Did your grandmother teach you?”
He hesitates. “Mainly, but some of it I feel I’ve always known. The gift is passed down, Alice, from generation to generation.”
“So you will pass it down to your children?”
“Not any child, it would have to be a daughter. But it’s academic. The buck stops here.”
I am puzzled. “Why?”
He stands up to start clearing the plates “Because who’s ever going to marry me?” he laughs.
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” I tease, and the moment passes.
Later I go to use the bathroom. It is the first time I have been upstairs and I am confronted by three doors on the landing. Owen told me the bathroom is at the back, but the front bedroom door is open and I can’t resist a peep. It is clearly Adam’s room, judging by the Leeds United scarf draped over the mirror and the large navy donkey jacket flung on the bed.
The door to the back bedroom is closed but my wine-fuelled curiosity gets the better of me. Downstairs I hear Owen usher Kylie outside so I very gently turn the handle.
But this isn’t a young man’s room; it is an old woman’s. There is a pale yellow candlewick bedspread on the bed and from what I can make out from the shaft of light from the landing, yellow and white floral curtains. The furniture is dark oak, and on the bedside table is a black and white photograph in a plain silver frame. Peering around the corner at the dressing table I spot an ivory hand mirror and clothes brush, and a collection of china dogs. The only trace of Owen in the room is a vague smell of his aftershave. I close the door and go back downstairs. After a very short while I make my excuses and go home.