A Crowded Coffin(6)

Savouring the peace and the sunshine Edith turned the corner and came out to the front of the house, to find a stranger, a tall, very thin young man, contending with Lulu, the stout family dog that looked much like a Labrador but with a curly tail. She was leaping up at him in a ridiculous parody of puppyhood and plastering his chinos with mud.

Oh God, it must be Karen’s husband, she thought, running along the brick path. I hope it doesn’t put him off working here. Harriet says he’s a treasure and it’s so hard to get reliable helpers for Gran and Grandpa. ‘Down, Lulu, down. Bad dog!’

The dog arched in mid-jump at the sound of a remembered voice and twisted round, barely touching base before throwing herself at Edith who, wise in the fat almost-Labrador’s ways, braced herself to receive the onslaught. After a damp but enthusiastic reunion   Edith rose and looked up at the stranger.

‘Ohhhh!’ It was a long drawn-out gasp as her hand went to her mouth. ‘But … but who are you?’ She stared at him in astonishment. Not Karen’s husband after all, definitely not, but who on earth could he be? Dark brown hair, a humorous quirk to the mouth, achingly familiar, but goodness, he was thin. Far too thin, surely?

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, looking anxious when she just stood there gazing at him.

‘But … you look just like….’ She pulled herself together and frowned, then shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just … oh well, never mind. Can I help you? Were you looking for someone? I’m so sorry about the dog.’

‘I’m fine,’ he said, patting the old dog as she flopped down beside him, resting her nose on his shoe. ‘I like dogs but I must admit I wouldn’t have worn my best trousers if I’d known what she was like. I wanted to make a good impression on my first day, that was all.’ When Edith still looked puzzled he grinned. ‘I’m the new lodger,’ he explained. ‘I was just exploring. Who are you?’

‘You mean you’re the artist Karen was talking about?’ She stared at him, a frown knitting her brow. ‘I – oh, I’m sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s a bit of a surprise. We’ve never taken in lodgers before and I can’t think what Gran’s up to. It’s not as though she hasn’t got a lot on her plate.’

‘I suppose it must seem odd to you,’ his smile was disarming, ‘but you needn’t worry. I insisted on paying for my bed and board even though your grandparents protested.’ His smile broadened and he held out his hand. ‘You must be Edith. I’m your very distant cousin, Rory Attlin.’

‘Really?’ She hesitated, still puzzled, then shook hands with an apologetic smile. ‘I’ve never heard of any distant cousins. But,’ she glanced at him again then looked away, ‘that could explain why you look so much like….’ The old dog interrupted her at that moment, nuzzling a wet nose into her hand. ‘Oh well, it’s Gran’s business after all. I’m sorry if I sounded rude, I’m a bit jet-lagged.’ She gave him a friendly grin.

He smiled. ‘Thanks, no problem. Just one thing: they did mention in the pub that there used to be witches here. Any truth in that? Just so I know.’

‘They only say that to cadge drinks out of the unwary.’ She laughed out loud at his expression. ‘Caught you, did they? The truth is the Attlin women have always been practical and bossy, and yes, they probably did know a lot about herbs and folklore, but I expect you’ll be safe enough.’

‘Hmm.’ He looked thoughtful, a sparkle in his hazel eyes. ‘Have those particular genes been carried down to the present day?’

She laughed again and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment. You’ll have to wait and see. And watch your step.’

‘Look.’ He dug his hands into his pockets and smiled down at her. ‘I’ve clearly arrived at a difficult time, but can we call a truce? I’ll try and keep out of your way and not be a nuisance, but I don’t want to leave. This place is magic.’ He swept a comprehensive glance round the garden and looked down at her slightly shyly as if reluctant to admit to such enthusiasm.

She wasn’t proof against such obvious appreciation of her home. His presence might be an unwanted complication at a time of such uncertainty and anxiety, and his appearance was something of a disturbing mystery, but the hand caressing the stone angel beside the original entrance to the hall was the hand of a lover. His expression as he gazed up at the mosaic of dressed flint that glittered above the porch, as the sun caught it, was one of startled pleasure.