45.

The key was under the yellow flowerpot on the porch, just as Terri had said. Biddy still didn’t really believe this was happening and half expected there would be no key, a note from Terri left in its place, telling her that she’d changed her mind and had asked someone else to look after Bertie. Biddy’s hands were shaking as she let herself into the house and dragged her father’s old brown suitcase into the hall.

She had taken a taxi rather than get the bus and have to face the short walk from the bus stop lugging the suitcase, not because it was heavy, but her stick made carrying even more than one bag of shopping from Tesco extremely difficult. She had packed very little. Just some clean underwear, a spare pair of trousers, two clean shirts and a cardigan, along with her toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, soap and hairbrush. Plus her sketchbook, a few pencils and the small watercolour set she’d bought in Easons to replace the old one she’d found under the sink. As she placed the items in the case, which smelt fusty and old, the memory of the last time she had packed it made her feel slightly woozy. But then she had looked at her painting of Cove Cottage, which now sat on top of the chest of drawers in her own bedroom, and a wave of calmness had engulfed her. This time, she was packing for a trip that she really wanted to go on. She decided that while she was there, she would do a painting of Cove Cottage for Terri as a thank-you for asking her to do this favour, for trusting her to look after Bertie and live in her house. Her stomach had fluttered with that feeling of dancing butterflies: a much more familiar sensation these days than the lump in her throat, or the acid in her gullet.

Biddy left the suitcase in the hall and went into the kitchen. This was her favourite room in the cottage. She loved every room, well, all the ones she had been in, but the kitchen was definitely the best. Terri had made the entire back wall into a big window with sliding glass doors out to a patio, and the view over the bay was breath taking. Biddy had often imagined herself living here, eating her meals at the kitchen table, looking out at the view. She could spend hours watching the landscape change in tone and shade and mood. The rest of the room was painted bright yellow, the colour of sunlight, and all the cupboards, the wooden chairs and the big square table were stained in a beautiful shade of blue. ‘It’s cobalt blue,’ Terri had said when Biddy admired the colour one day, not long after her visits began. ‘My favourite colour. Reminds me of Greece. Ever been to Greece, Biddy?’ she had asked. Having never been anywhere, Biddy had felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she shook her head. ‘Well, you really must go someday. You’d love it. If you’re going to go anywhere, go there. The smells, the sounds, the scenery, the food, the people, the flowers,’ Terri had closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, lost in a memory. ‘It really is heaven on earth. Truly. And a painter’s paradise, Biddy, a painter’s paradise.’

Of course, Biddy hadn’t known about Harry then, and the real reason why Terri loved these colours and that country, but she had thought it sounded wonderful. She’d love to go somewhere with skies the colour of Terri’s kitchen cupboards one day, but she knew she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t have a clue how to do it.

She thought again now of Harry, and Greece, as she looked around the room.

‘I know it’s sad about what happened to Harry, Bertie, but I’m so glad Terri didn’t go to Greece,’ Biddy said to the cat, who had just come in through the cat flap on the utility room door and was rubbing his head against her ankles. ‘I’m so glad she came here to Cove Cottage and I’m so glad that I met her and I’m so glad that she asked me to come here to look after you.’

She noticed an envelope on the kitchen table, propped up against a little vase of freshly picked daisies, with ‘Biddy’ scrawled on it in Terri’s handwriting. An image of Miss Jordan’s letter falling through the letterbox onto the hall floor flashed into her head – the only other handwritten, personal letter she had ever received. Hands shaking a little, she tore open the envelope and read Terri’s note.

 

Dearest Biddy

You’ll find everything you need in the fridge – I made one of my special lasagnes last night and a berry crumble – and the freezer is packed with goodies too, so just help yourself to ANYTHING. Tea, coffee, biscuits (Kimberleys, of course, as well as some of my own), breakfast cereal, etc. are all in the larder. There are plenty of tins of tuna in Bertie’s cupboard – don’t let him hassle you too much for food! He’s a greedy old beggar!

Good news – my new television is up and running! Dean, my jack-of-all-trades friend, tuned it in for me yesterday! I do hope you enjoy watching your programmes on it. I’ve left all the instructions and the remotes sitting on the coffee table in the living room, but if you have any problems with it (or with anything), just call Dean. His card is pinned up on the notice board. He’s a lovely young man, and will come out at the drop of a hat.

I’ll give you a bell this evening but if you have any queries or worries, just call me on my mobile.

Terri.

P.S.: Hope you don’t mind, but as a little thank-you for helping me out, I’ve asked Dean to pop round and sort out your garden while you’re here. He’s got terrific green fingers and I know he’ll do a grand job. He’s under strict instructions to treat the rose bush with extra care! If you’re pleased with his work, he’d be happy to talk about a more permanent arrangement, but we’ll discuss that when I get back.

P.P.S.: If you go into the utility room, you’ll find a little surprise. It’s my proper thank-you present for looking after my Bertie and the cottage.

Enjoy!

Terri x

 

Biddy re-read the letter twice. It was short, but contained a lot of important information and she wanted to be sure to take it all in. The thought of Terri’s home cooking made her mouth water. She’d never been greatly excited by food until she had met Terri. Finally learning to bake with her had been a revelation. And though she’d only been for a proper meal once – that lovely Sunday lunch almost two months ago – Terri would often send her home with little plastic containers crammed with ‘leftovers’ like cottage pie, chicken and broccoli bake and lasagne.

She’d never tasted food like it, especially the lasagne. She loved the lasagne. She wouldn’t wait until dinner time, she decided – she would have it for lunch. The new television was exciting, but worrying at the same time. It would make a change from watching her programmes on her old portable, which had been a bit fuzzy lately. But she hoped Terri’s new television worked properly and that she would understand the instructions, because she definitely wouldn’t be phoning Dean, no matter how nice Terri said he was. It was very kind of Terri to ask Dean to sort the garden, as it was so badly overgrown now that it made her feel sad. And she trusted Terri that he would do a good job.

That brought her to the P.P.S. A present. Terri had bought her a present! She flung open the door to the utility room, gasping in disbelief. Before her stood a tall easel on which sat a large, blank canvas. In front of the easel was a stool with a high back, which was set at just the right height for her to comfortably sit on, and on the floor, propped up against the easel, was a black case and another canvas. She picked up the case and opened it, balancing it against the stool, and gasped again. It was a treasure case crammed with little tubes of watercolour paints, pencils and an array of paintbrushes. She shook her head. She closed her eyes and opened them and closed them and opened them, not quite believing what she was seeing. Tears dripped from her eyes: but they were different tears than she was used to. They felt good: joyful. Biddy realised that she wasn’t crying because she felt scared or worried or humiliated. She was crying because she felt happy: really, really happy.