Janey had been at school for three weeks when they moved from the big house back into Coombe Cottage.
Pamela was waiting there. Looking exactly the same as she had at Christmas, when she’d bought them a doll each as a present.
A smile replaced her father’s usually stern expression. ‘This is the surprise I promised you at Christmas. Pamela is your new mother.’
Linda sucked in an indignant breath. Her cheeks went red and her mouth fell open, though no words came out. When she remembered to shut it again her lips were pressed so tightly together they puckered – as if she’d tasted something shuddery.
Janey looked around her, expecting Miss Hardy to appear with her disapproving face. The governess seemed to have gone. The shelves were empty of her treasures, dust coated the furniture, cobwebs hung in corners and newspapers littered the floor.
Two suitcases and several cardboard boxes stood by the door. Pamela sighed as she plucked a feather duster from one. ‘This place needs a thorough cleaning. Linda, you can help dust, and Janey can pick the rubbish up and put it in the dustbin.’
For once, Linda didn’t do what she was told. Crossing to her father she placed her head against his arm and whined, ‘I don’t feel well.’
Pamela placed a hand against Linda’s forehead. ‘You haven’t got a temperature.’
Linda jerked her head away.
Her father turned her to face him. ‘Do as your mother tells you, Linda.’
‘She’s not my mother.’
‘She is now, Linda. Pamela and I were married three weeks ago.’
Linda burst into tears.
‘Don’t you worry about her, Eddie, Pamela said. ‘It’s just a bit of green-eye and she’ll get over it.’ She handed him a list. ‘If you like you can go into town and get the shopping on the list, while I tidy up the place.’
Although this wasn’t the surprise she’d expected, Janey thought Pamela was much prettier than Annie Sutton’s mother, who was as thin as a beanpole, sometimes limped, and had a big sneezy nose that went red on the end and sometimes dripped.
‘Mum’s got a lergy,’ Annie had explained when Janey asked her why her mother’s nose honked all the time. ‘And Arthur’s itis in her knees. ‘
Janey couldn’t stop staring at Pamela. She was definitely better than Annie’s mother.
Pamela smiled as she caught her eye. ‘I hope you’re not going to be a cry baby like your sister.’
Janey’s glance went to the feather duster. It’s reddish brown iridescent feathers reminded her of the rooster that strutted around the hen house at the big house, and crowed at the crack of dawn. Ada, the cook up at the house, said she was going to wring its neck if it didn’t watch its manners.
‘Can I dust?’
‘I’m going to dust.’ Linda shoved her aside as the door closed behind their father and snatched at the duster.
‘Pamela kept a firm hand on it. ‘That’s enough Linda. Let’s get one thing straight. I’m in charge around here. If you want to do the dusting you can ask nicely.’
‘Please,’ Linda said, looking sulky.
‘That’s better. Disappointed, Janey watched the duster go to her sister.
When their father returned the place smelled of disinfectant and polish. A fire burned cheerily in the grate. Pamela blushed when he kissed her. ‘Not in front of the children, Eddie.’
There was stew and dumplings for dinner. The meat was chewy, the dumplings not quite cooked in the middle, the sprouts squishy.
A frown appeared above her father’s nose. ‘You’ll have to do better than this, Pamela.’
Pamela turned red. ‘I’m not used to the Aga yet.’
Janey felt sorry for her new mother. ‘I like it.’
The frown was transferred to her. ‘Children should be seen and not heard.’
Linda stuck her tongue out at her and Janey retaliated by pulling a face. A stinging slap across her face knocked her to the floor.
‘Eddie!’ Pamela’s face was a shocked whisper. ‘Janey is just a little girl.’
‘She’s a cheeky little madam who needs to learn some manners.’ He scraped his chair back from the table and stood, glaring at Pamela. ‘Janey is my daughter and I’ll thank you not to interfere when I discipline her.’ He strode from the house, slamming the door behind him.
Pamela gazed helplessly from one to the other, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Your father must be tired.’
Janey’s face stung and a lump of misery grew in her throat. She thought rebelliously. I won’t ever cry again, whatever anyone does to me. When Pamela tried to cuddle her she stiffened and pushed her away.
Linda gave a smug little smile. ‘Janey’s a pest; she always gets into trouble.
Dad likes me the best.’
* * * *
Eddie returned when the children were in bed, the smell of whisky on his breath.
Pamela’s nerves were twitchy from handling two uncooperative children. Linda had ignored every request and Janey hadn’t spoken one word. The girl had cringed away from her when she’d dropped a plate, and then scooted into the garden and climbed a tree, her face set and rebellious. It had taken twenty minutes of coaxing to get her down. The poor kid had been shaking all over and her face wore a livid patch where Eddie had hit her.
She frowned when Eddie threw himself in a chair and scattered ash over the table. She placed an ashtray in front of him. ‘I’ve just polished that table.’
He deliberately scattered some more. ‘Don’t nag Pam. Come here and give me a kiss.’
This was more like the Eddie she’d married. ‘After the way you talked to me at dinner ... not likely.’
He lunged at her, and after a short wrestling match he pinned her to the floor. He laughed when she giggled. ‘Do as you’re told, woman.’
Her skirt rode up to her thighs and she tried to pull it down when he slid his hand between her stocking top and suspenders. He slapped her hand away.
‘Turn the light off Eddie.’
‘Why?’
Because she hated her large hips and thighs, that’s why. As soon as she thought it, Pamela tensed up.
Eddie’s smile slid from his face when she tried to push him away. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’
‘What if someone comes in? It doesn’t seem proper, doing it on the floor.’
‘Are you denying me my marital rights?’
‘No Eddie ... it’s just–’
‘Good.’ Dragging her knickers down her legs he threw the garment in a corner and began to fondle her. Then he was on top of her, grunting as he pushed into her.
But there was no power in his thrusts and although he got nowhere he kept pushing. After a while he gazed down at her, then he slapped her face back and forth. ‘Can’t you act as though you’re enjoying it you frigid cow.’
He hit her again and he smiled when she cried out, and hardened inside her. He began to thrust again, praying it would soon be over. Feeling humiliated she turned her face away from his whisky smelling breath, and saw Linda. The girl was peering through the crack in the door, her eyes wide.
‘Eddie ... stop,’ she hissed.
A hand closed around her throat. ‘Shut up, else I’ll strangle you.’
Linda smiled at her and pulled the door shut.
‘Afterwards, Eddie gazed dispassionately at her tear-stained face. ‘Try and lose a bit of weight before my next visit.’
‘Mortified, Pamela dragged her clothing over her legs. ‘I’ll try Eddie, I promise.’ She just wished Linda hadn’t been watching what was going on earlier. It wasn’t right – but she was too scared to tell him.
* * * *
Her father had gone back to London. Experiencing a sense of freedom, Janey watched his car leave early that morning, its windows all fogged up and its exhaust trailing white vapor.
Pamela had been there to wave goodbye. Dressed in a pink robe, her hair was disheveled and her face puffy. Her fluffy pink slippers scuffed a mark in the frost as she stamped from one foot to the other, her arms wrapped tightly around her body to ward off the cold.
Pamela glanced up at her window and smiled.
Janey returned it. All the same, it was odd having a stranger for a mother. She wished it were Brenda from the big house as she pulled on the clothing left neatly stacked on a chair. But at least Pamela was better than Miss Harding had been.
Pans were rattling in the kitchen, and presently the smell of frying bacon wafted up. ‘Breakfast’s nearly ready,’ Pamela sang out.
Janey was trying to button her red tartan skirt when Linda walked in. ‘Only babies can’t do up buttons,’ she scorned.
‘I can do them up better’n you can.’ Hastily Janey pushed the last button through the hole.
Linda gave an odd, scared little grin. ‘Dad beat Pamela up last night.’
Janey stared at her.
‘She was on the floor and dad was jumping on her. He called her a cow and said he was going to strangle her. She was crying.’
‘What does strangle mean?’
Linda’s hands came round her neck and she squeezed until Janey was fighting for breath. Her sister let her go and watched as she gasped for air. ‘If I squeezed long enough you’d die and go to hell.’
Janey was shocked. ‘That’s wicked, our Linda. Our new mum is nicer than Miss Harding was.’
‘Well, I don’t like her, and if you want me to be your friend, neither can you.’
Janey thought about it for a moment. She didn’t care whether Linda was her friend or not. She had lots of friends. Phil Tyler, the gypsy gardener. Mr. Charles Wyman and Brenda, and Annie Sutton who’d started school at the same time as her, and who lived on the farm. Sometimes she thought the gardener’s son Griffin was her friend, because he stopped the bigger ones teasing her. But sometimes he teased her himself, though he never hit or pinched her like the others did sometimes.
Then there was Lord William up at the big house, who played toy soldiers with her on rainy days and sometimes invited her to stay for tea and hot crumpets. She liked them all better than Linda.
‘I don’t care.’ She pushed past her sister. ‘I’m going to have my breakfast, I don’t want to be late for school.’
Today, school seemed extra special. Pamela had packed them a lunch in shining red boxes. There was a crisp bread roll full of grated cheese, a chocolate biscuit wrapped in shiny green paper, and an apple.
Pamela smiled as she introduced herself to the teacher as Mrs.. Renfrew.
Miss Robbins smiled back. She took the junior classes, and old Mr. James took the bigger kids. The classes were mixed because the school only had twenty pupils. Lessons were held in the village hall, and old stone building with a thatched roof. Its two rooms were warmed by a pot-bellied stove and surrounded by a mesh guard.
‘Janey’s a bright little thing,’ Miss Robbins said, patting her on the head. ‘She’s learning her letters faster than any pupil I’ve had, except for Griffin Tyler. She should do well. ‘Her glance fell on Linda. ‘Run off and play dear. I want to talk to Mrs.. Renfrew privately for a moment.’
Linda flounced off to join Wendy Brown and her brother, Tim. Their father had his own business, selling other people’s houses. Wendy had airs and graces about it. Janey liked Tim, who was a year older than Wendy, and was going to be a pirate when he grew up.
She and Annie watched Griffin Tyler come into the playground. He was the oldest pupil in the school and didn’t have any friends because of his gypsy blood. Everyone said gypsies couldn’t be trusted, but only behind his back. Janey trusted him. He’d saved the life of a mouse she’d almost killed.
She hadn’t meant to make the mouse sick when she’d caught it and put it in a jam jar. She’d forgotten it until she found it lying on its side two days later. It was stiff, its little feet curled under it. Heart broken, because it had been such a sweet little creature she couldn’t stop crying and had taken it back to where she’d caught it in the hedge.
Griffin had come across her. ‘What’s the matter with you then?’
She held out the jar. ‘The mouse won’t wake up.’
Taking the jar from her he tipped the mouse into his palm and gently ran his finger along its side. His dark eyes had gazed into hers. ‘Blubbering won’t help it. Janey. Come to the shed in half an hour and I’ll have made it better.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘I’m learning to be a doctor, so I’ll operate on it.’ He was whistling as he strode off with it.
Half an hour later Griffin had placed a warm, living mouse in her palm. Its whiskers twitched and its heart beat rapidly against her palm. ‘Go and put it back in the hedge, and never shut a living creature in a jar again. How would you like someone to do that to you.’
She knew she wouldn’t, and as the mouse scampered away she’d been so happy she could have burst.
She smiled at Griffin when he came into the school grounds, but he barely flicked her a glance.
‘Is that your new mother?’ Annie asked her a little later when they hung over the gate to watch Pamela set off on long walk back to Coombe Cottage.
Pamela turned and blew her a kiss.
‘Yes,’ she said proudly. ‘That’s my mother.’
* * * *
Although school absorbed Janey she missed being outside, and couldn’t wait for Saturdays to come so she could visit Phil Collins in his shed, and the ginger cat and the owl that lived in the barn. Lord William’s old horse, Wellington, had lived there too, but just before Christmas he’d grown angel wings and had flown away to heaven.
Wellington’s empty stall made her feel sad. There were reminders of him everywhere, his hair stuck on the wooden rails, his bridle hanging on a rail, now green with mould. For a long time she could smell his warm, musty horse smell, then it seemed to fade and one day she couldn’t remember what his smell had been like.
She experienced contentment. Pamela kept Coombe Cottage spotless, and she made friends with Brenda who worked at the big house, who sometimes came over for tea and a chat.
Brenda said one day, ‘Mr. Wyman said to tell you that Lady is going to have a litter of puppies in the spring. ‘When they’re old enough you can come and see them.’
Janey couldn’t wait and badgered Pamela about it as soon as school was over for the day.
Pamela laughed. ‘Don’t be so impatient, Janey. Nature has to take its course.’
When their father came for his monthly visits Linda’s sullen manner improved. Janey tried to keep out of his way but never seemed to get through the weekend unscathed.
Pamela was different when their father was around, cooking special dishes to please him and wearing makeup. She didn’t laugh so loudly though, because it earned her a frown.
On the Sunday when he was home they attended the big church in Dorchester, where her father prayed long and hard and the service went of forever. The incense tickled her throat.
Janey began to dread the Sundays when he was home. After church he’d sit them at the table and read passages from the bible. Then fixing her with a frown, he’d ask her to recite it back. When she couldn’t he’d smack her legs and mutter, ‘Devil’s child.’
Tears would fill Pamela’s eyes.
‘Stop that Pamela,’ he’d say, and he’d send them out to play. When they were called back in, Pamela would be jolly and smiling, though her eyes would be puffy and red. Once she had a bruised eye and had told them she’d walked into a door.
‘I expect dad punished her,’ Linda said when they were alone. ‘He hates her as much as he hates you. It’s only me he loves.’
Brenda offered Pamela a job at the big house.
‘We can do with the money, your father hardly gives me enough to manage on,’ Pamela said
Her wages bought some pretty curtains for the cottage. Linda got a pink bedspread with a ballerina in it, and a pair of shiny patent shoes, chosen from the shopping catalogue Annie’s mother ran.
Linda surprised them both when she said, ‘Thank you mother.’
Pamela smiled. ‘I’m pleased you’re beginning to like me, Linda. I want us to be friends.’
The following month Janey received a blue bedspread with rabbits springing all over it, and there was a red duffle coat with wooden toggles and a hood she could pull over her ears. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise, because Annie had chosen them both and kept dropping hints.
Linda stared enviously at the coat. ‘Dad said Janey had to make do with my cast-offs.’
‘She needs something new of her own.’
There was a row when Linda told their father, and for once, Pamela shouted back. ‘I bought them with money I earn, and I’ll spend it how I like.’
Janey stared in shock when he back-handed Pamela. She fell on to the sofa. Face contorted with rage he stared down at her. ‘You’ll do as you’re told Pamela.’
Blood seeped from the corner of Pamela’s mouth and Linda’s face turned the color of putty. Janey took her sister’s hand as Pamela’s dazed and bloody face imprinted itself on her mind. ‘Come outside, quick!’
‘You’re going nowhere.’ Her father turned and stared at her. ‘Go and get the coat.’
Silently Janey did as she was told, the hate for her father a hot clutching fist in her chest.
‘Give the coat to Linda.’
Linda was gulping, her eyes riveted on Pamela’s bloody face.
‘But she’d going to be si–
‘Shut up and do as you’re told, he said.’
As Janey handed the red duffel coat over Linda vomited on it.
Their father gazed at Linda with disgust. ‘Isn’t it about time you grew out of this stupidity.’
Shocked as being the object of their father’s scorn for once, Linda gave a great, gulping sob. ‘It isn’t my fault. I can’t help it.’
‘See what you’ve done,’ he snarled at Pamela and turning, he headed for the door. ‘I might as well stay in London for all the respect I get.’
A few seconds after the door slammed shut they heard the car drive away. Pamela was trembling as she rose to her feet. ‘Look after Linda, Janey. As soon as I’ve cleaned myself up I’ll come and see to her.’
It took a while to calm Linda down. Pamela’s lip was swollen on one side, and she looked pale and sad.
There were some snowdrops under the hedge and Janey picked a bunch to cheer her up. Pamela placed them in a tumbler on the windowsill, gave a tremulous little smile and kissed her. ‘Your father must have been working too hard,’ she said.
With a cat and canary smile on her face Linda wore the red duffle coat, still smelling faintly of sick, to school on Monday.
* * * *
The onset of spring was a delight.
Janey had been watching for it ... observing the brown buds on the trees as they swelled within their sticky casings. One morning a feather of green emerged and within a week the casings fell to the ground, revealing branches with bright green leaves.
Bluebells appeared, spreading through the woods in a brilliant fragrant carpet. Creamy lilys grew along the brook, birds chased each other through the air and a pair of house martins took residence in the thatch above her window.
Her wobbly front teeth fell out in April, when the wind played chase me with showers of rain and sent grey rags of clouds streaming across the sky. May brought her new ones. It coincided with the white hawthorn blossom, when the air was drugged with perfume and hummed with the sound of bees.
Lady’s puppies arrived, plump, squirming creatures with squealing yaps.
‘They’re beautiful.’ Janey was filled with love for them as she and Linda cuddled them under the watchful eyes of Lady. She wished she could have one, but she knew her father wouldn’t let her. Besides, Mr. Wyman had said they all had good homes to go to.
‘How do you like school, ‘Mr. Wyman asked.
She smiled. ‘I can nearly read, and Miss Robbins said I’m good at drawing, so I’m going to be an artist when I grow up.’ Remembering her manners, she asked, ‘How is Lord William?’
Mr. Wyman’s smile disappeared. ‘He’s not well, Janey, but I’ll tell him you asked after him. He’ll be pleased you remembered him.’
Her fingers went to the lead soldier, safe in the pocket of her skirt. It had been her favorite and she hadn’t been able to resist taking him home. Later, she took a posy of wildflowers to Brenda, to give to Lord William.
He died the following month.
‘Snuffed out like a candle in a puff of wind,’ the cook said, wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron. ‘Eh, that will be some grand funeral on Saturday. Who knows, Queen Elizabeth might attend.’
The queen didn’t attend and the funeral wasn’t as grand as Ada had predicted. Hidden behind a gravestone with Annie, Janey watched a black heass pull up at the church, followed by Mr. Wyman and Brenda, and some staff from the big house. Curious locals looked on from the boundary of the church wall.
Ada wore a black coat and a hat with a feather in it, despite the warmth of the day.
Phil Tyler stood at the back with Sam, the head gardener, their caps doffed as a coffin with shining brass candles was lowered into the hole.
Prayers were said by a clergyman in a black robe and then everyone sang In England’s green and pleasant land. Ada’s determined voice rang out clear above the rest, and she kept dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief bordered in black lace.
Afterwards, when the mourners had trooped off to the big house for tea and biscuits Janey and Annie gazed down into the grave.
‘It’s a long way down,’ Annie said in an awed voice.
Janey’s hand closed around the lead soldier. ‘Lord William has gone to heaven to see his horse, Wellington.’
‘How can he be in heaven when he’s in a box in a hole?’ the practical Annie said.
‘I don’t know.’ Cocking her head to one side she gazed at her friend, wishing she hadn’t asked. ‘I suppose he’s growing his angel wings, then he’ll open the box and will fly away.’
‘What if he gets out now and sees us?’
The coffin made a clumping sound as a clod of dirt fell on it. ‘Scat, you kids, can’t you leave a body in peace,’ a voice rasped.
Janey’s heart began to race and Annie gave a high-pitched scream and took flight. She caught Annie up at the gate, breathless. ‘Quick,’ she yelled, ‘the Lord is after us.’ Jumping on their bikes, their legs pumped furiously at the pedals as they sped away.
* * * *
Sam pushed his cap to the back of his head, laughing as he straightened up from his hiding place behind Betty Potter’s tombstone. Shovel against hip he watched them go, and then transferred his gaze to the coffin.
‘I have a favor to ask of you, My Lord,’ he whispered. I’d be obliged if you’d keep watch over that young-un you liked so much. If you asks me something’s wrong in her dad’s head, for she’s always got bruises on her after he visits Coombe Cottage – her and his misses as well.’
‘You know what they say about people who talk to themselves. ‘Phil screwed a finger in the side of his head as he sauntered towards him, shovel over his shoulder. ‘We’d better get this filled in pronto. Mr. Wyman wants us up at the big house for when the will’s read. I reckon the Viscount has left us a little something.’
‘He was a grand old man, he was.’ Sam stared at Phil as the younger men bent his back to the pile of earth. ‘He thought the world of that young Renfrew lass.’
‘He ain’t the only one from what I just heard.’ Phil’s smile was sly as he gazed at Sam. ‘They’ll be putting you in the funny farm if they catch you talking to dead folk too often.’
‘You can talk. Everyone knows you’re soft in the head when it comes to that youngster.’ Giving a sheepish grin Sam punched him on the shoulder, then took up a shovel of earth and threw it into the grave.
* * * *
Jack Bellamy stretched his legs towards the fire and reread the letter from Eddie Renfrew’s lawyer.
‘Damn him!’ he said, his scowl making the scar on his face pucker. ‘He can’t deny a man to see his own daughter, Mary.’
His sister looked up from her darning for a moment. ‘The lawyer said it’s only your word against his. Leave it alone Jack, or he’ll take out a restraining order against you.’
Jack lumbered to his feet. ‘Leave it alone be damned. I’m going out for a while to think things through.’
‘Put on your coat, it’s chilly out.’
He stooped to kiss her cheeks. ‘Stop nagging. Go home to your husband, and stop darning my socks. I can buy new ones.
Mary sighed as she watched him leave the room. She’d disapproved of his friendship with Margaret Renfrew. Not that she’d disliked her, but the young woman had been married and at least fifteen years younger than Jack. But men were fools for a pretty face, and to give Margaret her due she’d been genuinely fond of Jack.
Staring at the sock Margaret tried to picture Janey. She’d only seen the child once, a fair-haired baby in a pushchair who looked like hundreds of other babies. Had she known that the child was Jack’s daughter she would have taken more notice of her.
Jack had been devastated when Margaret died. He had blamed himself, and was now driven to see his daughter. It had almost become an obsession with him, and he hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
* * * *
Jack had no intention of doing anything stupid. He also had no intention of letting Eddie Renfrew have things his own way.
A plan was formulating in his head; nothing radical, just an easy way of solving the problem. He would sell his house in town and buy a cottage in the same village Janey lived in. At least he’d be able to watch her grown up, and he’d be able to work on his painting.
He had started painting during the war, when he’d been recuperating in hospital after he’d crashed his Hurricane. He’d been in a fever of impatience whilst he’d mended, and painting had become his therapy whilst the Battle of Britain continued without him in the skies above. It had become an absorbing hobby, one he’d continued to practice under his first names, John Gregory.
His skill earned him a modest income that was infinitely more satisfying than the business profits.
Without knowing it he’d walked along the quay to where his boat had once been moored. Scowling, he looked at the length of charred rope, still attached to the bollard. The boat had been his father’s and had crossed to Dunkirk for the evacuation of troops. She’d been called ‘The Maggie’ then, after his mother. A German fighter plane had strafed the boat in May 1940, when his father had lost his life.
He toyed with the idea of building another just like her, but she hadn’t been insured and the materials were too expensive to justify it. Besides, he’d never be able to reproduce her brave history, nor the bullet holes in the teak decking he’d so carefully caulked.
The fire had been deliberately lit. He still thought Eddie Renfrew had something to do with the fire, though the police had told him that the man’s alibi had checked out.
He tossed whether to tell his sister about his decision to move nearer the village where Janey lived, then decided against it. She’d only worry.
It was early dusk when he returned home. He cut through Poole Park. Mist breathed on the surface of the boating lake. Lovers were entwined of seats, and a pair of swans, neck’s gracefully arched, flapped their wings and hissed at him.
A group of youths were larking about on the cricket oval, watched by a trio of girls sitting on the steps. All wore the latest fashion, circular skirts in a paisley design, tight ribbed sweaters and elastic waspie belts to nip in their slender waists. They were giggling, and one of them whistled at him.
They were well dressed, well fed and carefree, enjoying their youth. Jack grinned. He’d been apprenticed to his father at their age, and just as carefree, not knowing that war had only been a few short years away.
He fingered the scar of his face. It all seemed so long ago now. He’d got off lightly. He’d survived, become successful with his business. But for what? Money? He had nothing else of value. Margaret, the only woman he’d ever loved, was dead, and his daughter Janey was denied him.
But not for long, he could watch her grow up and when she was old enough to know the truth ... His mood suddenly lightened and he quoted softly as he inserted the key in the lock, ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at their flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and misery.’
The tide had brought him both fortune and misery. For once in his life he intended to swim against it. He gave a wry smile. ‘Everything changes, even me.’
* * * *
Three months later Jack met his daughter.
In that time Canford Cottage had been rewired, the plumbing fixed, and he’d made a start on the internal repairs.
Feeling happier than he had for some time, he hummed to himself as he spread a trowel load of plaster over a hole in the wall. No need to be too careful since the uneven walls were part of the cottage’s charm. It would look nice painted a buttery yellow to tone in with the new carpet he’d chosen.
Next, he’d have to tackle the garden. He ducked his head to look at it through the tiny square-paned window. Flowers of every description and color grew amongst the lush green grass and hollyhocks climbed the outhouse wall. At the bottom of the garden was a small orchard of mossy-trunked apples, pears and plums. Around the garden a stone wall separated his cottage from a meadow. Set without mortar, it looked as though it had been there for ever.
A flash of red caught his eye. A child ... no, two, their heads bobbing up and down as they walked behind the wall. One was a dark-haired curly-headed imp, the other had flaxen braids tied in red ribbons. One ribbon trailed like a blood red banner.
‘Go on Janey, I dare you to look through the window and see if he’s as ugly as everyone says.’
Goosebumps prickled along his arms. Breath held, his eyes were riveted on the fair child as she scrambled over the wall and crept towards the house with the caution of a fox.
Something must have alerted her for she came to an abrupt stop and gazed up at him. The hem of her blue checked dress was a darker color where it had been lengthened. Her white socks had slid into the heels of shabby brown sandals.
Janey ... his daughter!
Jack’s heart slowly turned in his chest. She’d inherited his coloring, but her mouth was petal soft, just like her mother’s had been.
Her head slanted to one side in a little gesture of defiance. Bright blue eyes regarded him in wary contemplation.
Dry mouthed, he managed to smile. ‘Hello Janey.’
‘Run!’ the other child yelled.
Janey’s mouth turned up in a grin and she giggled. The she turned and sped away, scrambling over the wall liked a monkey. The pair of them went across the meadow, jumping from tuft to tuft and laughing.
He watched until the distance swallowed them, his smile fixed in place. It wasn’t until his sight blurred that he realized he was crying.
He closed his eyes, allowing his body to absorb his sense of loss. The grief he’d lived in over the past few years seemed to wash away with his tears, leaving him feeling vulnerable, yet somehow renewed.
He whispered, ‘Thank you for this gift, Margaret. She’s the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen.’