Clare Houston: An Unquiet Place

A door blocked the passage. Tim opened it and led the way into the other half of the house. Hannah breathed deeply, the woody scent of old books floating on the air.

‘These two rooms must’ve been the front living rooms of the old house – they work perfectly for the shop,’ said Tim, standing aside to let Hannah pass. ‘This room on the right is where we keep our second-hand stock.’

Polished wooden floorboards warmed the feel of the room, echoing comfortingly as Hannah entered. White-painted bookshelves reached from floor to ceiling around the room. Books filled the shelves, stacked with their spines facing out. Hannah ran her finger along their edges, leather and gilt alongside faded fabric and cracked paperback.

A Victorian tiled fireplace stood at one end of the room with a battered leather couch and a velvet-upholstered wing-back chair facing the fireplace. An antique table and chairs stood in the centre of the room. It had the feel of an old-fashioned English reading room, and Hannah smiled at the thought of spending her days there.

‘Working here might be a problem,’ she said, quickly adding as Tim turned to her with frown, ‘I mean, with all these books and this room. So distracting.’

Tim smiled. ‘You’ll see, the shop gets busy. There won’t be a lot of time.’

‘People sit here and read, especially in winter when Tim lights the fire,’ said Chris.

‘Our new stock and the till are over here,’ said Tim, leading the way across the passage. This room too was filled with white-painted bookshelves, but they displayed glossy books, covers facing out.

Hannah crossed to the desk where a new computer presided over the shelves below, stacked with ledgers. Chris caught her frown. ‘Honey, you could do this in your sleep. It’s just running the shop and managing stock, and we have Barbara to help you. You could do it easily without her, but she’s retired and loves the company. She makes enough pocket money to take her to Joburg to see her daughter.’

Tim chipped in, ‘She’ll show you the computer system. It’s pretty up to date but not difficult to use – even I manage it.’

Tim and Chris walked Hannah back through to the kitchen.

‘Mind the doorstop,’ said Chris, pointing to an old Victorian iron holding the door open. ‘That thing has taken at least two of my toenails!’

‘But it’s too cute to abandon,’ said Tim. ‘It’s the real thing, you know. I love the idea of little irons lined up on the woodstove to heat. So romantic.’

‘Unless you actually have to iron with them, I’d imagine,’ said Hannah.

‘Exactly.’ said Chris, laughing.

They stood with her on the deck outside the kitchen.

‘We so love this place.’ Tim’s eyes glittered with tears. ‘Selling it would have broken my heart. You know, I advertised for a manager for six months without a single response. And then you called out of the blue! It’s providence or fate or something…’ Tim turned to Hannah, anxiety pulling his brows into a frown as leaving became real. ‘I feel like we’ve dumped this on you. Will you be okay?’

‘I think so,’ said Hannah, forcing a confident smile. ‘I’ll give it my best shot anyway.’

‘She’s going to be brilliant,’ said Chris with his hand on Tim’s shoulder. He looked across at her and winked. ‘There are a dozen people in this town who’ll be knocking on your door tomorrow to help you. And, as of Tuesday next week, we’ll be online to field any questions you have. I left a file in the kitchen with basic information. Emergency numbers, refuse collection days – useful stuff.’

Hannah smiled at him, feeling marginally encouraged by his faith in her.

‘And anyway,’ he said, ‘you’re a bright girl, you’ll figure it out.’

Their white BMW SUV was parked in the street, jackets and a laptop on the back seat.

‘Bye, gorgeous girl,’ said Chris, hugging Hannah warmly.

They drove away, leaving Hannah staring after them, feeling as though she had been run over by a train.

From deep inside her own car, she heard a mournful yowl.

‘Oh, Patchy!’

When the cat was safely, if grumpily, shut in the bathroom, Hannah set about unpacking her car.

At last, she turned on the kettle and began opening all the old-fashioned canisters on the counter. Tim and Chris seemed to have collected every possible flavour of herbal tea. Eventually, the biggest mug she could find was steaming on the counter, the scent of Five Roses drifting in the warm evening air. The men had stocked their retro-style fridge for her, and it burgeoned with produce and expensive-looking deli packages.

She moved to the edge of the deck leading to the garden and sat on the top step, hunching over her knees and sipping her tea. She breathed deeply and hung her head back, looking up at the now pale sky. Swallows and swifts were wheeling about in the last light and, as the garden dimmed, a bat dropped out of the eaves behind her and disappeared into the evening. Hannah was bone-tired from her day’s driving, but underneath that was a pump of anticipation. It had been many years since she had not known what tomorrow held for her. Nobody had given her permission to be here; in fact, her parents didn’t even know where she was. She felt a trickle of rebellion and, laying her cheek on her knees, found herself smiling.

Aknock at his kitchen door broke Alistair Barlow’s concentration. He sighed, pushing his chair back from his desk as he heard his mother call hello. Her footsteps thumped briskly on the wooden floors as she came down the passage towards his study. Sarah Barlow stopped in the doorway, looking at her son. Spreadsheets were open on his computer screen and his desk was piled with paperwork. His hair was tousled into a crest where he had pushed it back repeatedly. He knew he looked tired.

‘What, Mum?’ he said, resigned to her intrusion.

She ignored his question. ‘What are you busy with?’

He pushed his hair back again and glanced at the screen. ‘Game sales mainly. I’m trying to keep on top of admin so that the farm audit in February isn’t a panic like last year.’

‘You’ve got a lot on your plate, Alistair. You know how much better your father is now that he doesn’t have to worry about all this desk work? It was never his strong point. I’m just sorry it takes up so much of your life at the moment. I’d love for you to get some time to do other things, see some people…’

‘What were you wanting, Mum?’ said Alistair, hoping to divert her attention away from his social life.

‘I’m heading into Leliehoek and was wondering if you needed anything?’

‘No, I’ve got everything I need,’ he said shortly.

‘No, you don’t. Your kitchen is practically empty.’

‘How would you know that, Mum? Been going through my cupboards again?’

‘No, of course not, but I did check in the fridge. You’re down to half a litre of milk and a beer.’

‘Sounds like enough to me,’ said Alistair deliberately, knowing this would rile his mother.

‘Alistair Barlow!’ said Sarah, rising – as she always did – to the bait. ‘I stand by. I watch you limp along with your life without so much as a comment. I love you. I don’t think you realise how hard it is for me to see you like this.’

‘Like what, Mum?’ Alistair sighed and leant back in his chair.

‘You’re becoming a recluse. You never go out. You never see any of your old friends. You’ve lost interest in all the things you used to love doing. We’re worried about you. I mean, your sisters and I are. Your father takes your side. He says you need time, but it’s been eight years, Alistair! Isn’t that enough?’