But the dream of the cottage hadn’t died in Clara and Mum’s minds, and when a new show started on BBC called Escape to the Country, they would watch and make notes of some of the villages they wanted to move to and the houses they liked.
Clara liked the thatched cottages but Mum liked the barn conversions or even a house with a water mill, which Clara told her would make her want to go to the bathroom all night.
Clara kept a new notebook this time, with all the notes of the villages and the houses they liked. She cut out maps of the areas and circled where she thought the houses might be and found old house magazines in charity shops and pasted in the pictures of rooms she thought looked like they belonged in a cottage.
Curtains with flowery sprigs and soft lamp light and open fires. Overstuffed sofas and dogs lying on them, with bunches of roses in teacups and violet-lined paths.
It was a perfect dream and Clara knew that she would make it come true one day, because she had managed to do the hardest thing in the world, and Mum laughing at Clara talking to the chickens was living proof.
38
After they worked out a plan with Rachel at the tearooms, and the rain had stopped, Clara walked Tassie across the road back to her home, ensuring she didn’t slip on the road.
‘Have you asked Henry about Pansy coming to read with me?’ Tassie asked as she opened the door.
‘Not yet, we’ve been busy,’ Clara said and Tassie laughed.
‘I can tell. Don’t forget school starts soon and Pansy needs to know her letter sounds at the very least.’
Clara paused. ‘Do you want to come and see the cottage and ask Henry yourself? It might be better coming from you, otherwise I’ll look like the evil stepmother trying to get rid of the child.’
‘Are you going to be the stepmother?’
For a woman closer to ninety years of age than she was to eighty-nine, she didn’t miss a trick, Clara thought as she felt Tassie’s eyes try and bore holes into her mind.
‘I don’t know yet. I just like being with him and Pansy.’ She smiled and corrected herself: ‘Actually, I love being with him and Pansy.’
Tassie nodded in understanding. ‘Then I should come to the cottage and see that all is as it should be.’
Clara laughed as Tassie closed the door and locked it. They went to Clara’s car and drove to the cottage.
Henry was on the roof when they arrived and Pansy was lying on the lawn on a blanket, surrounded by her dolls and animals.
‘Tassie,’ Pansy cried, when Clara opened the car door and she ran towards them.
Henry waved from above.
‘Henry, this is Tassie McIver, my friend who lives in the village,’ Clara called up.
Henry waved. ‘I’ll come down,’ he said.
‘Come inside,’ said Clara. She wanted Tassie’s approval of not just Henry but also the cottage.
She opened the front door and Tassie walked inside and looked around. Then she walked to the living space, which was still a mess, and then to the kitchen and out through the back door.
‘Don’t you want to see upstairs?’ asked Clara, as Henry joined her side.
‘Stairs at my age are not my friends, dear’ said Tassie as she walked out towards the huge oak tree in the back garden.
‘What a beauty she is,’ said Tassie to the tree more than to Clara.
Clara and Henry stood back as Pansy went to Tassie and held her hand and looked up at tree also.
‘Sometimes I hear the tree whisper to me,’ said Pansy to Tassie as though this was an entirely normal thing.
‘Of course you do, pet,’ said Tassie. ‘What does she say?’
‘She says that I am loved.’
‘That you are.’
‘And that Mummy is here with me.’
Clara felt herself tense at the mention of Naomi. Should she be jealous of a dead woman? There was nothing to be jealous of except the energy she left behind that still wrapped Henry and Pansy in its starry cloak.
‘Of course Mummy is here, and Daddy and Clara and everyone,’ said Tassie in a very no-nonsense voice.
Pansy was quiet for a moment. ‘The tree also says that I should have more ice cream than once a week. And cake is good for breakfast and eating your crusts doesn’t make your hair curly.’ She turned and looked pointedly at Henry.
Henry burst out laughing and Pansy turned to glare at him.
‘You don’t know what it said to me,’ she said to her father and turned back to the tree.
Clara nudged Henry who nodded.
‘No, I don’t know what it said to you Pansy. I apologise for being rude. I’m just jealous because the tree didn’t talk to me.’ And then to Clara: ‘Shall we talk over tea?’
Clara felt nervous as she went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea and put out some shortbread she had bought in Salisbury.
Henry came and sat down at the table with Tassie.
‘Clara talks about you often,’ he said.
‘As she does you,’ said Tassie and she leaned over the table and patted his hand. ‘Now, I would like to borrow your child.’
Clara put out the cups, trying hard not to clatter or clash them so as not to ruin the moment with clumsiness.
Henry seemed surprised. ‘Borrow her for what? I’m afraid she would be a terrible scullery maid.’
‘I am old,’ said Tassie, and Clara noticed she was putting on a more tired voice than usual, or was she a little more tired than usual? ‘And I want to spend some time with your little one and help her learn to read for school. I used to be a schoolteacher in the village. It would charm me no end to have some time to teach again.’
Henry crossed his arms.
‘She’s attending the school in Chippenham next month – they can teach her.’
Clara sat down. ‘Oh I think Tassie knows that; she just wanted to give Pansy a
