The Difference a Day Makes (46 page)

‘I’m worried that it’s too soon. But look at what happened to us,Will.We thought we had forever together and we were wrong.’

I could make Tom and Jessica and me into a tight little impenetrable unit, able to cope, self-sufficient, letting no one else inside. I could harden my heart against love, close off these feelings I have for Guy. But that wouldn’t be good for any of us. I want my children’s lives to be filled with the type of love and laughter that only a father-figure can bring.

The light’s nearly gone now and the temperature is dropping steadily with the departure of the sun. Soon it will be too cold to sit here speaking to my husband.

‘I want to be with him. I hope that’s okay with you.’ I take a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I just have to work out the practicalities. I know that you wouldn’t want us to struggle on alone. I’d like to think I’ll be carrying on part of your dream and that you’d approve of what I’m doing. I know you always wanted to run a bed and breakfast . . .’

Then I pull up short.
Bed and breakfast
? The last thing on earth that I would have ever considered! It’s just not me. But, sometimes, things change, people change. I thought television was my life, but I was wrong. I giggle to myself and a thrill of excitement runs through me. Bed and breakfast, eh? I might just have hit on a solution to my income dilemma. My husband would smile at that.

‘Thank you, Will.’ I blow a kiss into the air. I know, just
know
that my husband will always be here with us - for me, for the children - and there’s a great comfort in that. It’s strange, but suddenly I don’t feel that he’s left us, after all. ‘You knew what was right for us all along. I’m just sorry that it took me so long to see it. I love you, Will,’ I say to the darkening sky. ‘Thank you so much for bringing us here.’

 

 

 

‘
I
’m not going back to London,’ Jessica states as I approach. ‘And neither is Tom.’

My son, hiding behind his sister’s bravado, nods in agreement. They climb down from the fence by the garden where they’ve clearly been plotting, little knowing that I’ve been doing some plotting of my own. Tom has Hamish’s lookalike puppy nestled in his arms. Trouble, I can see, is chewing a hole in his new school jumper. That puppy has got to be a chip off one old block. God help us all.

‘Really?’ I say.

‘You can do what you like,’ she adds, hands on hips. ‘But we’re staying here. Daddy would have let us.’

I have no idea why she talks like a thirty-five year old, but it makes me smile to myself.

‘Well, that’s fine then. I’d better send for all of our things.’

They look at me open mouthed. My ready agreement will probably turn my daughter into a power-crazed monster, but I’ll deal with that later. I wonder what the removal men will think when I ask them to bring all our stuff back so soon. I wonder what Guy will say too.

‘Come on, then.’ I beckon them after me. ‘Let’s go and tell Guy our news.’

We find him with Alan, still in the yard even though the light is failing. Alan is putting the animals to bed for the night. It’s nice to think that Mr Steadman will be around for a while to watch over them.

I sidle up next to Guy as he leans over the gate watching Alan at work. ‘It’s a deal,’ I say.

He spins round to look at me, surprise and joy on his face. ‘You’re staying?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘You really mean it?’

I nod. ‘I’m going to run Helmshill Grange as a bed and breakfast. If I can get approval from my new landlord, of course,’ I tease.

‘That’s a great idea.’

My mind is rushing ahead of me and I’m having trouble marshalling my thoughts into a cohesive stream. ‘I’ll use some of the money from the purchase to do it up and then we can pay you rent - perhaps on favourable terms at first, then we can increase it as the business grows. How does that sound to you?’

Guy takes me in his arms. Even in the darkness I can see that his eyes are sparkling with tears. ‘That sounds just wonderful.’

‘You think it will work?’

‘We’ll make damn sure that it does.’

Excited laughter bursts from my lips. ‘We’re going to be busy, Alan,’ I shout to Mr Steadman. ‘I’ve got lots of plans for this place.’

His face breaks into an uncertain smile.

‘You up for it?’

‘Aye, Mrs Ashurst,’ he says, a catch in his voice. ‘Reckon I am.’

‘Good. I’m not sure that I could manage it without you.’

He smiles shyly and returns to forking over the hay, clearly overcome by the emotion.

The children come and join in our hug.

‘Does that mean I can have a pony if we’re staying?’ Jessica pipes up.

‘Don’t push it,’ I tell my daughter. But I think that somehow one will turn up here whether I want it to or not.

‘Thank you,’ I say to Guy. ‘Thank you for making this happen for us.’

Then Hamish bounds over and sticks his nose up my bottom. ‘Hamish!’ Damn dog. I laugh and tears spill over my lashes. And I know that from now on, everything is going to be all right.

 

 

 

T
hey say that every cloud has a silver lining and this is ours. Out of terrible grief and upheaval, I’ve come to appreciate a different, kinder, quieter way of life. In following my husband’s dream, I had no idea that it would eventually become mine too.

I’m turning off the heating in the scullery for the night when I see a glimpse of black lace peeping out of Hamish’s bottom. ‘I wondered where they’d got to.’

‘Come here, mad dog.’ Hamish whimpers, legs quivering, as I extract my pants, inch-by-inch from his backside. Holding as little as I can, I fling the pants straight into the washing machine and put them on to boil. I’ve long since given up buying new underwear and simply re-wash those that Hamish has eaten. I find that Marks & Spencer’s knickers are the ones that are least troubled by Hamish’s digestive processes and boil washing, so buy all my pants online from there now.

When I’ve washed my hands, the dog follows me upstairs. As well as indulging Hamish’s fetish for lacy pants, I’ve also long since given up trying to shut him in the scullery for the night. We were just getting through too many doors. The only way to get any peace is to let him sleep on the bedroom floor. Our hound’s fixator has long gone now and you’d never know that his leg had been broken at all. If his back end is a little weaker than it once was, it certainly doesn’t stop him from doing anything. More’s the pity.

Poking my head round Jessica’s door, I can hear my daughter breathing heavily in deep sleep. She loves being back at St Mary’s School and Mrs Barnsley is pleased to see both of her star pupils back. The children can walk to school alone now without me having apoplexy, but I still find time to take them most mornings, enjoying the talks we have while we trundle along the quiet, green lanes.

I close the window in her room, shutting out the cool breeze that’s sprung up. It’s been a long, hot summer here at Helmshill Grange and we’ve all enjoyed the garden.The borders have been a riot of colourful cornflowers, cranesbill, bees and butterflies. Now we’re sliding slowly into autumn once more and the weather is starting to turn.

Fluffy the hedgehog - now in permanent residence here - pokes his head out from under my daughter’s bed and then joins me and Hamish as we go to check on Tom.

My son, too, is sleeping soundly in his bed. I draw the duvet over him where he’s kicked it off. My soulful, anxious boy is much more relaxed now that we’re safely ensconced back at Helmshill. He’s made new friends in the village - two lovely boys called Alfie and Zack - and goes out on the moors with them every weekend flying his kite. He too is thriving at school, and to see the children both so content like this makes me realise that, finally, I have made absolutely the right choice. I’m only sorry that it took so long and caused so much pain.

The sale of the house went through quickly and without a hitch. Guy Barton was the model buyer! Plans for the bed and breakfast are coming on well. I’ve applied to the council for planning permission and we’re just waiting for that to come through, then we’re raring to go. First of all, I’m going to do up three rooms and see how I go from there. I’ve had quotes from builders to sort out the ancient plumbing here and install extra en-suite bathrooms. Alan is going to help with the handiwork - of course. Where would we be without Saint Steadman? Alan rarely goes home now until it’s time for him to sleep. He has dinner with us every night, usually gets roped in to do the children’s homework and then he’s back first thing in the morning in time for breakfast. As a grandad substitute he’s doing a sterling job.

We were out in the garden together today, discussing the first project on the agenda and I realise just how much I’ve come to lean on him. Alan’s going to transform the boggy bit in the corner to a small pond. It will make a lovely spot for a couple of ducks, maybe some geese too. I’m going to do it as a kind of memorial for Will, because I think that he’d really like that.

Nearly a year has gone by since my husband died and I can hardly believe it. His presence here seems stronger than ever and we all love it, even Guy who never has one moment of resentment for the other man who will always be in my life. He has been a rock for me and for the children. I was so lucky to have been loved by Will, but I’ve also learned in the last twelve months that the heart can heal and can love again.

I open the bedroom door, Hamish padding behind me, followed by the little tank of Fluffy, who shuffles straight under the bed to curl up for the night. He’s probably the only hedgehog who’s up and about all day, then sleeps at night.

My darling Guy is already under the duvet.‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ my live-in landlord says with a stifled yawn.

‘Hamish has been at my pants again.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Lucky old Hamish.’

‘I’ll be five minutes,’ I tell him. ‘I bet you’re whacked. I’ve just got to brush my teeth.’ The practice has been busy. Stephen has bought into the business now and they’re even thinking of taking on a third partner to lighten the load. Guy wants to be able to spend more time with Tom and Jessica, and you don’t know how glad that makes me feel. After much discussion, he’s rented out his own house to a new GP who’s come to join the surgery in Scarsby, and moved in with us just a few weeks ago. Despite living on his own for so many years, I can’t believe how easily he’s adapted to the hustle and bustle of family life. Guy assures me that he loves every minute of it. Even when I make him do breakfast duty.

In the bathroom, I shrug out of my clothes and quickly climb into my fleecy pyjamas. Although it’s still mild during the day, the night-time temperature doesn’t allow for filmy negligées, but Guy doesn’t seem to mind. I dash into the bedroom, braving the chilly floorboards and ignoring the shredded mouse remnants which I promise myself to deal with in the morning. Jumping in beside him, I nudge Milly Molly Mandy out of the way, and she miaows her disgust at being so rudely disturbed.

‘I spoke to Marty earlier - the pony’s going to be arriving on Monday,’ Guy says as I wriggle in next to him, rubbing my icy cold feet on his legs. I must buy some new slippers when I’m next in Scarsby. Fur-lined ones. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘No,’ Guy admits. ‘But I’m sure you’ll love her.’

And, you know, I probably will. But not half as much as my daughter will.

Our ever-growing brood has now been expanded to include two rabbits - a glossy black one for Jessica, a snow-white one for Tom - and some more bedraggled hens which means I’m back on antibiotic duty again. We’re even looking at a couple of alpacas to put in the top field. Not bad for someone who isn’t an animal lover, eh?

At the foot of the bed, Trouble is already snuggled down for the night. Hamish plods round in a circle on the rug until he finds his maximum comfort spot, then he flops down with a heavy sigh.

‘There’s going to be no room in here for us soon,’ I grumble.

‘Did you ever think that you’d be sharing a bed with two dogs, a cat, a hedgehog and a vet?’

‘No.’ I ease myself further under the duvet until Guy’s warm body is next to mine. He slips his arm round me. ‘Did
you
ever think that you’d be sharing a bed with a woman whose underwear had been through the digestive tract of a dog?’

‘No.’ Guy lifts himself up on his elbow, until he’s leaning over me. He kisses me hotly. ‘Did you ever think you’d make love to a man who’d had his arm up a cow’s bottom?’

‘No,’ I breathe sexily. ‘I never thought that.’

He undoes the buttons of my fleecy pyjamas, slowly, one by one. Already my body is in ecstasy. His hands are warm on my breasts. He kisses my throat, my face, my ear. Then I feel his tongue, hot, probing and . . . slobbery.

‘Hamish!’ we shout together. ‘Get down!’