In Search of Hope (8 page)

Libby had already examined the fridge. It had been cleaned out and the door left partly open, so it didn’t need anything but a quick wipe of the shelves. The fridge was elderly, but it seemed to function well enough and soon grew cold.

There was a small freezer in the scullery, more than big enough to hold the few packets of frozen food she’d bought.

When she’d finished unpacking, she looked round in satisfaction. This terraced cottage might be no more than twelve feet wide, but it felt like a palace to her.

She hadn’t gone upstairs to the third floor yet. Joss had told her there was only a jumble of old furniture up there, but she wanted to check it out before dusk fell. Check it out and gaze out at the view. She felt she could never have enough of the big spaces. Even the sky seemed higher up here at the top of the moors.

‘Come on, Ned. We haven’t seen the rest of the house. Let’s go and have a look.’

Docile as always, he put down his toys and came across to join her.

He was too docile, too afraid of upsetting people. She was looking forward to a few rebellions and tantrums. She’d discuss that with Carina. Helping her son was a better reason for getting counselling than indulging herself.

Mrs Barley from Social Services turned up at the antiques centre the following day, as agreed, to introduce them to another candidate for the units. She was accompanied by a young woman who looked stiff and nervous.

Emily had asked Toby to meet the newcomer with her, hoping this would put her more at ease.

Mrs Barley shook her hand, then Toby’s. ‘This is Ashley Statham. Ashley, I told you about Toby and Emily.’

The young woman nodded, not offering to shake hands but staring at them as if memorising every detail of their appearance.

Toby smiled at her with his usual open friendliness. ‘Shall I show you your flat?’

Ashley took a step backwards, looking at Mrs Barley in panic.

‘We’ll all go to see the flat,’ the social worker said. ‘This place looks so different these days, Emily. Perhaps you’d tell Ashley what you’ve done to the old inn?’

Emily explained briefly about the antiques centre, while Ashley stood near the door and stared round. Then something caught her eye and she moved a little closer to a display.

‘This one needs dusting.’

‘Ashley likes things to be kept clean, just as Nicky did,’ Mrs Barley said. ‘That worked so well, and Nicky was so happy here, I wondered if it might happen again if we chose the right person.’

Something made Emily say, ‘Perhaps you can help me dust sometimes, Ashley?’

The young woman’s face brightened a little. ‘I like dusting. I’m very careful. Mummy taught me not to break things. I have her ornaments now and I won’t let them get dusty.’

Emily knew Ashley’s mother had died recently and there were no other close relatives, which was why the poor young woman had been handed over to Social Services. She had inherited some money, but wasn’t thought fit to continue on her own in her old home.

They walked past the coffee shop and through the huge old barn, where a stallholder was setting out her wares. That led them round the back of the inn to the oldest part, which was parallel to the front. Here the flats had been made from converted outhouses.

They went into a new passage which had big windows on the right, looking out towards the moors, and three doors on the left. There was a door with frosted-glass panels across the far end.

‘This is my home,’ Toby said proudly, opening the first door with a key hanging on a chain round his neck.

‘There are two other flats.’ Emily moved forward to unlock both doors. ‘If you think you’d like to live here, the middle one would be yours, Ashley.’ She pushed the door open.

Slowly, watching them carefully, as if afraid they’d jump on her, Ashley walked inside. The two women stood near the door, letting her go round at her own pace, but Toby went in after her and started explaining about the facilities. In such a small flat, this wasn’t really necessary, but Ashley didn’t seem to mind.

Emily smiled. Toby was so friendly and assumed others would be the same, and they usually were with him.

Ashley went round opening every single drawer and cupboard to look inside, then she stood by the window and looked out at the internal courtyard. ‘Flowers!’

Emily had put a few pots of flowers out to soften the courtyard, which was about twenty yards by thirty and was now paved by square grey setts. ‘Do you like flowers?’

‘We had flowers at home. I helped Mummy with the garden.’

‘You could help me and Toby look after these, if you liked. I’m sure he won’t mind.’

Ashley looked at her, then around the flat again, opening every cupboard and drawer for a second time.

After that, she turned to Toby. ‘Is your flat clean and tidy?’

‘She’s a bit obsessive about keeping things clean,’ Mrs Barley murmured to Emily. ‘Her mother must have spent untold hours training her to look after a house. A good fault for a tenant, don’t you think?’

‘Indeed, yes.’

‘Come and see my home.’ Toby led the way next door and again the two women stayed by the entrance.

‘It’s quite tidy,’ Ashley said. ‘I’ll help you keep it better than this, though.’

‘That’d be good,’ Toby agreed.

Bless him, Emily thought. He’d do anything for anybody.

‘Ashley’s brilliant at housework,’ Mrs Barley said. ‘Oh, and she has her own furniture. Would she be able to bring it?’

‘Of course. We can move these things out.’

‘We’ll send someone to check up on her a couple of times a week at first, and of course someone will take the two of them shopping every week.’

Ashley came out of Toby’s flat and he took her into the courtyard. She stood with her head on one side, as if listening, then turned to Mrs Barley. ‘This is a good place. I can come and live next to Toby. I can keep everything very clean.’

Mrs Barley turned to look questioningly at Emily.

‘I’d be very happy to have you here, Ashley,’ she said at once.

The young woman nodded, as if expecting that answer.

‘We’ll go and choose the things you’ll need and arrange for them to be brought over tomorrow, Ashley,’ Mrs Barley said.

‘I’ll have this furniture taken out,’ Emily said.

‘And I’ll help you set up your new home, Ashley,’ Mrs Barley said.

‘No. I’ll arrange everything. I know where things go.’

‘Your furniture might not fit in here the same way as it did at home.’

‘Mummy and I re-arranged things sometimes. I can re-arrange things here.’

‘I can help you lift the heavy things,’ Toby offered.

‘If you do it carefully. We mustn’t scratch the furniture.’

He beamed at her. ‘I’ll be careful. I’ll be happy to have a friend next door. Come and look at this.’

He took Ashley along to the communal room at the end. ‘This is where we can all meet and watch television together.’

She looked round it, eyes narrowing. ‘This room needs re-arranging. You can help me do that, too, Toby.’

He nodded cheerfully.

‘What exactly is Ashley’s diagnosis?’ Emily asked in a low voice.

‘A form of autism. Her mother gave her a lot of attention, so she learned to interact with people, but she’s very rigid about keeping things tidy and arranging them just so. Obsessive even. We don’t want her to upset Toby. If you want to employ her in the antiques centre, she’d probably be brilliant at dusting everything.’

‘A job that bores me.’

Mrs Barley nodded. ‘It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, not even charging them rent.’

‘Chad and I were both trapped in poor care after accidents, and we know how bad the experience can be,’ Emily explained. ‘We have enough money to do this as long as the tenants’ social benefits cover their living expenses.’

Libby went up to explore the third floor of her new home. These stairs were slightly narrower than those below, and the stairwell was enclosed in panelling, with a door at the bottom. She opened the door and found herself facing a dark space with six steps then a bend from which some daylight showed. The treads were of bare wood with the stain worn off in the middle, where countless feet must have trodden their way up.

As she and Ned walked up, their footsteps echoed in the stairwell and he laughed, stamping his feet to make more noise.

It was brighter in the big room at the top than anywhere else in the cottage, because of the long walls of windows, from waist to ceiling height, on either side. They had stone uprights between each panel of glass. Mullioned windows, she thought they were called. She’d have to look that up online.

She went to gaze out of the front windows at a view you would have paid millions for elsewhere: rolling moors, with the occasional clump of trees surrounding old-fashioned stone farmhouses, or short rows of workers’ cottages. Not many red bricks up here.

She’d explore the area around the village gradually, taking Ned on little outings, she decided. The weather was getting warmer and they were both due to have some fun.

She stood him on a chair, so that he could look out properly, but held him carefully as she pointed out of the window. ‘See the cows in that field, Ned? And the white things over there are sheep.’

He soon tired of staring out and got down to explore the big room. As he walked round, he began to look more and more worried. ‘It’s not tidy. Daddy will shout. We have to clear up quickly.’

Only four and he knew that already.

‘Daddy doesn’t live here. He won’t see it.’

Ned stared at her, as if he couldn’t take this in.

‘Come on, darling. We need to have our tea, then unpack more of our things.’

On the floor below, she stopped at the doorway of the back bedroom. ‘This is your room. We’ll make up the bed and you can sleep in here tonight.’

He looked round the room and inched closer to her. ‘Don’t want to.’

‘You’ll like it when Boo-Bear is here with you.’

Looking dubious, Ned followed her down the stairs and without telling began to put his things away.

‘No need to put them away. Daddy doesn’t live with us now.’ She wondered how many times she’d have to say that before he believed it. ‘We can do what
we
want here.’

But such a big change was a lot for a child of four to understand and Ned still kept listening as if waiting for his father to come home from work.

Not until Ned had fallen asleep in his new bedroom, clutching his bear, did Libby open the letter from her grandmother. She wanted desperately to see what was inside, and yet she was almost afraid to read it.

She opened the envelope to find many sheets of letter paper, all filled with that angular black handwriting.

The covering note alone had her in tears.

Darling Libby,

I’m writing to say goodbye. It won’t be long now before I die and I’ll be glad to go. What do people say? Old age isn’t for the faint hearted. Neither is cancer, however caring the doctors and nurses.

I do understand you’d have come to see me if you could. And I thank you for the annual letters. They meant a great deal to me and I still re-read them occasionally.

I don’t know why you stopped writing a few years ago, but no doubt you had a good reason. Perhaps it was to do with your husband.

I confess that when a second Christmas went by without a letter, I paid a private investigator to check what you were doing, to make sure you were well. And I sent him every year to do another check.

It didn’t sound as if your husband was making you happy, but at least he gave you a son. I’ve seen photos of Ned. What a darling!

I hope my legacy helps you with whatever you want for yourself in life and please forgive me for making conditions. Only I didn’t want the money to go to your husband.

Last year my private investigator thought you were looking very strained, so I took a chance that you might want to leave Steven if you could.

If you’re reading this, then perhaps I was right.

Whatever you decide to do in the future, I hope you have a happy life and that your son grows into a fine young man.

Much love

Rose

By the time she finished reading the cover letter, Libby was in tears. She read it again, sobbing helplessly. Why hadn’t she been braver and left Steven before? She could have found help. She could have seen Grandma Rose again before she died.

She didn’t start to read her grandmother’s unsent replies to her annual letters, couldn’t face them yet.

She’d had so much stress during the past few days that all she wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep for a long time.

He had to act, get Libby back, Steven decided the following evening as he opened the door to a cold, silent house and realised he’d not thought about what he was going to have for tea.

Anger rose in him. He could manage perfectly well for himself, of course he could, but he didn’t see why he should have to. He was a business executive, not a housewife.

He went to the freezer and found a freezer bag neatly labelled ‘Spaghetti Bolognese’. He pulled it out, put it on a plate and stuck it in the microwave.

How long, he wondered. Shrugging, he put it on for five minutes.

When the microwave pinged and he pulled it out, half the cling film cover had melted and yet the food was still frozen in places. Gingerly he pulled off the pieces of cling film and stuck the plate in the microwave again, this time for three minutes.

When he pulled it out, the edges of the food were overcooked and hard in places, but at least it had thawed. He wanted to hurl it at the window, smash everything in sight … He stopped and took a deep breath. Of course he wouldn’t do that. He mustn’t lose control.

He sat down at the kitchen table, unable to face setting the dining-room table, though he despised eating in here. Gingerly he picked his way through the mess on his plate, discarding bits that seemed too hard, eating the rest stoically.

He’d prepare in advance for tomorrow. In the freezer he found a ‘roast beef dinner’ and put it in the fridge to thaw out overnight.