The following evening, Ashleigh arrived home from work to find a little red sports car parked outside her aunt's house.  Sitting patiently at the wheel was a familiar figure who seemed quietly amused as Ashleigh climbed out of her rusting brown mini.

      "If you just bought that today," he called, "I hope you got a good price for the Volvo."

      "Straight swap," she replied.  "The man insisted it was a bargain - though he didn't say who for.  What brings you to this part of Kent?  Are you lost, or has your roof caved in after Sunday's historic gathering?"

      Peter got out of his car and locked it, a clear sign that he intended staying for a while.

      "In a manner of speaking," he said sadly, "things have caved in.  The truth is, Ashleigh, I'm in a bit of a fix.  Remember I wasn't keen on letting Sheila know where I lived?"

      "Yes, you were trying to duck out of paying maintenance."

      "Oh, Ashleigh, be fair.  It isn't like that.  I simply want justice.  That woman's creamed off half my salary for the last five years, costing me twice what she ever did when we were married - and she doesn't need my money.  She gets thirty-thousand a year from her grandmother's estate, yet she gloats on knowing she's legally entitled to milk me dry."

      From the tone of Peter's voice, Ashleigh guessed he was near the end of his tether.  So she unlocked her front door and ushered him into the front room - a room she didn't often use - a room filled with unwelcome memories of her late aunt - a dismal, hostile room, best forgotten.

      "You spoke of a fix," she said kindly.  "Are you telling me Sheila managed to track you down?"

      He nodded.

      "Oh, Peter - and it's my fault.  Peter, I am sorry - but you should have warned me.  I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret.  Did Julie give the game away?"

      "Julie's not involved," he said.  "It was yesterday's party that did the damage.  I was so intent on giving you a surprise by rounding up all the names I could - I clean forgot I was trying to keep a low profile.  It never struck me that an ex-pupil from Shipley Green might be living four doors down from my beloved ex-wife.  But I was recognised on Sunday - and neighbours love to exchange news."

      "Oh, Peter, and it was such a lovely idea."

      "Lovely or not, word soon spread across east Kent and reached the ears of Sheila.  I had a letter today, demanding arrears of nearly nine thousand pounds.  That makes it a ruddy expensive party."

      "Peter, I am sorry.  Have you replied to her letter?"

      "I haven't had time - it only came this morning, and I wanted to tap into your logical brain before I acted hastily."

      "Good.  Don't answer it.  Pretend it never arrived."

      "Ashleigh, sweet, it came by recorded delivery.  I signed for it."

      "Then before you part with nine thousand pounds, let's discuss it.  First, fill me in on the whole story, warts and all."

      "In a word, my dear, it comes down to status.  Sheila's family always had pots of money.  And money decrees that only the best is good enough for Julie, even if she was born at an inconvenient time.  Sheila's family insisted Julie should attend the best possible private school, and her tame lawyer made me liable for half the fees.  We could never afford anything like that if we'd stayed together - but we're not, so my outgoings get determined instead by the courts.  My only hope now is to emigrate, which'll give you a clear run to the oast-house."

      "Forget the oast-house, Peter, it's not important - unless ..."

      Ashleigh began pacing the room, a habit she often displayed at work when trying to clarify her thoughts.

      "Wait," she said.  "I've an idea - a purely hypothetical whimsy.  What if you actually lived, not at the oast-house, but here?  I doubt if any of Sunday's folk know my aunt's address.  I could claim I lived in the oast-house, and that you simply dropped in from time to time to act as my handyman."

      "Now who's sounding devious?"

      "Shut up and listen.  Suppose I took over the freehold of the oast-house.  At least it'd keep Sheila off your back.  Meanwhile, you can live here in my aunt's house - a straight swap till the storm blows over."

      "But what about this letter?  I've signed for the damned thing.  I'll be expected to reply soon."

      "Not necessarily.  What if I visit Sheila, taking the letter and saying my well-meaning handyman signed for it in error?"

      "You mean you'd actually confront Sheila?  My dear girl, have you any idea what she's like?  She'll fry you alive.  You'll end up as scampi."

      "Don't exaggerate.  I'll explain how you arranged the house-warming for me.  I'll say I don't know where you actually live, and naturally you don't live with me."

      "Naturally.  Though Julie could throw a spanner in the works.  She'll recognise you."

      "Recognising me doesn't make me a criminal, Peter.  We dined together once, that's all.  I'll pretend it was your cunning ploy to lure me out of the house while someone arranged things for the party - who cares?  Besides, I'm curious to meet this Sheila of yours."

      "Please!  She certainly isn't mine, not any more."

      "But Julie's yours, Peter, and I'm still curious to hear her honest opinion of her Dad.  You sit here and think about it while I go and find something to eat - have you had dinner?"

      "I haven't eaten all day - letters from Sheila aren't good for the appetite."

      "Could you eat something if I prepared it?"

      "If you prepared it, my dear girl, I'd eat anything.  And that wasn't meant as a patronising compliment or foreplay.  Oh, I have to be so careful with you - I meant it simply as the kind of remark any normal father might make to his teenage daughter.  Satisfied?"

      "Perfectly.  That's why I'm longing to hear what Julie has to say."

      Ashleigh left Peter in the front room while she went to find something suitable from the freezer.  Once the cooking was under way, she returned to her guest and found him on his knees by a bookcase.

      "Kneeling again," she teased.  "Is that wise?"

      "Just nosing around.  I love old books.  Judging by their ages and titles, I'd say most of these belonged to your aunt."

      "I presume so.  To be honest I don't much care - I seldom use this room.  But if you came to live here, that's a useful job you could do - help me catalogue everything."

      "Aren't the executors supposed to do that?"

      "Yes, but not in detail.  They're all listed simply as BOOKS at some nominal value.  I'd say most of them aren't even worth putting in a jumble sale, but a few may be priceless.  They're certainly not sentimental, not to me."

      "Why not?  Wasn't Aunt Elsie actually related to you?"

      "I'm not sure - that's something I've often wondered.  But she wasn't the sort of person you could approach on matters like that.  Her surname was Challon, so there might be some clue in a family bible or an old photo album.  I admit there's a lot I need to do here, but I find this room so depressing.  I hate it, and not without good reason.  The job needs to be done by someone less emotionally involved."

      Peter responded with a servile bow.

      "I'll help all I can," he agreed.  "And don't go looking for ulterior motives when I say that - I'm simply offering friendship and support."

      "Then stop trying to apologise.  I'm not that touchy."

      "Good.  I just don't want you mistaking everything I say as - well, whatever. May I look at these albums?"

      "They're covered in dust.  I should give this room a thorough clean, but I was often banished here as a punishment so it's not a room I enjoy being in on my own.  Everything's so drab, like a museum of Victorian artefacts - just the way Aunt Elsie seemed to enjoy it.  She was an odd woman.  That's her, up there."

      Ashleigh pointed to a grim oil-painting, hung in a huge frame over the mantelpiece.  It portrayed a dull-faced woman who stared down on them like a prison warder.  Her eyes carried the chill of steel, her mouth was thin and severe, and she looked permanently peeved as though the ordeal of being painted was taking far too long.

      "I never felt related," Ashleigh said, her voice hushed in awe of the woman's glare.  "She would never tolerate closeness or any warmth of feeling.  To her, expressions of love were a sign of weakness, unless it was the so-called love of God.  I don't think she ever knew what it was to love another person.  It's an awful thing to admit - we lived together for twenty-five years, yet I never really knew her, and I've no idea what she really thought of me.  And that horrid painting gives me the shivers."

      "I'm not surprised," said Peter.  "Is the rest of the house like this?  I mean - you're trying to convince me I should come and live here - but I'm not sure that's on.  I could go nuts within a week."

      "There's no obligation," Ashleigh said defensively.  "It's entirely up to you.  You'd better inspect the place thoroughly before you decide."

      She took Peter on a tour of the musty house, including her own bedroom which was small and cheerful, and her aunt's room which smelt strongly of mothballs and TCP.

      "I'm sorry you were so unhappy here," said Peter as they returned to the kitchen.

      "It was even worse at our other place in Shipley Green," Ashleigh replied.  "I was much younger then and hadn't learned to stand up for my rights."

      "You manage very well now.  I'm impressed."

      "I can't claim the supper's going to impress you," she apologised.  "I hadn't planned on cooking for two.  But I'm doing smoked haddock, with mashed potatoes and peas - is that okay?"

      Peter's eyes assured her that, as far as he was concerned, she'd hit the jackpot.

      "We'll eat in the kitchen," she advised.  "It's cosier.  Also I shan't have to set the table.  Give me more warning next time, Peter, and I'll do the job properly.  I do want to impress you, you know - and that wasn't foreplay."

      "I'm out to impress you too," he said, "but right now I don't feel I've a lot going for me.  Financially I'm in ruins, my job prospects look bleak as hell, and now I've got that bloody woman breathing down my neck again, just when I thought I'd jumped clear.  But I like your idea about returning her letter.  For that, I'll gladly demote myself to handyman - in fact I find the role strangely appealing.  What needs fixing next, m'lady?"

      "That depends whether you're returning to the oast-house tonight, or staying here?  Tell you what," she added, glancing at her watch, "it's just gone half past eight.  How about leaving you to contemplate while I drive over to Staplehurst and drop this letter on the dragon's doormat?  It shouldn't take more than half an hour each way - what do you think?"

      "I'd offer to come with you," he said, "but that'd be like taking the fox to meet the hounds."

      "While I'm gone you can amuse yourself by looking at my aunt's library books.  I should be no more than an hour or so - and for what it's worth, I really do hope you'll still be here when I get back."

      After dinner, Ashleigh put on her coat, climbed into her old mini and set off towards Staplehurst.  She always carried detailed maps in the car, and found the address without difficulty.

      The former Bushnall residence proved to be a large prestigious house with a semi-circular drive and two wrought-iron gates.  Ashleigh parked on the drive, rang the bell and waited for the dragon to appear.

      But it was Julie who came to the door.

      "Julie, hi - remember me?  Is your mother at home?"

      "No," said Julie, "She's gone to London with a friend and won't be home till late."

      "Oh!  Well, look, there's a small problem.  This letter arrived this morning - clearly meant for your father, but for some reason it had my address on it by mistake, and so it came to my house.  Anyway, since it was recorded delivery I decided it might be important, and felt the best thing was to bring it back here.  I had to open it, of course, to find out where it came from."

      Ashleigh handed over the letter, and watched as Julie read it with a puzzled frown.

      "I don't understand," she said.  "Why would Mum write this?"

      "That's not for me to say, dear.  I'm sure she has her reasons.  Perhaps Mr. Bushnall hasn't been keeping in touch - I don't know - and it's certainly none of my business."

      "Aren't you and Daddy friends?"

      "Oh, I only met him a few weeks ago.  He's been helping me get my new house ready, doing odd jobs like laying quarry tiles on my kitchen floor, or wiring up my fridge, and so on."

      "I can't imagine Daddy doing any wiring," she laughed.  "I hope you're insured.  Who recommended him?"

      "We met quite by chance - both happened to turn up to view the same house at the same time.  Anyway, to cut a long story, your father got involved in organising a surprise party for me on Sunday.  There isn't a lot more I can tell you - I was hoping your mother would be home."

      "Not tonight.  Do you see Daddy often?"

      Julie's earnest eyes were tempting Ashleigh to be totally frank, but for Peter's sake she held her ground.

      "Fairly often, yes.  As I say, he spent the other day with me at this party.  We hung wallpaper together and painted a few doors.  I'm afraid when you buy an old house like mine you find hundreds of little jobs that need doing.  Your father's been most helpful."

      "So why not wait till you see him again?  Then you could give him this letter."

      "But I can't say for certain when that's going to be, Julie, and I thought it best to return it to your Mum.  At least she'll know he hasn't received it."

      Julie seemed uncertain, but agreed to take the letter back.  Having accomplished her mission, Ashleigh said goodbye, returned to her car, and was about to drive off when Julie came running after her.

      "If you do see Daddy," she panted, "tell him I won't be working at the pub any more.  Mum put a stop to that.  She doesn't like me seeing Dad."

      "Oh dear.  Has he been misbehaving himself?"

      Julie's eyes blazed indignation.  "Certainly not!  Mum's just got it in for him, that's all.  They never did get on.  But Dad's okay, in fact he's the best, and I wish he'd come home."

      Ashleigh reached out a friendly hand.  "Oh Julie, love.  What can I say?  I'm sure he'd like to, if it weren't for the trouble it might cause with your Mum.  By the tone of that letter it doesn't sound as though he'd be welcome."

      "You're right," she sighed.  "Daddy's much nicer than James, her latest boy-friend.  I hate James, and he hates me.  That's who she's gone off with tonight.  He keeps coming round, spoiling things.  He drives a big car like the one Daddy was demonstrating the other day - the same colour too, with that diagonal stripe across the front.  I think that's why Mummy likes him - she can't resist men with big cars."

      Julie then gave careful scrutiny to Ashleigh's ailing mini.  "Your own car's getting quite old, isn't it."

      "I'm afraid so.  We can't all afford the top of the range."

      "That's Daddy's main trouble.  He couldn't give Mum half of the things she wanted."

      "You surprise me, Julie.  This is a lovely house - it must have cost Daddy an awful lot of money."

      Julie gave a snort.  "Poor Daddy couldn't afford a house like this.  We moved here when Grandma died, and now it belongs to Mum and me.  She says Daddy never contributes a penny towards anything.  But that doesn't stop me loving him," she added hotly.

      "Of course not, my darling.  I think he's very lucky to have a loyal daughter like you - in fact I told him so the other night."

      "Did you?" she exclaimed.  "What did he say?"

      "He told me that you and he were still very close friends."

      Julie looked shame-faced.  "It's hard to stay close when you don't see someone that often."

      "I know, my love.  But he treasures you a great deal.  He's always talking about you."

      Julie pondered on this for a moment.  "I know you said you didn't know when you're going to see him again, but please, when you do, ask him if he's ever coming back, will you?"

      "I'll certainly ask him, my love.  And please keep in touch.  Write to me any time you want to - you'll find my address on that envelope."

      Ashleigh drove away leaving the child waving at the gate.  The round trip had taken longer than she'd thought, and when she got home she noticed Peter's car was no longer outside.  With a pang of disappointment, Ashleigh put her mini onto the drive, then let herself into an empty house where she found a note on the kitchen table.

      "Sorry I couldn't wait," it read, "but men need to shave on a regular basis and I doubt if your aunt kept a sharp enough razor.  Hope to be back soon - if not I'll phone before midnight."

      Ashleigh decided she couldn't wait for him to call, and dialled Peter's number.  Getting no reply, she tried again and again until well after midnight.  What had happened?  Where was Peter, and why hadn't he phoned?  She also wondered why it felt so important to her that he should.

      The phone eventually rang at a quarter past midnight.

      "Miss Ferguson?" asked a hushed voice.  "It's the William Harvey Hospital here.  Mr. Bushnall has asked us to give you a message, saying he's okay and he'll contact you early tomorrow morning."

      "The hospital?  But what's happened?  Is he all right?"

      "Everything's fine, Miss Ferguson.  No cause for alarm.  Mr. Bushnall was involved in a minor road accident this evening, but he's in no danger.  We'll be releasing him first thing tomorrow morning."

      "Can I speak to him?"

      "He's actually asleep right now, but he promises he'll be in touch with you tomorrow.  Don't worry, he's fine."

      Ashleigh replaced the receiver and thumped angry fists against the kitchen worktop.  The silly reckless fool!  Why were so many men incapable of learning how to handle a dangerous car?  Why did they buy them in the first place, and who had the right to sell them such lethal weapons?  The silly reckless fool, the sad pathetic clown - what was he trying to prove?

      Ashleigh hardly slept.  She got up as soon as it was light, dressed herself, and drove straight to the William Harvey Hospital on the outskirts of Ashford.  Whether Peter was awake or not, she wanted to be there in case he needed her.

      "Mr. Bushnall is in Kings Ward B," the man on the desk informed her.

      "He's only just woken up," said the nurse on Kings B. "Do you want me to give him a message?"

      "Yes, please," said Ashleigh, "tell him he's an impetuous ass, and I can't think why I love him.  Ask him if he wants a lift home."

      After a short wait, Peter appeared, ready to be transported home.

      "It was the damnedest thing," he said as he eased himself painfully into the mini.  "I was driving along, thinking about what you said.  I kept hearing your voice advising me to slow down in case Julie was just around the next bend.  And I did.  I kept my speed right down and drove very carefully until this wretched little van appeared from nowhere and came straight at me.  We both swerved and he hit me broadside.  I banged my head against the pillar and knocked myself out.  But I'm fine, really - no broken bones, just a pounding headache.  The other guy's still inside with a dislocated shoulder."

      "What about your car?"

      "Don't ask!  Even if it's worth repairing, I don't know where it is.  I've got to phone the police later and find out.  Ashleigh, why is all this happening to me?"

      "Peter, I don't know, but I'm very glad you're okay.  I was so worried when you didn't phone."

      "Really?  That's nice."

      "Not for me it wasn't.  I had a hell of a night.  In my dreams I stood and watched for an hour while you learned to walk on crutches.  Then I was guiding you down the length of Hythe High Street after they told me you were blind.  I even attended your funeral and stood sobbing at your graveside - me, who's supposed to have a logical mind.  I mean, they did assure me you were okay."

      Then Ashleigh told him about her encounter with Julie.

      "She's no longer working at that pub we went to - apparently Sheila put a stop to it when she realised you were still seeing one another."

      "Typical!" Peter exclaimed.  "The bloody woman, I could kill her.  Poor Julie - I wish to God I'd picked her a decent mother instead of a fire-breathing dragon.  I guess I really was blind."

      "Most men don't have eyes in the most active parts of their anatomy."

      "Is that another sample of Aunt Elsie's teaching?"

      "Like hell it is!  I don't think Elsie Challon ever discovered that men and women were physically different."

      "She probably knows by now."

      "Yes, and the thought keeps haunting me.  I've had her watching me like a hawk for twenty-five years.  Now I can't shake her off.  Every time I enter a room at home, I expect to see her, waiting to cross-examine me about something I've done wrong, like I'm under constant surveillance by the Gestapo."

      "That grim portrait doesn't help.  I think you should get rid of it.  I was studying it after you left and it made me feel thoroughly intimidated as if I'd no right to be there.  How did you stand it for twenty-five years?"

      "I had no option."

      Peter made a move as if to touch her lightly on the shoulder, but changed his mind.

      "I took the liberty of looking through that bookcase," he went on, "and I found something that might interest you.  Perhaps you can tell me more about it when we get the chance."

      "Sorry to interrupt," said Ashleigh.  "but should I be taking you to the oast-house or back to my place?"

      "Don't you have to get to work soon?"

      "Yes, but I can do a lot of work from home.  I've already phoned through to explain what's happened."

      "Do they know about me?"

      "One or two comments have been made recently, about the way I'm keeping a closer eye on the clock.  But as far as the rest are concerned, you're just a regular business appointment."

      "It sounds as if you're ashamed of me."

      "Not at all.  Maybe it's Aunt Elsie's influence, but I tend to be a very private person.  I don't go around telling everyone what I do outside work - it's none of their business.  And you haven't answered my question - where to, please?"

      "I still need to pick up a few essentials, but if you're offering to act as my nurse for a few days - it's a temptation I don't feel well enough to resist."

      "Then we'll stop in Shipley Green, just long enough for you to pack a small suitcase."

      At the oast-house Peter went upstairs to collect a few essentials while Ashleigh filled the time by washing up mugs and dishes.  She was about to call upstairs to see if Peter was ready, when she heard the wheels of a car scrunching on the gravel outside.  From his bedroom window Peter saw what he thought was Ashleigh's blue Volvo.

      "Was I was brain-damaged in the accident?" he called out.  "Because I swear your Volvo's just turned up, all by itself "

      "It's not mine," said Ashleigh.  "A Volvo?  Ah, then I suggest you keep well out of sight, because I think I know who's just arrived."

      Ashleigh opened the door to find two strangers, a man and a woman, wandering around and peering into the outhouse.  An auburn-haired woman turned and approached airily.

      "You, are you the owner of this place?"

      "I'm afraid the building society owns most of it," replied Ashleigh.  "How can I help?"

      "I understood that Peter Bushnall lived here - am I wrong?"

      "Mr. Bushnall?  He comes here sometimes at weekends, in fact he was here last Sunday along with about twenty other guests of mine."

      "I sent him a letter to this address," the woman said, "and someone brought it back to my house.  Was that you?"

      "I did return a wrongly addressed letter from a Mrs. Bushnall, yes.  I gave it to a young lady who said her name was Julie."

      "Really?  My daughter's name happens to be Julietta.  Her father's the only one who ever calls her Julie.  And you say you haven't seen him since last weekend?"

      "Why, has he gone missing?  I suggest you try his home address."

      "And where's that?" the woman asked with lofty disdain.

      "If I knew his address, Mrs. Bushnall, I'd have hardly gone to the trouble of opening his letter and returning it to you."

      "You're saying you don't know where he is?"

      "Look," Ashleigh explained with serene calm, "I'm new to this area.  I've only been here a few weeks, and I don't yet know any of my neighbours.  Someone may know at the post office, but I'm afraid I can't help you."

      "Whose is that car?" asked the man, pointing to Ashleigh's mini.

      "Mine.  What's wrong with it?"

      "It doesn't belong to Peter Bushnall, by any chance?"

      Ashleigh raised her voice.  "No, it certainly does not.  Look, I'm sorry but you've obviously come to the wrong place.  Please excuse me."

      "And you say Peter Bushnall's not here."

      "If he were, I could get a lot more work done in far less time instead of trying to do every blessed job on my own.  If neither of you are volunteering to come inside and lend a hand, you'll have to excuse me."

      Ashleigh stepped back into the house, half-closing the door, and glaring at her visitors, much as her aunt would have done, with transparent disapproval, until they finally got back into their Volvo and drove off.

      "Why do I have this sudden urge to sell my Volvo?" she exclaimed as she rejoined Peter upstairs.

      "Now you can understand my reluctance to keep subsidising Sheila's extravagance.  Thanks for lying."

      "I didn't lie.  There's not one word I said that wasn't true - evasive, yes, but always the truth.  I said I didn't know your current address, because it's a matter we haven't yet resolved."

      "Then let's resolve it right now," he said.  "The sooner we agree to swap homes, the better."

<<< Previous Chapter       Back to my Stories Page       Back to my Front Page       Next Chapter >>>

Chapters:    1   2   3   4   5   6   8   9   10   11

Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations.   You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me.     Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson     All Rights Reserved.