Page 36 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

‘Good old Polly.’ Jay’s voice was warm, and I felt something inside unaccountably wilt a little. ‘In that case, I’ll wait for Matilda and head over there after she’s sorted. Actually, Matilda, do you want me to take your luggage up for you?’

‘No! No, it’s fine.’ I forced a smile, pushing thoughts of Rosie out of my mind again. ‘I can manage. Thanks anyway.’ Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I could cope with a weird fizz that might spark again if we grabbed the case at the same time. I thought my head might explode if that was the case.

‘Sure.’ Jay shrugged easily. ‘See you in a little while then.’

‘See you soon, Matilda!’ Cerys waved again, and the pair of them headed across the pub, Jay towards a seat at the bar, Cerys walking in a manner more befitting a penguin back to the café. Again, the thought of Rosie waddling like that in a few months blew my mind.

‘Room four.’ Sam’s voice dragged my attention back to him. ‘Top floor. Are you sure you don’t want some help with the case? I’m happy to take it up?’

‘No. Really. It’s fine. I didn’t bring much, it’s not heavy.’

‘Then let me get the door for you at the very least.’ He came out from behind the bar and held open another door, which I saw had the words Rooms 1–4 on it. ‘Like I say, keep going up the stairs, and it’s left at the top.’

‘Thanks.’ I smiled gratefully, and headed up the stairs. If I was imaginative, which I suppose I was to some extent, I could almost sense the occupants of the place from days gone by — a highwayman here, a smuggler there. A lady of the night slipping through the corridors to the room of a Duke . . . Suddenly, I shivered delightfully. I could practically see them in my mind’s eye. The words of the famous ‘Highwayman’ poem by Alfred Noyes came back to me:

Bess the landlord’s daughter, plaiting a dark red love-knot, into her long black hair . . .

‘Eep!’ I stopped on the staircase, making the little squeak I did when I had had a brilliant idea. It was totally different from the “eek!” I did when I was horrified by something.

Characters from literature — no, ladies from classic literature. I could do a series of portraits based on those. Bess, Cathy Earnshaw, Carmilla the Rosie-vampire . . . why hadn’t I thought of this before? It wasn’t a hard one to come up with was it? I could focus in on all the wonderful Gothic ideas that had started shooting around my mind. I stood there and felt a smile lift the corners of my mouth, and a small feeling of positivity come over me. See? Padcock had already inspired me, and I’d been there less than half an hour. I’d maybe get some prints done of the pictures, and sell them in local bookshops and things, maybe on cards or as posters or something. Now that would be cool.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered to whatever ghosts were lingering in the shadows. ‘Thank you so much.’

I did honestly feel a little chill as something appeared to sweep past me on the stairs at that point. But then I realized a window was open on the landing, and I felt less chilly for knowing.

My room was lovely — just the right balance between modern and vintage. There were exposed beams, and a wonderfully comfortable bed complete with a cool cotton duvet to sink into. A window seat took up the deep window ledge, and a kettle, two cups and saucers, and some sachets of tea and coffee lay waiting on a small table. A fridge was underneath the table, and a quick peer into it had me locate a pint of milk, a selection of chocolate bars, biscuits and cereal bars, and, best of all, a bottle of white wine from a local vineyard. I peered into the bathroom and saw a shiny power shower cubicle, and, joy of joys, a clawfoot bath, as well as the obligatory toilet and sink, of course. I felt my smile grow wider as I put my case on the bed.

‘It’ll do,’ I said to nobody in particular, and imagined treating myself to a bath in blissful peace and quiet later on tonight. I wondered how loud it would get in the Spatchcock, with it being a Friday, and it being deemed a “lively” place, but then figured I was so high up, it would be fine, whatever the noise levels were.

And, I realized with a little skip of my heart, perhaps I could actually have a drink there myself. I wasn’t the sort of person who could sit in a pub on my own very comfortably — with the best will in the world, a woman sitting alone in a London pub could very often (in my experience) find herself the reluctant target of another punter who assumes she’s eager for a chat, and for a man to notice and give her some attention. But in here, in the Spatchcock, I allowed myself to imagine enjoying a nice glass of wine in the bar, reading a book or sketching or even just scrolling mindlessly through my phone, and not being bothered by anyone.

It sounded nice.

But then, hadn’t Sam said the planning (sorry the Planning) was going to begin here tonight for the Fayre? So it might not end up being the quiet, unobtrusive sort of evening I’d just concocted in my head. Regardless, I knew I’d still feel quite safe with my drink. Especially, I acknowledged, if Jay was working at the bar and I had him in my sights all night.

That all sounded extremely pleasant actually, and for the first time since speaking to Rosie that morning, I felt myself starting to relax and get excited about something other than my sudden epiphany on creating literary Gothic heroines.

* * *

Once I was settled in my room and had unpacked what I needed, I headed back down to the bar and saw Jay chatting easily with Sam.

Sam looked up as I walked towards them, and indicated to Jay that I was approaching. It was quite weird actually, because much as I knew Jay, it suddenly struck me that here I was, so to speak, on “his” turf. I’d only been down here once before, and didn’t know anybody else in Padcock.

I hesitated — perhaps I couldn’t monopolize my friend’s brother like this. Would I come across like a Billy (or Wilhelmina) No-Mates, attaching myself like a wimpy limpet to Jay for the next couple of days?

‘Later,’ I heard Jay say to Sam by way of a goodbye, and he raised his hand in a farewell gesture. Then he turned to me, and his smile widened. ‘All settled?’ he checked. ‘Let’s go for that coffee and then, if you like, we can reserve you a table for tonight. I honestly think you’ll enjoy the Planning, and it’ll be nice if you’re close enough to the bar for me to chat to.’ He indicated that we should head towards the door and we began to walk. But . . .

‘I don’t want to be a wimpy limpet!’ I blurted out, coming to an abrupt halt. I felt my cheeks burn.

‘A what?’ Jay looked at me, rocking an amused but surprised expression. It made me heat up even more.

‘A wimpy limpet.’ I blinked. I started walking again, just for something to do. How embarrassing. ‘I mean, it’s kind of you to offer to do stuff with me, but I know I’ve sprung it on you. I really don’t expect you to entertain me for the next few days.’

‘It’s fine. If I was busy, I’d tell you.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not busy enough to leave you to your own devices, so I won’t. Now — is the room okay? You didn’t answer.’

‘Oh. The room. Yes. It’s lovely thanks.’ I smoothed my skirt down carefully as we stepped out into the street. I was dressed in a pretty frock I had made recently, perfect for London in the early summer. I was really proud of it. I’d found a ream of unicorn-and-star-spangled fabric at the market and managed to whizz this up using my sewing machine in an afternoon. However, it felt a bit crumpled now, and I couldn’t decide whether I was overdressed or ideally clad for the country. I hadn’t thought of much as I threw stuff in my case earlier, really.

‘I can see right across to the canal from the window,’ I said turning back to the subject at hand.