Overstretched

Chapter 4

FOUR

The next morning, Samantha threw back the curtains and looked out into the grey, washed-out skyline. The heavy rain had given way to a light drizzle with the promise of eventual cessation later. However, later was an imponderable. Between now and then a new house awaited. Samantha sighed, wondered what was happening in far-off Norwich at that moment, and swung around to find Amy staring with round, frightened eyes, her sour expression telling the whole world what had happened. “You wet your bed?”

Amy nodded, bottom lip quivering. In a rush, Samantha bent down and picked up her daughter, hugging her close. “Don’t worry, darling. No one can blame you after the terrible night we all had.” She kissed her, tried to block out Steve’s snores, and went into the bathroom to clean up her little girl.

Over breakfast, they sat in silence, scrambled eggs on toast the only offering, with an accompaniment of weak tea or strong coffee. With nothing else on offer, Steve Brunt asked for some milk for the girls, which they stared at but did not sample. Afterwards, they gathered their belongings and at the bar he paid the tariff, received neither a sound nor glance from the woman, and stepped out into the dull, cold morning air. Samantha shuffled past him, ushering the girls into the car. When she looked back at him, her eyes held nothing but contempt.

They made the ascent to the house in two attempts, mud spraying in all directions, the big engine screaming. Samantha peered out towards the other house, standing further up the hillside like an old, black bull silhouetted against the grey sky, staring, measuring them. She shuddered and swung around to Bea. “We’ll walk.”

Before Steve said a word, the three of them were outside in the drizzle, slithering up the sodden earth, Amy laughing loudly, Bea more tight-lipped. Head down, Samantha marched on, determined. Another downpour threatened to erupt from the leaden sky.

Safely indoors, she searched for the light switch as the girls ran through the house, exploring every room, squealing in delight. Samantha stood listening to them pounding across the upstairs landing and the cold, heartless interior of the house bit into her and for a moment the urge to turn and walk away almost overcame her. She padded her palm along the wall, found the switch and when nothing happened, her shoulders sagged, her depression growing stronger. She went over to the fireplace, peered into the abyss of the grate, and wondered if this could ever be home. And then she saw it. A piece of paper with the word ‘Welcome’ scrawled across the facing side. She picked it up and hurriedly put it into her pocket when she heard the footfall behind her. Turning, she saw Steve coming through the door with suitcases in both hands.

“There’s no power. I’ll phone the electric people,” he said and let the cases drop. He studied her face, deathly pale, eyes black-rimmed.

“I’ll do it,” she said and stomped off to leave him alone in the empty lounge, no furniture, ornaments, or even carpet to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. Dark, unwelcoming. As the night had been, the pub, her mood.

Samantha struggled to open the kitchen door, the frame swollen from the rain and, when at last she succeeded, the handle came off in her hand. She swore, threw it down and went out into what used to be a garden. An overgrown mess of ancient flowerbeds hidden under a jungle of twisted grass and broken shrubs presented itself to her. A sad excuse for an apple tree leant precariously against a frail, sagging fence. She walked through the sodden grass, not caring anymore, and pushed the timbers with her fingertips. The rotten woodwork groaned, and she retreated before the whole lot came crashing down.

“You need someone to take a look at that.”

Turning sharply, she gasped at the size of the man grinning at her from the other side of the fence. His white teeth shone out from a lean, shining face hewn from pure mahogany. Shoulders and arms strained inside a t-shirt at least two sizes too small and, unable to resist, she allowed her eyes to wander over his superb frame.

“And everything else too,” he added, voice low and rumbling, as thick and sweet as treacle.

She forced a laugh, realising with a start she had no idea who this stranger was, or where he had come from. “I’m sorry. Are you selling something?”

His grin grew wider and he winked. “Could be,” he said, swung around and swaggered off.

She found it hard to drag herself away from the sight of him and return to a study of the garden.

Inside the house a few minutes later, Samantha found Steve staring at his mobile as if lost in a daze. “Problem?” she asked, going into the kitchen: no cups, no kettle, no provisions. Then, a tiny trickle of hope, as she remembered what Steve had brought. She opened the box and peered at what he’d prepared. Broken eggs, a congealed mess on the bottom, mingled with tiny slivers of red pepper, onion, the remnants of an omelette, now useless. She squeezed her eyes shut, bunched her fists and suppressed a scream. She glared at him as he came in. “We haven’t got one f*****g thing to make a drink with.” She seethed, her breaths hissing through clenched teeth. “Steve Brunt! Are you listening to me?”

“They want me to go in tomorrow morning.”

“What? Who does?”

He brought up his face: frightened, little-boy-lost eyes. “Work.”

“You’ve got to be joking. Monday you said!”

He shrugged, looking sheepish.

“You can’t leave me alone like this, we need to buy so much. Steve, we have nothing to eat and not one b****y thing for the girls!”

“We’ll have to go to the shops this afternoon.”

“It’s too soon to leave us. I need you here.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t say no, can I?”

“You could try. Jesus, Steve.”

“Ten o’clock they said. I’ll need to leave a couple of hours earlier. It’ll take me almost that long to find the office.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

Shaking her head, she stormed off, shouting, “Well, start by ringing the removal people and asking them where our things are. Then the electrical people, unless you can fix the fuse box.”

She found the girls in one of the empty bedrooms. They had come across a pile of old newspapers and were folding them into shapes.

Bea beamed as her mother stepped into the room. “We did this at school. Origami. Some guy came to teach us.”

“With newspaper?”

“We can use anything, he said. Do you want to play?”

She went over to the window and peered across the fields to the other house. She saw him, a brooding, dark shape amongst the smudges and smears of the washed-out grass, wiping down a large, ancient car with a red cloth. So, not a door-to-door salesman. He worked in the neighbour’s house. A mechanic, chauffeur perhaps. Or bodyguard. Her memory jolted and she found the piece of paper in her pocket, opened it and read the message. ‘Hi, I’m Carson.’ That was it. Could the great, hulking piece of manhood cleaning the car be him?

Amy tugged at her trousers and Samantha smiled at her youngest holding up a grubby piece of newspaper towards her mother. “Make me a dolly.”

Bea came next to her and pressed her nose against the cold glass. “What are you looking at?”

“Not much.”

“Who is that man over there?”

“I think he’s someone who helps our neighbour.”

“Helps him? Why, is he ill?”

“Not really. The estate agent said our neighbour was an old recluse.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone who likes to live on their own.”

“He’s very big, isn’t he?” She giggled. “He’s like a bodybuilder.”

“Let me see.” Amy stood on tiptoes and drew a heart shape with her finger, where Bea’s breath had steamed the glass.

“How do you know what a bodybuilder is?”

Bea shrugged. “Mister Emery was a bodybuilder in school.”

“Mister Emery? I don’t remember him.”

“He had to leave.” Bea stepped back. “Do you like bodybuilders?”

Samantha gaped at her eldest. “Do I ...? I’m not really sure.” It was her turn to giggle, and she took another look at the impressive, dark shape moving towards the main door of the neighbouring house. “Yes,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper, “I suppose I might do,” and her fingers curled around the welcome note and squeezed it into a tight ball.