A Winter Bride (29 page)

At home, Nell laid out her money on the kitchen table. She had just over a hundred pounds. She searched the house for more. She dug into pockets, emptied her mother’s handbag, peered into drawers and came up with a further five pounds. She had a tidy little running-away fund. She’d go tomorrow.

She couldn’t sleep that night. Fear plagued her. London was a huge and worrisome place. Where would she sleep tomorrow night? A small hotel, she decided. Then she’d find a job, possibly in a shop or a bar. After that she’d find a bedsit. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. It helped to speak out loud. She almost convinced herself.

But arriving alone in the big city, almost penniless, certainly friendless, was the stuff of big adventures. People did such things. Nell had seen this story often in the movies and it always ended in success – glory, even. Good things happen to people; why shouldn’t they happen to me? It’s my turn, she told herself.

But still when she let her imaginings rip, the streets she walked were dark and strangers lurked; night came and she had nowhere to stay; windows were lit; people in glistening rooms pulled their curtains shutting her out in the cold. Buildings loomed large. And, somehow, she was smaller.

If she listed the things she wanted, it wasn’t money or friends or success that came out top. It was safety. More than anything else, she wanted the pain of recent events to stop. She wanted to stop fearing what would happen next because she couldn’t stand another shock, another thing to add to her aches. She wanted to be safe.

Chapter Thirty

Safe

It was Mrs Lowrie who planted the notion of going on holiday in Nell’s mind. Nell had always been wary of the woman. Mrs Lowrie had always given her the most peculiar of looks, as if she knew something about Nell that Nell didn’t know herself. It had happened again at the funeral when Mrs Lowrie had said everyone would have been happy with sandwiches and fruit cake.

Nell didn’t know that Mrs Lowrie was responsible for her very existence. Without Mrs Lowrie she would not be on the planet. This was the woman who’d set the seeds of guilt in her mum’s heart when she’d mentioned that it was a woman’s duty to let her husband have his way with her, especially during wartime. If Nancy hadn’t taken this seriously, she’d never have submitted to Nell’s dad’s desires on that fateful night when Nell was conceived. Now she was about to have a hand in Nell’s destiny for a second time.

Nell was walking down the path, suitcase in hand. She’d looked round the house and said goodbye to it. She had the keys in her pocket and would hand them in at the council office before going to the station. She was awash with trepidation and joy: the first because she was afraid of what might happen to her; the second because she was saying goodbye to everything. Walking away gave her hope. It was an act of defiance.

She met Mrs Lowrie at the gate and they exchanged good mornings.

Mrs Lowrie noticed the suitcase. ‘Going on holiday, Nell? Just what you need after all you’ve been through. A few days to blow away the cobwebs and relax.’

Not wanting to discuss her plans, Nell agreed: she was going on holiday.

‘Where are you off to?’

‘London.’

‘On your own? Oh, I wouldn’t go there on my own. It’s too big. You could get lost and if you do you need someone with you. And what about eating? You can’t go into a café or restaurant on your own.’

‘I’ll manage. There’s lots to do in London, galleries and cinemas. I’ll be fine.’

‘No, you won’t. Trudging through busy streets all alone. Getting jostled, looking out for pickpockets – London’s full of them. That’s not a holiday. You want to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere where you can rest, gather yourself after all your woes, eat and sleep. That’s a holiday.’

Nell said she liked cities. ‘All I need is to get away.’

‘Oh, well, if that’s what you want. London’s not for me. I like quiet. I like peace. And if you ask me peace and quiet are what you need right now. Still, have a lovely time.’

All the way to the council offices, Nell thought about this. She handed over the house keys, paid her rent and walked to the station. A holiday, she thought. I haven’t had a holiday in ages. In fact, she’d only had two holidays in her life. One, when she went on honeymoon with Alistair. The other, when she went to a Highland village, Catto, with her parents when she was little. It had only lasted a week.

Memories of the holiday in the Highlands with her parents swam in her head. Remembering that time soothed her. She had snapshot memories – her father, trousers rolled up, paddling in the sea with her; her mother sitting on a deckchair watching, eating fish and chips at the harbour; breakfasts of porridge and a boiled egg at the B&B where they’d stayed. What was the name of that place?

Nell stopped, put her case down on the pavement and thought. It had been the combination of the names of the husband and wife who owned the house. Nell sat on her case. This bothered her. She would not move till she remembered. Their names were Kelvin and Byrony.
Kelby
, that was it. They used to put out cakes and chocolate biscuits at breakfast time, she remembered. God, no wonder I thought it a wondrous place. She got up, took her case and headed for the station.

‘Why “Kelby”?’ Nell’s mother had asked. They had been in the small dining room at the time.

Bryony, a small woman with long black hair, had laughed and explained. ‘But it is an actual word. It means “place by flowing water” in Gaelic.’

Nell had wished she lived there, in that house with those lovely people. The bedroom had had a sink where she could clean her teeth last thing at night and then jump into bed. One morning, instead of porridge, she’d had cornflakes for the first time in her life. She’d thought them exquisite.

She’d thought that if she’d lived there she could have them every day. She could go to the beach in the mornings on her own. She might have a boat she could row to her own secret island and have adventures.

Struggling down the Waverley steps into the station, Nell realised that even then, all those years ago, she’d been dreaming her life rather than living it. It was time to stop. Time to have a holiday and celebrate the start of a new life and a new Nell.

Chapter Thirty-one

Greek Gods

It was seven o’clock when Nell arrived in the Highland village of Catto. If she’d bought a ticket to London, she’d have been there already. She had no idea the journey was so long – four hours on a train, an hour on a bus, then two hours on a second bus – but then she couldn’t recall coming here before or going home again; she only remembered being here.

All the way, desperate to reach her destination, whooshing sometimes, trundling sometimes, through spectacular countryside, heathered mountains, rambling rivers, she had urged the train and buses on. Catto was where she had to be.

The place hadn’t changed much. At least, she didn’t think it had. The air smelled ozone fresh, though as she walked the main street there were wafts of booze from the pubs. Seagulls floated above the harbour. Windows were lit. Bubbling conversations sparked with laughter drifted from each of them, but there was nobody in the street except her.

A rush of nervy panic swept through her. What was she doing here? She had nowhere to stay. There were several public benches along the opposite side of the street, facing out to the sea. Nell dreaded that she might spend the night on one of them. If this is the new me, she thought, she is even sillier than the old me. Why didn’t I phone in advance and book a room?

Catto’s main street consisted of a long row of houses, mostly painted white and facing the water, a narrow beach, a harbour with three or four fishing boats, an ice cream shop, a fish and chip shop, a general store, a chandler’s and the three pubs. There was also small café; inside was a group of teenagers sipping frothy coffee, and the Beatles blared out ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’.

Nell stopped and listened. It was a new sound. The sound of a new generation. If the Locarno hadn’t closed down, that’s what the band would be playing. The singer would be ruining it with his eyebrow movements and his BBC newsreader accent. God, she thought, it’s three and a half years since I last went to the Locarno. Three and a half years and I married, left my job, lost my husband, my job, my best friend and my parents. I should have been more careful. She resisted the urge to run into the café to warn the kids in there about the dangers of life. The teenagers inside were all staring back at her as she dithered on the pavement. They were sneering. Ha, she thought, you call that sneering? I can out-sneer the lot of you.

She turned and walked to the corner, the way to the B&B where she’d stayed all those years ago slowly coming back to her. She’d walked this route from Main Street to the house so often with her parents, it was engrained in her memory. Round the corner, up the hill, then along Springfield Street and there was Kelby. It was up a short drive behind a giant monkey puzzle tree. Nell rang the bell.

An older, greyer Byrony opened the door.

Nell coughed and asked if there were any rooms vacant. ‘I know I should have phoned and booked, but it was a spur of the moment thing.’

Byrony stood still, staring at Nell.

‘See,’ said Nell. ‘I stayed here years ago. With my mum and dad. Only they died recently. First Mum, and then Dad. He couldn’t live without her. And I thought it would be wonderful to come here where we were happy. You know, return to where memories were made.’ She wished this woman would say something. The more she kept her mouth shut, the more Nell spoke. ‘I mean what’s the point of staying in that house where we lived. I was alone and thinking of them. I was so sad I could hardly breathe.’

Byrony invited her in. As Nell stepped into the hall, Byrony stepped out and looked down the drive. ‘Are you on your own?’

Nell said she was.

‘No matter,’ said Byrony. ‘I’m not busy.’ She led the way upstairs. ‘The room has a view of the garden and over the rooftops to the sea. It’s one of our best. Ten shillings a night, breakfast is at eight, but you’ve missed supper. Bathroom’s across the hall.’ There was a large double bed, a small button-down chair and a desk by the window. It was perfect.

‘Where have you come from?’

‘Edinburgh.’

‘Well, that’s a way to come. Did you drive?’

Nell shook her head. ‘Train and a couple of buses.’

Byrony said she’d leave Nell to settle in. At the door she stopped. ‘I expect you’re hungry. I’ll make you a sandwich. It’ll be in the sitting room in ten minutes.’

It wasn’t a sandwich. It was a heap of sandwiches on a platter, along with a slice of coffee cake, a selection of biscuits and a pot of tea.

‘Thank you,’ Nell said. ‘I don’t think I could eat all that food.’

‘Just take what you want.’ Byrony sat watching Nell as she bit into a sandwich. ‘Just when were you and your mum and dad here?’

‘About seventeen years ago,’ Nell told her.

Byrony stared. ‘Don’t remember you. Sorry.’

‘I was just a kid. We only stayed for a week.’ She looked round. ‘Where are the other guests?’

‘There aren’t any,’ said Byrony. ‘I stopped doing bed and breakfast ten years ago.’

Nell put down her sandwich. ‘I’m sorry. I should go. I didn’t know. It’s just this is where I stayed before. I didn’t think.’

Bryony raised her hand to silence Nell. ‘When I saw you there at the door looking pale and worried and nervous, I couldn’t turn you away. Poor lost soul, I thought. Never mind, I’ll enjoy the company. Haven’t had any paying guests since my husband ran off with the postmistress. It wasn’t the same without him.’

‘Kelvin?’ said Nell.

Byrony nodded.

‘I remember because of the name of the house,’ said Nell.

Byrony said she always meant to take down the nameplate. ‘Never got round to it. I really should go back to being plain old number six. It’s this place, it makes you procrastinate. You never do today what you can put off till tomorrow. I think that’s the local hobby, procrastination.’ She stood up. ‘Bedtime for me. I’m an early riser. Busy day tomorrow. I’ve a whole lot of procrastinating to be getting on with.’

Nell finished her sandwiches, ate the coffee cake and went to her room. She unpacked her case, cleaned her teeth in the bathroom across the hall, undressed and climbed into bed. It was soft and spacious. She spread herself out, sighed and slept.

When she woke, Byrony was leaning over the bed, peering at her.

‘By God, you can sleep.’

Nell rubbed her eyes, looked round and wondered for a moment where she was and what was happening.

‘You’re at the bed and breakfast house with me,’ said Byrony. ‘You turned up on my doorstep last night.’

‘Right,’ Nell said. ‘Of course. What time is it?’

‘Three o’clock.’

Nell lay back. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’ She’d sleep some more.

‘It’s the middle of the afternoon. I was worried about you. Thought you might have died. I came up to check you were still alive.’

Nell threw back the blankets. ‘I should get up.’

‘You’re on holiday. You’ve nothing to do. I’ll leave you to get washed and dressed; there will be some sort of breakfast for you when you come downstairs.’

Nell spent what was left of her day looking round the village. It didn’t take long. She bought a pair of walking shoes at the general store, stared at the boats in the harbour, looked at piles of rope and lobster creels, threw a few pebbles from the narrow beach into the sea, and then went back to the B&B where Byrony had prepared an evening meal.

‘I only ate a couple of hours ago,’ Nell complained.

‘No matter, you can eat again. You need it. There’s nothing of you. Also, you can sign the visitor’s book. It’s in the hall.’

Nell stood, pen in hand, debating what to write. Eventually she decided to use her maiden name.
Nell McClusky
, she wrote. She was done with the Rutherfords.

Byrony invited her to eat in the kitchen with her. ‘No point you eating in one room, me in another. Your food’s on the table.’

The kitchen was large and cluttered, with a cooking range, plants on the windowsill, and a long pine table in the centre. Nell and Byrony sat either end. Then Byrony decided they were too far apart for comfortable passing of the bottle of tomato ketchup and conversation. She moved nearer to Nell. ‘Dig in. Fish is good for you. Helps your weary brain.’