Alice-Miranda Shines Bright 8 (3 page)

 

M
yrtle Parker opened the car boot and gathered up her grocery bags. She walked up the front steps and put her key in the door, pausing for a moment to admire her newly renovated front garden. It had always been Reginald's domain, but ever since his accident, things had got out of hand. Myrtle had despaired at the waist-high weeds and stinging nettles that lurked among her flowerbeds. When Ambrosia Headlington-Bear had moved in across the road, she did wonders on her own garden. So when she offered to help Myrtle get things in order, it seemed impolite not to accept.

Ambrosia was a surprisingly efficient worker and Myrtle excelled at supervision so they made a fabulous team. If only Reginald could see what she'd achieved, Myrtle was sure he'd be very proud.

‘Reginald,' Myrtle called as she shuffled down the hallway. ‘I'm home. I wish you could see the garden. The roses are blooming and the lawn looks like a bowling green but the gutters will need painting again soon. Oh, and I saw Evelyn Pepper at the store. She seems to have made a full recovery and I think she and Dick Wigglesworth are planning a trip abroad. Can you imagine? I wonder what Her Majesty will think about that?'

Myrtle had never been overseas. When she and Reginald were younger they didn't have the time or money and now, well, it simply wasn't possible. Deep down she had always harboured a dream to have a holiday in Tuscany. Myrtle shook the thought from her mind.

She went straight to the kitchen and unpacked her groceries, lining the tins up in the cupboards like an army of metal soldiers. Then she set about making a pot of tea. No doubt Raylene would have a cup – Reginald's nurse didn't seem to be capable of making her own but she was never one to turn down an offer.

‘Oh, and Reginald, we've been invited to Ambrosia's for Sunday lunch but of course I'll give your apologies, won't I?'

Myrtle poured milk into her cup and did the same for Raylene.

‘Tea's ready,' she called. Myrtle sat at the small round table at the end of the kitchen. After a couple of minutes, she called out again. Myrtle wondered if the woman was deaf. Despite her earlier misgivings, Raylene had proven herself the most reliable nurse Reginald had had to date. She'd lasted several months too, which Myrtle was thankful for. The endless stream of interviews for new nurses had grown tiresome.

Myrtle set her teacup onto the saucer with a thud. She stood up and exhaled loudly. ‘Good grief, woman, your tea's going to be stone-cold. I suppose you'd like me to bring it in for you?'

She slid back the glass door that led into the front sitting room. ‘Raylene!' she called tersely, but the woman wasn't there. Her latest knitting project sat abandoned on the sofa and her handbag, which was usually glued to her side, was missing too.

Myrtle walked further into the room, wondering if Raylene had fallen asleep on the reclining chair in the corner again.

‘Honestly, Reginald, I told her that I was popping out to the shop and she knows better than to leave you alone,' Myrtle fussed. She turned around and was about to continue upbraiding the nurse when she stopped in her tracks.

‘Reginald?' Myrtle's voice fluttered like a paper bag in a windstorm and she gulped loudly. ‘Reginald, where are you?'

Myrtle Parker stared at the hospital bed that took up most of the sitting room. It was empty. The machines that usually blipped and blinked stood silent. She caught sight of Newton, her treasured garden gnome, staring at her from the mantelpiece.

A wave of nausea engulfed her and Myrtle reached out to steady herself on the side of the bed.

‘Well, where is he?' she demanded of her little concrete friend. But of course, if Newton knew anything, he wasn't telling.

Myrtle stood still for a few moments before taking off as fast as her legs could carry her; down the hallway, opening and closing bedroom doors, and calling out her husband's name. He was nowhere to be seen. She ran to the front door and down the steps to the driveway.

‘Reginald! Reginald Parker, where are you?' she called. Her face drained of colour and she felt as giddy as a six-year-old on a carousel.

At the other end of Rosebud Lane, Alice-Miranda, Millie, Jacinta and Sloane were on their way to Wisteria Cottage to see Jacinta's mother when they spied Mrs Parker. Alice-Miranda hadn't even been sure that Jacinta still wanted her friends to go along, after their upset that morning. But when she'd asked, Jacinta had said of course she did, as if nothing had happened at all.

‘Oh, no,' Millie groaned. ‘I was hoping we'd get to the house without running into Nosey. She's bound to have a whole list of jobs that need doing – and of course she won't be afraid to ask.'

‘Millie, please don't call her that. Mrs Parker's perfectly lovely; she's just lonely,' Alice-Miranda said.

‘Seriously, Alice-Miranda, she's the biggest busy­body in the whole village,' Millie scoffed. ‘I don't know why you can't see that.'

‘Whatever she asks, just say no,' said Sloane. ‘She can't
make
us do anything.'

‘Really? You obviously don't know her as well as Millie does,' Jacinta added. ‘Mrs Parker got
my
mother – the woman who, up until a few months ago, wouldn't even touch dirt, let alone dig in it – to give her garden a full makeover. I'm pretty sure Mrs Parker could get Queen Georgiana to do her washing up if she put her mind to it.'

Millie giggled. She'd just seen a glimpse of their true friend making her way out of that grumpy impostor's body.

Jacinta grinned too.

Myrtle Parker momentarily regained her balance before stumbling down the drive into the middle of the lane, her arms flailing about like a windmill.

‘I think something's wrong,' Alice-Miranda said. She ran towards the old woman.

The other girls hung back for a moment but when Mrs Parker fell to her knees, they raced after their friend.

‘Mrs Parker, whatever's the matter?' asked Alice-Miranda.

The old woman's face was wet with tears. Alice-Miranda fished about in her pocket before handing over a tissue.

‘Mrs Parker?' the girl tried again. ‘Has something happened to Mr Parker?'

Myrtle nodded slowly and took in a deep breath.

The other girls reached the scene. ‘It's Mr Parker,' Alice-Miranda explained. ‘Millie, run inside and call an ambulance.'

Mrs Parker shook her head. ‘No!' she said sharply. ‘He's gone.'

Alice-Miranda felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. They were too late. She'd loved reading to Mr Parker each week; he was a terribly good listener and a few times she could have sworn that his mouth almost twitched into a smile. Once, she even thought he'd giggled.

Sloane said what the other girls were thinking. ‘So, he's dead?'

‘Heavens, no.' Mrs Parker glared at Sloane, her lips pursed as if she'd sucked a lemon.

Millie was confused. ‘So, he's not dead?'

‘I really wouldn't know,' the old woman huffed.

The girls exchanged puzzled looks.

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Parker, but I don't understand,' said Alice-Miranda as she helped the woman to her feet.

‘Why don't you know if he's dead?' asked Sloane. ‘Is he breathing?'

‘I wouldn't know because . . . because he's gone.' Myrtle dissolved into shuddery sobs.

‘Gone where?' Millie wondered when he had woken up. Everyone knew that Reginald Parker had been asleep on a hospital bed in the middle of the Parkers' sitting room for the past three years. He'd fallen off the roof while cleaning the gutters, broken a leg and a taken a nasty bump on the head. It had looked as if he'd make a full recovery but every day, when Mrs Parker visited the hospital and presented him with an increasing list of jobs to get done, he seemed to grow more and more exhausted. One day he fell asleep and never woke up.

Mrs Parker found it all a dreadful inconvenience. Her afternoon tea parties were ruined by having to converse with her friends over the mound of bedclothes. Nevertheless, Mr Parker had the best of care and everyone hoped that one day he would finally awake.

Myrtle scowled at Millie. ‘If I knew where he was, I'd go and get him, wouldn't I? It's just like him to wake up and head straight out for a walk. Couldn't wait to leave, I'm sure – and I have so many jobs for him. Selfish man.'

‘Seriously, could you blame him?' Sloane whispered behind her hand to Jacinta.

Jacinta shook her head.

‘What was that, young lady?' Sloane hadn't expected Mrs Parker to have such sharp ears.

Sloane smiled tightly. ‘Nothing.'

‘But Mrs Parker, that's wonderful news,' said Alice-Miranda, beaming. She had been so looking forward to meeting Mr Parker properly. ‘He's woken up. He's come back to you. I think we should split up and look for him. And if we don't find him, then we should alert Constable Derby. I'm sure the doctors would like to see him. It must be a medical miracle!'

‘He'll need another one of those if I get my hands on him first,' Mrs Parker sniffled. ‘And as for that nurse – just wait until I get hold of her. Unreliable woman!'

Alice-Miranda wondered what poor Nurse Raylene had done to upset Mrs Parker this time.

Sloane rolled her eyes. ‘They probably made a run for it together,' she whispered to Jacinta.

Alice-Miranda ignored this and set about organising the search. ‘I'll go with Millie. Jacinta, you and Sloane take the high street, and Mrs Parker, why don't you check the back garden and the shed? Did Mr Parker like to spend time up there?'

Myrtle Parker nodded. Her husband had spent rather too much time in the shed for her liking.

‘We'll meet back here in half an hour. Make sure to ask anyone you see if they've spotted him. What was he wearing?' Alice-Miranda thought it was probably his pyjamas but she wanted to be sure.

‘His blue striped pyjamas, of course,' Myrtle replied. She stared at the children. ‘Well, don't just stand there.'

With that, Alice-Miranda and Millie ran towards the end of the lane. They would wind their way through each street until they met with Sloane and Jacinta. Winchesterfield wasn't terribly big and Mr Parker probably hadn't got far. Alice-Miranda just hoped that he hadn't had a relapse – if he'd lain down in a field, they might never find him.

 

 

S
tan Frost reached across his desk and picked up the envelope he'd collected earlier that day. He removed the letter, scanned its contents and sighed.

Another one. They were certainly persistent. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a small pile of papers. He clipped on this latest letter, then replaced the bundle. He was about to close the drawer when he spotted something at the back. It was another bundle of letters, still inside their handwritten envelopes. He pulled them out and stared at the top one. The words ‘Return to Sender' stabbed at his heart. His mouth felt dry. He quickly returned them to the drawer and pushed it closed. Stan walked out of the little room he called his study and into the kitchen.

Two saucepans huddled together on the range, containing vegetables he'd peeled and chopped earlier in the morning. At five thirty on the dot he'd light the cooker and start dinner. Tonight he had a lovely trout fillet to go with the potatoes, beans, carrots and sprouts. A good lot of colour there, he'd thought to himself as he'd peeled the potatoes with deft speed; Beryl would have approved for sure. A tear escaped his left eye. He brushed it away, shaking his head. Just the thought of her and he went to water, even though she'd been gone for almost three years now.

It was just as well he enjoyed his own company, otherwise he could have gone a little loopy out here in the woods. He had Cynthia and the dogs, and more chickens, ducks and geese than he could keep track of. There were trout in the stream and the odd deer wandered through. He had a vegetable patch to be proud of and a couple of goats for milking. There was nothing more that he needed. He walked to the letterbox once a week to retrieve the mail. All up, life suited him just fine at Wood End. Stan picked up the bucket of scraps from the edge of the sink and walked to the back door.

Cynthia began to bray loudly. ‘All right, girl, I'm coming. And where are those two little friends of yours?' He scanned the paddock nearest the cottage. Cynthia shared her patch with Cherry and Pickles, two goats she pretended to dislike intensely but could often be found cuddled up with on wintry nights. There was a small shelter in the far corner and a trough and feed bin near the gate. Cherry and Pickles charged towards Cynthia – they never missed an opportunity to eat. Stan emptied the bucket onto the ground and the little donkey and her friends quickly hoovered up the vegetable scraps. Cynthia's lower lip quivered and Stan couldn't help but laugh. It always looked as if she had something she was trying to say.

‘And where are those other two little terrors? Maudie, Itch, come on. Time to go in,' he called to his two cocker spaniels. It wasn't like them to stray far from home. Stan walked around to the front garden. He could almost hear Beryl's voice:
pretty as a picture
, she used to say. The garden had been her pride and joy. Now he spent hours each week weeding and pruning, making sure that it was just so.

Stan looked across the cleared fields. Maudie and Itch probably had some poor rabbit bailed up in its burrow. He stiffened at the sight of someone in the distance. They were walking towards the cottage and it looked as if Maudie and Itch were with them. Stan walked around to the side of the building and picked up a shovel he'd left in one of the flowerbeds earlier in the day. Not that he planned to use it, but you never knew with strangers.

The figure was getting closer but Stan still couldn't see a face. He squinted, wondering if it was a traveller coming to ask for directions or a hobo.

He walked towards the low stone wall that hemmed the cottage so neatly on three sides. The frown on his face lifted when he realised the identity of his visitor.

‘Well, blow me down,' Stan called out.

‘I know where it is,' the other man called back.

Stan wondered what on earth he was talking about.

The fellow ducked under the rose arbour that framed the pretty timber gate in the middle of the wall. He slapped Stan on the back and smiled. ‘Well, come on then, what are we waiting for?'

‘Where in heaven's name have you been?' Stan asked. He led the man up the garden path and through the back door just as he'd done so many times before.