Page 10

POLLY

Polly was intentionally hiding from Shona – and from Jimmy. She was feeling all mixed up inside and wasn’t at all convinced that she’d be able to hide her feelings from her loving family.

That, she knew, would lead to all sorts of questions because they’d be concerned about her, and she really didn’t want to worry them.

She also didn’t want to answer their questions.

She wasn’t convinced she could answer them, because how could she tell them the truth?

That had been locked away a long, long time ago.

She couldn’t change the story now. It was far too late.

Oh! Why did he have to come here? That man. That man with the voice and the accent. That man who, it turned out, was related to Gerhard Janssen. His grandson, no less.

Polly had, after many years and a great deal of angst, managed to lock that part of her past into a box, along with the truth. She’d blocked all the pain and anguish that had come with it and focused on the here and now, because what else was there?

It had been one heck of a shock to find herself continuing after her death – although living in Rowan Vale, there had always been a possibility that she’d become a ghost. All the residents were aware of that chance, after all.

Once she’d got her head around the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, she’d focused on building an afterlife for herself.

She’d determined to find nuggets of happiness anywhere she could.

After all, nothing could hurt her now. She’d been through the very worst things and survived, in a fashion.

The trouble was, seeing and hearing Rissa’s father last week had changed things. His presence had chipped away at the barrier she’d constructed between herself and the past, and all sorts of feelings were swirling around inside her.

Knowing how sensitive Shona was to her moods, Polly had decided she needed to keep well away until she could get a grip on her emotions and calm down enough to put on a brave face. That meant leaving her home – for now at least.

All those years ago, after Charlie’s death, she’d rattled around in their cottage for a few months but had decided she needed a fresh start.

Of course, her mum and dad had wanted her to move back to Starling Cottage where they could take care of her, but she’d refused.

She wanted somewhere new where she could learn to be herself and come to terms with her new life as a war widow.

The flat above the teashop had been Mum’s suggestion.

It was in a bit of a state, but Sir Edward had agreed to let her off the rent for a few weeks, while she cleaned and tidied it up.

Mum and Dad had mucked in, along with Norman.

They’d helped her turn an empty, dusty space into a cosy and welcoming new home, and she’d moved in, hoping for a fresh start.

Since her death, she’d been quite contented there, but it was now proving to be a bit too handy for Shona to pop in.

Polly had decided she needed to find somewhere else to hang out, so she’d thrown herself on the mercy of Edwardian station porter, Percy Swain, a kindly soul who lived in a cottage on the edge of the village.

The cottage was rented by a middle-aged couple, the Armstrongs, who worked at the mill museum, and as neither of them were originally from this part of the country, and had no blood ties to any ghosts here, both Percy and Polly were free to come and go as they pleased without any fear of being seen or heard.

Percy confessed that he liked living with the couple a lot better now that their children had grown up and left home.

He hadn’t been keen on the noise they’d made when they were growing up and couldn’t believe the racket that passed for modern music.

Also, he was firmly of the belief that youngsters had lost all respect for their elders, and if he’d been able to, he’d have given those kids a clip around the ear on many occasions.

Worst of all, there’d been no spare bedroom, so he’d found himself sleeping in the attic, which was hardly becoming for a man of his age.

Polly had asked him why he hadn’t looked for alternative accommodation, but he’d explained that he and his wife had lived here back in the day, and he didn’t want to leave because this was where all his memories were.

Polly could understand that in a way, but she’d been the opposite with Charlie.

She’d wanted to get away from a home that had seemed full of sadness to her.

A place which, no matter how much she tried to fill the rooms with flowers and music, always felt drab and empty and way too quiet, now her husband was gone.

She supposed everyone was different.

Anyway, there were now two spare bedrooms at the cottage, and Percy was quite happy for Polly to stay a while until she ‘sorted herself out’ as he put it.

She liked Percy. He didn’t ask awkward questions and never pushed her to explain why she’d left her own perfectly good flat to come here.

He amused her, too. He would check his pocket watch every morning, even though it always showed the same time, and leave for ‘work’, as if he was still a proper member of staff and badly needed.

Bless him, he was no use to anyone these days, but the way he carried on, you’d have thought he was running the railway station.

Although, when she thought about it, she supposed he did have one use.

He was always on hand to break up the fights between Ronnie and Bill – two young soldiers from the Great War, who’d been fighting nonstop on the station platform for as long as she could remember.

Percy considered them a disgrace to their uniform and was forever telling them off.

She supposed it gave them all something to do.

Much like her spending so many hours each day in the teashop, where she’d watch Shona or one of the other ladies baking, muttering words of advice or shaking her head if she didn’t think they were doing things the way she’d have done them.

She often peered closely at the tables after they’d been wiped, checking they were clean enough.

And she loved sitting in on the discussions in the kitchen, when new recipes were being tried and new menus worked out.

If she was honest, though, it could get a bit depressing.

She didn’t like to keep pestering Shona, so mostly kept her kitchen visits to when her great-niece was serving out front.

She couldn’t communicate with the other staff members, so her suggestions and advice went unheeded.

She couldn’t run a finger over the tables and counter to check they’d been properly cleaned.

And she couldn’t play any active role in team meetings or discussions, because it wasn’t fair on Shona if only she could hear her, as it would distract her from what everyone else was saying.

Mostly, Polly sat at the tables and eavesdropped on the customers’ conversations. Part of her thought it wasn’t proper, and she had a good idea what her mum would have had to say about it.

On the other hand, she was discreet. She rarely told Shona and Jimmy what she’d heard, never mentioned anything to Pippa, and wouldn’t dream of saying a word to Callie or Lawrie, so she didn’t see what harm it could do.

Telling other ghosts was a different matter, obviously, but what difference would that make? They were the souls of discretion. They had no bloody choice.

She liked it best when one of them came into the teashop to see what was going on. It was good to have someone to talk to, and she’d spent many happy hours sitting at a table conversing with Percy, or Walter, or one of the other ghosts.

The one she was fondest of was young Millie, who’d been a waitress here when she was alive back in the 1960s. Sadly, Millie had died when she was seventeen, but she still sometimes popped into the teashop to see how things were going and loved a gossip with Polly when she did.

But even though Millie had seen a lot in the sixty years or so since she’d died, to Polly, she was still a teenager, and not someone she could confide in. Not about her past. Not about the thing that was eating away at her right now.

Sitting on the front lawn of Percy’s cottage, she hugged her knees and gave a big sigh. She couldn’t settle. And she couldn’t hide out here forever. Sooner or later, she was going to have to confront the Big Scary Thing that was her past. She just wasn’t sure where to start.

Without warning, the thought came to her that she knew exactly where to start. It was time to return to the farm.

She hadn’t been there since before that day – the day she’d died. The thought of it made her shudder. That whole area was somewhere she avoided, and yet she knew if there was to be any peace, she had to face up to it.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as traumatic as she’d feared. Maybe it would be fine, and she’d wonder what all the fuss had been about.

Her heart couldn’t thud. Her pulse couldn’t race. And yet, as Polly got to her feet, she would have sworn her body was reacting in exactly that way. It just showed you what your mind could do – conjuring up all these feelings and their accompanying reactions.

‘It’s not real,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You’re already dead. Nothing can hurt you now.’

Yet she knew that facing the farm again was going to hurt her. And as for the woods… She would never go near them. Just the thought of it was almost enough to convince her she was about to be sick.

‘Okay,’ she said, straightening and jutting out her chin in defiance of her own thoughts and fears. ‘Rowan Farm it is. You can do this, girl. And once you’ve done it, you can go back home, cos there’ll be no reason to dodge our Shona. You’ll be in control again.’

She headed through the garden gate and marched purposefully down the lane. She’d started her mission now, and nothing was going to stop her. Especially not the ghosts of the past.

She gave a half-smirk. Ghosts of the past. There was irony for you. It would almost be funny.

If it wasn’t so bloody terrifying.