Page 5 of The Little Cottage by the Cornish Sea

I must have fallen asleep eventually, as a loud repetition of croaks woke me and I sat bolt uprirght, surprised by the blinding light coming through the threadbare curtains. Morning already? And what was that awful ribbit sound? Surely there wasn’t a frog in the room?

When I eventually managed to unravel myself from the bedding and reach the creaky staircase, the sound became more metallic, like two rusty pipes scraping against each other. And then I got it: it was the bloody doorbell!

For a brief, panicked moment, the harrowing suspicion. Did Will know where I was? Yes, he was controlling and overbearing, but to have someone follow me? And yet, the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.

‘Miss Graham?’ came a voice from beyond the front door. ‘Miss Graham? It’s Robert Armitage.’

Who? I slinked closer to the door, brandishing an old brass reading lamp shaped like a rooster. It wouldn’t kill anyone but it would certainly make them think twice before coming close to me.

‘Mrs Nankivell’s grandson? She asked me to pop by this morning?’

Oh! I raked back my hair that was practically standing on end from the fright and cautiously opened the door a cinch.

Standing back from the door was a tall man hefting a large box.

He was wearing a wool coat and a checked flat cap, the kind that country gentlemen wear.

The look on his face was undecipherable.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry to have woken you.’

‘Oh, no worries,’ I answered politely. You simply scared ten years of life out me is all. ‘I was expecting you. Please come in.’

A wry grin split his face as if to say, I wonder what you’d look like if you hadn’t been expecting me. I looked down at myself only to see that my – er, Sophie’s – pyjamas had rolled their way up to my chest and that they had been buttoned up wrong. Good first impression, no doubt.

He followed me to the old gate-leg table where he put down the box. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Miss Graham, but there’s been a mistake…’

I frowned. ‘A mistake?’

‘Yes. You see, my grandmother… I don’t even know how she got onto the internet in the first place, but she doesn’t understand that the house is in a state and not fit for renting, so I’m going to have to ask you to find somewhere else, at least until the due renos are completed. I’m sorry…’

No, no, no!

‘But it’s fine, honestly,’ I assured him past the huge ball forming in my throat.

I had already seen myself living there. My first dream in this house was of dancing in a ray of sunlight streaming through the kitchen French doors with my baby.

I couldn’t leave now! ‘I already assured Mrs Nankivell that I didn’t mind this place being a fixer-upper. ’

‘Well, I’m afraid that it’s really not fine at all, Miss Graham. The piping is temperamental. It takes forever to get hot water. The electrics are pre-historic and there must be several holes in the roof. And the rain…’

‘I’ll use buckets ,’ I urged him. ‘All that really doesn’t matter to me, honestly Mr, er, Armitage…’

‘Robert.’

‘Sophie,’ I whispered, really trying hard not to blub for the third time in twenty-four hours. He couldn’t do this! He couldn’t take away my own safe place from me! ‘I don’t mind a bit of work,’ I said. ‘I’m handy.’

‘You are?’ he said.

‘Don’t look so surprised. I painted my parents’ home all the time and fixed things here and there.’

He grinned. I swore that if he was going to laugh at me, I’d clock him. ‘That’s good. Fixed things like what?’

I shrugged. ‘Everything that needed fixing. Hinges, windows, doors, skirting boards.’

‘But not plumbing or electrics, am I right?’

‘Well, actually, when I worked for my father’s building company back in London—’ I started before clamping my mouth shut. The less this man knew about my past, the better. ‘I can manage alright until you can send someone round to fix those.’

‘I’m sorry, the place is a liability and needs an entire overhaul,’ he said.

No…

‘But,’ he said, jerking his head toward the box. ‘My grandmother has sent you some bits as a peace offering.’

Unless there was a fold-up home in there, nothing would cut it now. I’d spent all night coming up with ideas to make this house a home for my baby and me, and he wanted to kick us out of our new little paradise just like that?

‘Here,’ he said, dragging two rickety chairs to the gate-leg table where he pulled some bags out of the box. ‘There’s some nice coffee and some melt-in-your-mouth croissants.’

I ignored the soft rumble in my stomach and folded my arms in front of my chest. ‘You’re kicking me out and you think you can make it up to me by giving me breakfast?’

‘I can help you find somewhere else in the village. It’ll only be temporary.’

‘Mr Armitage,’ I huffed, bringing us back from a first-name basis to a more formal, serious situation.

‘I drove all day yesterday to come right here, to this very cottage, after having spoken to your grandmother. Now, I understand that it needs a little TLC, but that’s okay. I’m not a demanding person.’

He chuckled as he handed me a croissant. ‘I’m sure you aren’t, Miss Graham.’

‘Nor am I asking for anything but to stay. I won’t be any trouble to anyone, I promise.’

He took a bite of his own croissant, eyeing me pensively as his grandmother had done the night before. He said nothing about my scratches, thankfully.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he finally said. Her same expression. ‘You eat up and get dressed, and then we’ll have a solid look around the house. How does that sound?’

‘Promising, for a start,’ I admitted.

Robert Armitage nodded. ‘Good. I’ll go get some tools from my car.’

Ah. So there was room for some wiggle there.

I’d badger the bloke all the way until my due date.

Chain myself to the log burner in the hearth if I had to.

Or maybe not, as that would certainly stir the curiosity of the local rag and goodbye anonymity.

I needed to stay here. I wanted to stay here.

And not just because, having seen Starry Cove from the top of the hill while driving in, I had fallen in love with its fairy lights and nativity scene looks all over again; not just because I could envision turning this rundown cottage into a real home.

But also because it was the farthest I could get from where I had been, and I didn’t mean geographically.

Cornwall was not just a separate county for me, but a different state of mind.

A state of sheer, unadulterated, happy, childhood memories.

*

‘So?’ I asked the soles of Mr Armitage’s boots as he stood at the top of a ladder round the back of the cottage.

‘Actually, it’s not as bad as I thought. Just a few slates need to be replaced, but otherwise, it’s looking pretty solid up here.’

Thank you, God!

His long legs came into view as he hopped down the ladder and stopped to study me again. He had a rather nice face under that flat cap. Kind, piercing blue eyes.

And then I realised that he wasn’t studying me, but my scratches. X-raying me, practically.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said again.

‘Is that all you ever say?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’ll tell you what…’

‘Oh.’ He shrugged. ‘I like to meet people halfway, is all.’

‘Right. So what’s the deal?’ I prompted. ‘Are you going to let me stay or not?’

He took a long, deep breath. ‘I’ll have someone come round and look at the plumbing and the electrics. If it’s easily fixable, I’ll let you stay.’

‘Thank you!’ I almost cried. Never mind that – I almost hugged the bloke.

‘On two conditions.’

There you go. I knew there was something. More money, of course. I’d have to do some figures when he left. ‘Which are?’

‘One, that you stay at the local inn while the work is being done.’

I mentally ran the sums. I couldn’t really afford to do that.

‘My treat,’ he added.

‘Absolutely not!’ I countered. ‘Thank you, but no.’

‘I have to. It’s only right. There is a contract.’

‘But you haven’t signed it yet,’ I pointed out.

He dipped his head. ‘I haven’t, but my grandmother gave you the go-ahead over the phone, which in my mind is binding. Where is one supposed to go at such short notice?’

Indeed. ‘And the other condition?’

‘That you swing by my office and let me check you out.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Easy. I meant for a check-up.’

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘You’ve got some nasty scratches.’

‘I fell into a rosebush.’ Again, it wasn’t technically a lie.

‘When was the last time you visited a doctor?’

‘Uhm,’ I wavered, looking for the right lie. I hadn’t been to a doctor in years, worried that they would ask too many probing questions about my relationship. The truth was that I couldn’t bear to let anyone know what had happened to me.

‘I’m not asking for the world, am I? Just come in for a check-up and… you can stay in the house. Okay?’

I eyed him. I knew he wasn’t going to make me a better offer; I could see it in his eyes. And I really didn’t want to go anywhere else now. Plus I needed to be healthy for Baby.

‘Have we got a deal?’ He stuck out his big hand and I shook it. It was very warm. Enveloping.

‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘Thank you.’ Go figure how, but despite all that had happened to me and my promise to myself to be wary of everyone from now on, I somehow trusted him.

‘Your hands are frozen,’ he said, opening the front door for me. ‘Let’s go in and get the fire started. And maybe you can get the kettle on? I’m a coffee addict, just so you know.’

‘Uhm, I’m afraid I don’t have a kettle yet,’ I said.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said as he cleaned out the log burner. ‘It’s in the box on the table.’

I peered inside. There was a toaster, a loaf of bread, coffee, tea, some butter, cheese, chutney, fruit, and a jar of peanut butter.

‘Peanut butter! My favourite. But wait, what is all this?’ I asked as I painfully slowly filled the kettle with water from the screeching tap. I’m no charity case , I wanted to say, but the thought of a nice cup of tea did appeal to me, especially after having spent all that time out in the cold.

He chuckled as he looked up the chimney. ‘Nana has a sixth sense about these things sometimes. It’s her idea of a welcome wagon. Welcome to the neighbourhood, Sophie. If you’re in with the old dear, you’re in with the entire village.’

The entire village was what I was hoping to stay away from out here in the sticks. All I needed was one nosey person and bang went my cover.

A loud crack filled the air and I started, realising that Dr Armitage already had a nice fire going.

Instinctively, I stretched my hands out to defrost my fingers.

The silence was tangible. I knew he had a million questions as to why a young woman would beg to live in a place like this. Questions that I didn’t want to answer.

After he left with the promise of sending someone over to check out the cottage, I marched upstairs and, with a pair of rusty scissors I found in the cabinet under the sink, hacked a good ten inches off my long, beautiful hair, leaving me with a boyish look.

If Demelza had passed herself off as a boy by wearing her brother’s clothes, short hair would completely change my looks, too.

*

That evening, disguised with my new look, I went for a short stroll. Tulip Cottage was the last one on the edge of the village, with what looked like vast woods to my left. It was beautiful, with ancient trees and birds chirping to salute the end of the day.

Lifting my collar against the chilly air, I had only taken a few steps when, out of the blue, I was met by the funniest-looking dog I’d ever seen in my life.

It was a million colours, like a kaleidoscope of creams and russets and greys and browns, with upright ears and big, dark eyes.

It looked like a Photoshop of many different dogs rolled into one with a hacksaw fur-cut.

This huge, motley jumble of dogs looked fearsome, but it came up to me, wagging its crooked tail and sniffing my outstretched hand.

There was not one normal thing about this mutt.

‘Hello, and who are you?’ I cooed. ‘Did you get caught in the spin cycle? You’re cute, aren’t you?’

And at that moment, I felt a strange sensation of being watched. I stood erect, ears and eyes alert. It wasn’t my imagination. Someone was watching me. I was pretty sure of it by the way my hair pricked at the back of my now bare neck.

‘Wolf!’ came an ominous rumble and the mutt’s ears pricked as it froze to listen. ‘Come!’

At that, Wolf dropped me like a hot potato and bounded back from where he came. I stood for a moment, trying to gather my wits about me, when his voice startled me again.

‘You! This is private property. Piss off!’

‘Oh! I— I’m sorry!’ I called into the trees.

And that was all I needed to make a run back to the safety of my own cottage.

Breathless, I closed the door and locked it, peeping through the curtains.

But he didn’t follow me. Obviously, he wanted to be left alone as much as I did.

I could understand that. What I couldn’t understand was his rudeness. I was only saying hello to his dog.