‘All right, love?’ Brenda, the formidable landlady of the Rose Cottage Bed and Breakfast, called as Alex turned his key and pushed the heavy wooden front door open. ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am,’ Alex replied as he hurried through the cool hallway of the cottage, his boots tapping against the tiles of the floor as he approached the stairs. Catching sight of Brenda buzzing around her living room, straightening magazines on the immaculately polished coffee table and whipping out a duster for the ornaments on the mantelpiece, while her husband Roy slumped in his armchair watching the early evening news, Alex quickened his pace. He liked the centrality of the B & B, but Brenda was a talker, and after a long first day at Carter’s he wanted to be alone to gather his thoughts.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed across the landing and into his room. The bed had been neatly made, once again; almost too neatly for his liking, and there was an almost overpowering scent emanating from a jar of sweet peas that Brenda had placed on the small desk in the corner of the room. Under his bed was his wheeled suitcase, and his clothes were hung neatly in the small pine wardrobe on the other side of the room. Reaching under the bed, he retrieved the suitcase, which he’d padlocked again before putting it out of sight.
Glancing around to ensure that the bedroom door was shut, he opened the lock and unzipped the compartment on the inside of the lid. He pulled out the sheaf of papers hidden inside and sat down on the edge of the bed. Untying the red ribbon that kept them all together, his hands trembled as he separated out around half a dozen letters; letters so passionate that when he’d first read them, he’d struggled to acknowledge that they were intended for their original recipient. At the bottom of the pile of documents was a dog-eared photograph, yellowed with time and slightly creased across the middle. The photograph said more than the letters ever could, and for a while Alex just looked at it, trying to connect. He’d looked at it a thousand times since his mother had passed everything on, but it still brought him no closer to the truth.
‘Will you be wanting dinner, my lovely?’ Brenda’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs, so strident that it could penetrate closed doors.
Alex jumped as if he’d been caught in some misdemeanour. ‘No, thank you, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to go for a run and I’ll get something later.’ He couldn’t get used to the English bed and breakfast culture, where there seemed to be an obligation to make oneself accountable to your landlady at all times. When he’d watched Fawlty Towers with his mother as a kid, he’d thought it was all too absurd to be true, but elements of the beloved British sitcom did seem to exist in the hospitality industry, at least here in Little Somerby. Brenda certainly had a touch of Sybil Fawlty about her. He carefully retied the ribbon and put the papers back into the suitcase, being sure to secure the padlock before stashing it under the bed again. It wouldn’t do to leave them lying about.
Changing swiftly into his running gear, he headed back out onto the landing. A run would clear his head, he thought. There was so much to take in, and not just the information overload that Sophie Henderson had joked about when he’d first met her this morning. Crossing continents for the summer, for a job that barely paid enough to cover his weekly rent at the B & B, immersing himself into a whole new career, meeting new people… he felt overwhelmed by it all. Not to mention the more personal reasons for his visit to England.
Alex began to jog, trying to find his own pace on the narrow pavements of Little Somerby until he could reach the Strawberry Line, which ran parallel to the village centre. A former railway branch line that had been closed during the 1960s, it was now a foot and cycle path that ran from the World Heritage site of Cheddar through to the railway town of Yatton, with plans, eventually, to extend from the coast at the picturesque seaside town of Clevedon down to Yeovil. Popular with locals and tourists alike, it was a great introduction to the Somerset landscape – at least that was what the leaflet in the B & B had said. Although Alex didn’t fancy doing the whole of the run from Little Somerby to Cheddar, which was an eight mile round trip, he did want to see the disused railway tunnel that was about halfway down the Little Somerby stretch of the line.
Finding his pace, his feet got into a rhythm. The Strawberry Line was bordered each side by elder and oak trees, the elders in full flower, their gentle scent wafting into the early evening air. As Alex passed the local football club, he smiled to see a group of primary school children kicking a ball around. The season was over for now, but clearly the passion still remained. Jogging further, he passed fields of ewes calling throatily to their lambs, and the lambs bleating in sleepy response as the day began to cool. The honeysuckle in the hedgerows waved gently in the breeze, giving off its own sweet aroma, and gradually allowing him to shrug off the pressures of the day.
As he approached the railway tunnel, the air around him changed, becoming cooler and damper. Huge banks of rock reared up on either side of the tunnel’s approach, covered in vivid green ferns and moss. Feeling a flutter of apprehension, Alex picked up his pace a little as the yawning mouth of the tunnel approached. In the light from the other side he could see a cyclist approaching, so he kept to the left hand side, assuming that the road rules would be the same here as on the street. Entering the tunnel, he realised too late that the solar lights weren’t working, so in the centre of the tunnel he’d be running blind. He hoped the path was even; he didn’t fancy a trip to the local hospital if he could help it.
Slowing his pace to adjust to the darkness and the rough path underfoot, Alex could hear his own regular breathing echoing off the walls of the tunnel, which dripped with condensation, splashing into pools in the recesses of the walls. The crags and bumps of the uneven, rock hewn sides of the tunnel reared into view in the almost darkness, like the ghosts of long ago trains. Alex felt his spine tingling in response, and unconsciously upped his pace towards the light. In the distance, he could see the cyclist growing nearer, but the illusion of the tunnel made it seem endless. Breathing more heavily, he pushed on, waiting for the moment when the light would penetrate the all encompassing darkness.
What was he really in Little Somerby for? he mused as he pounded on. What was he hoping to find? Was it truly about starting afresh, or was he trying to cling onto the past, to the shreds of memories that weren’t even his? Was this decision to run a cidery merely an early onset mid-life crisis, or could he really see himself making a success of it? So many questions were spinning in his head, after only a day at Carter’s, that he wondered how he was going to feel when he was weeks into the internship.
As he reached the end of the tunnel, when the light began to infiltrate the darkness, his thoughts turned again to Sophie, whose welcoming smile and bright blue eyes had immediately put him at ease. She’d been completely professional, and was clearly very knowledgeable, and spending the day with her had been as much of a pleasure as a learning process. Emerging fully into the light, he couldn’t suppress the thought that Sophie would make a good friend; perhaps, even something more. But there was no point in thinking that way; he was only in England until the end of September, and after that he’d have his hands full with running Adelaide’s full time. Not to mention that his recent track record with women wasn’t exactly worth shouting about. Messy didn’t even begin to cover it. It was probably just as well he’d decided to steer clear of dating in the aftermath of his mother’s death; he had enough to work through, without throwing falling in love into the equation. Alex picked up his pace once more, heading out onto the main road and back towards the heart of the village, which, he thought, was the only heart he should be thinking about right now. Pushing all further thoughts out of his mind, he concentrated on throwing off his jet lag, and headed back to the B & B.