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The bathroom was easily Wade’s favorite room in the whole three-floor cottage. Its floor was so large he could’ve fit a double bed in it plus furniture. That would’ve been a horrid waste, though, he thought as he sat up in the Victorian clawfoot tub, and turned the brass faucet to add more hot water.
A new combi-boiler would be one of his must-do investments.
Then he leaned back, and as his gaze skated over the familiar dark wood beams and white plaster of the ceiling, he strategized what to do with this lovely little room.
The pink would have to go. Beige, maybe. Beige and wood and white. And glass - a nice, antique chandelier to add that sophisticated touch.
And candles. The windowsill was an affair so deep, he could’ve been growing tomatoes on it.
Except he wasn’t here often enough to properly tend to potted plants.
Weren’t there old candelabra in the dining room downstairs? And he’d update the plumbing on the circular shower behind him. That, and some kind of a storage unit. Something with character, both old and practical. Something from a rummage sale or an antique store, just to hold extra toilet tissue and soaps and various pretty things.
Wade realized he was not planning the remodel only for the guests who would rent this lovely cottage for a weekend getaway, but for himself as well.
Just because he was single didn’t mean he didn’t deserve finer things, even though nobody would ever waltz into his life with a bouquet of roses.
This unpleasant train of thought reminded Wade to finish his soak. Soon he’d snuggle under the down-filled comforter on the bed with rose sheets in the attic room. That was going to be his room and never mind the steep and narrow staircase which curved so precipitously. Aunt Rose’s second story room was bigger, true, but it still smelled like Aunt Rose, and its two windows were facing that tasteless monstrosity of a Valentine’s Day display.
This year, V-Day was his enemy. He knew for a fact that Avebury would get clogged with romantic fools and sickeningly sweet couples after breakfast. If he wanted any decent photos, he’d have to do as he had instructed his students, wake up at some ungodly hour, and be ready to shoot at the infamous “butt-crack of dawn.”
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“I AM SO TERRIBLY SORRY, sir, but we’re full.” The woman at the front desk looked truly very sorry, especially this late in the evening. “It’s the Valentine’s Day weekend, don’t you know? I’m afraid it shall be quite difficult to find a place nearby.” She leaned over and patted his shoulder in a display of maternal care, a gesture in keeping with her casual clothes and no-nonsense, steel-gray hair. “Let me give you our Wi-Fi pass code. Would you like to enjoy the pub and order a nice dinner? You’re lucky the kitchen’s still open. You can check your phone as you wait and see if there’s a place nearby you could stay the night.” She leaned in, and whispered “I’ll make some calls for you as soon as the front desk quiets down.”
“Thank you so much.” Ariel knew his words failed to sum the extent of his gratitude. Still feeling a bit shocked by his navigational mishaps and the lack of prospects for lodging, he nodded, turned, and moved into the pub room like an automaton. He selected a seat by the window and took in the ancient dark wood, modern warm lighting, and the cozy fireplace across the room.
He would’ve enjoyed the hell out of this establishment if he only had a place to stay, but this driving adventure of his came with unexpected complications. Still, he’d manage.
It wasn’t even too cold outside.
Ariel wondered what would be worse, sleeping in the car, or trying to drive these crazy roads after dark. With his luck, he’d make a right turn into the wrong lane and head-butt another car, much like the crazy sheep he had seen waging a battle of dominance not too far from here.
His beer arrived. As he waited for his steak-and-ale pie, he put on his glasses and opened a browser on his phone. With a strong hot spot signal, he’d assess his options and study the maps and hotel websites without burning through his data allowance.
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“FUCKING V-DAY.” ARIEL crawled out of his car several hours later and unfolded his poor, abused body. Sleeping in the car wasn’t sleeping rough, exactly, but he wasn’t in college anymore and his muscles and joints weren’t thrilled about being stuck in such an enclosed space for long.
Even though the seat was pushed all the way back.
Even though it was reclined as far as it would go.
He was having a driving adventure alright, all alone in the middle of the English countryside. Once he had eaten his dinner and finished his beer, and once the beer wore off and he had topped it with coffee, he had resolved to drive on. This time, he wrote down the turns on paper just in case he lost signal again. He was going to drive to Bath, hell or high water.
He had stopped not due to getting lost, but because his GPS routed him to a tangle of narrow, local roads which he had spent half the night unraveling. He was just bloody tired of slowing down and having to aim his emergency flashlight at those tiny country lane signs. Half the time, he had to turn around and backtrack to make it to the proper turn, but since the roads were empty after midnight, making a sketchy K-turn with his little economy car on a narrow road wasn’t as dicey as it would’ve been with the big cross-over he drove back in Atlanta.
And now he was parked by the road in what looked like an official parking place, safe and snug, knowing exactly where he was and wishing he had thought to bring a tent and a sleeping bag.
His phone, which now had reception again, told him he was in the middle of the Avebury stone circles, which happened to be the biggest henge in England. Or the oldest one. Or... or something. He just plain forgot all the exalted details, but he’d look them up again later.
Ariel was surprised how warm it was for a February night. Sleeping in the car got cold, sure, but that’s what these little walks up and down the road were for. Few minutes, and he didn’t even need gloves anymore.
His mind was alive with vivid imagery of ancient people who no longer lived here. Neolithic technologies were clever in their simplicity, and this cleverness had resulted in a population which had enough food for their settlement to afford a whole construction workforce. How many men did it take to carve the raised plateau with an embankment of a chalk hill to surround it? How many man-hours had it taken to carve the stones by hand, to transport them, to build the stone circles, and to scrape the hill free of vegetation? The website mentioned they had used antlers as scraping tools to keep the ditch and bank bright white.
The effort just boggled the mind.
The hill’s white chalk must’ve gleamed from afar, proclaiming the wealth of its people.
And the tomb! He had read about the tomb to the right of the road and could barely wait till morning to go and visit the oldest longbarrow around. It was on top of a hill which now held dormant fields, but its sod had once been stripped as well, making the chalk bedrock white and visible, a fitting abode for the bones of the ancestors who watched over their descendants from their place of honor.
Or that was one of the theories, one that his ex would’ve never appreciated.
He tried to shut his eyes one more time as a fine drizzle settled in.
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BY FOUR O’CLOCK IN the morning, Wade was dressed and had a pot of tea brewing. Aunt Rose’s touch was still all over the kitchen with its irritating pink wallpaper and flouncy window dressings. As much as Wade had loved his aunt and had appreciated the cottage during her life, now the color scheme grated, and was something that he resolved to do without. As he was making a picnic lunch of egg sandwiches and apples, and as he waited for his tea to brew, he started a mental wish list.
A dishwasher would be nice, especially if he ever had to clean up after guests. So would a set of dishes he wouldn’t cry over if they got broken by a careless hand. As to the new colors - sorry, auntie Rose - the cottage wasn’t called the White Rose Cottage just because of the thriving climbing roses in the small garden out back. The House of York stood prominent in the interior decorations, of course – but it seemed as though aunt Rose’s focus had been more on the flower in general.
He’d whitewash this place, and restore the wood, and... and he would be running behind schedule in five minutes if he kept wool-gathering!
Wade downed his cup of tea, filled the thermos with the rest, and stashed his lunch into his backpack. He then stole his way out the door as though he didn’t want aunt Rose’s ghost to wake up in that big, musty bedroom on the first floor.
Once he was in the car and wiped his hands dry on his jeans, he peered through the drizzle and wondered whether he’d get rained out just like the previous weekend, or whether the weather would settle down and he’d get his much-coveted fog.