The more he got to know Clara, the more he saw her magic. She had a kindness and need to improve people’s lives but in a joyful way, not demanding they change for her benefit. She could make anyone laugh; she was straight, direct and still kind. She would have been an excellent bank manager but he was glad she was here.
He ran chicken wire around the bottom of the coop to protect the birds from the foxes and set up the nesting boxes, lining them with fresh hay.
Finally, the coop was finished and Henry put the chickens into the coop and closed the door.
One last thing – he went to the van and managed to squeeze under the crushed roof and pulled out Naomi’s paint box. He went back to the coop and thought for a moment before he painted on the door with slow careful strokes and then stepped back and smiled.
The sound of the chickens pottering in their new environment made him smile and he looked around at the messy, overgrown, wild garden and the cottage with the blue tarpaulin on the roof, and a van with a tree crushing the roof, and thought he hadn’t felt this happy since before Naomi became sick.
He checked the time and realised it was nearly mid-afternoon. He wanted to make Clara and Pansy dinner, so he went into the cottage and went up to shower, and soon he was back in the kitchen, pottering as he prepared dinner for them all.
Thankfully the tree had crushed the end of the van, so he could get to the refrigerator and freezer. He pulled out some items for him to make his perfect vegetable curry with pappadums and coconut rice.
He turned on some music on his phone and put it in an empty glass to work as a speaker then chopped the sweet potato, cauliflower florets, carrots and tomatoes.
He hummed along to the music as he fried off the onion and garlic in the frying pan and opened a beer from the fridge while the vegetables sweated in the heavy pan.
He couldn’t wait for Clara and Pansy to come home, and he occasionally checked out the front to see if they had returned.
When the curry was slow-cooking, he went to the front of the house, pulled a chair from the van and sat on the lawn, looking around him, feeling content. He was happy. It was a truly remarkable feeling, like remembering a name for something that you thought you’d forgotten, or having a drink of water when your mouth was so dry you couldn’t feel your tongue.
The sound of a car coming up the unmade road made him jump up. He couldn’t wait to see them but it wasn’t Clara’s red Mini that came into view.
It was a green car and it had a man at the wheel.
Insurance company, he thought with a wave.
The car stopped and the man alighted.
‘Hi, thanks for coming out this far,’ said Henry.
‘Sorry?’ said the man. Henry noticed he didn’t have much of a chin, and he was wearing a business shirt with a woollen vest, even though it was warm.
‘Aren’t you from the insurance company?’ asked Henry.
‘No, I’m looking for Clara Maxwell.’
‘Oh, she’s not here. Can I take a message?’ asked Henry with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
‘I’ll wait,’ said the man and he went to the car and sat inside it, the air conditioner on and the windows up.
Henry went back to the cottage and tried to call Clara but she didn’t answer. He didn’t want to text her as he knew she was driving, so he sat in the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his heart in his mouth. Please let it not be Giles wanting her back. He had never wanted Clara more than now he knew he might lose her. He ran through scenarios in his head. Would she go, stay, kick Henry and Pansy out?
He called Clara again and this time he left a message.
‘Clara, it’s Henry. Hurry home. You have someone to see you.’
That’s all he could do right now, other than wait for Clara to make her decision.
33
Tassie returned home from her trip with Clara and Pansy a happy woman. She’d had lunch at a pub where she ate a proper roast pork meal with crackling and apple sauce and had shared a lovely crème brûlée with Pansy. They took much joy in cracking the top together and sharing the toffee shards and creamy filling. Tassie chose not to read the leaves in her teacup at the pub, because the same symbol kept appearing and she wanted a day to not think about it, but she knew that she was buying time. The cup was never wrong. The first time she saw it was when she turned the cups with Clara. She was handing over to Clara, even if she didn’t know it yet.
Her whole life she had worked to help others and she had with her care for all the children in the village and beyond over the years. The countless times she had stepped in to help a child when Mum or Dad couldn’t, taking over a dinner or bread and milk, washing little one’s clothes or calling the doctor or the police in Salisbury to step in when a child’s safety was in danger at home.
Life was simpler now but there was still work to be done in the village and Clara would take care of it because she was the most capable person Tassie had met in her eighty-nine years. Clara didn’t even know how brilliant she was, but Tassie did. She had taught children for so long she could see what they were capable of before they could even read.
Clara was creative and she could turn Merryknowe around. Tassie wanted to be around to see it come to fruition. Not yet, she thought
