A Season for Second Chances(32)

“Mari knows,” said Alfred.

“She didn’t mention it to me.”

“It’s an unspoken agreement.”

“How did you get in?”

“Mari gave me a key to one of the shutters,” said Alfred. “And the window latch gives with a little jimmying.” He lifted one hand to reveal a silver key swinging between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ah, that explains it. For a moment, I thought I had a Houdini on my hands!”

“Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid.” Alfred began to shift onto his knees. “I’m going to get up,” he said. “Please don’t launch any weapons at me.”

Annie smiled and held her hands up. “I am unarmed.”

The rolling pin clattered onto the floorboards and rolled under a table as he stood. He leaned the umbrella up against a table leg and set about folding his blankets and stuffing them neatly into the shopping bag he’d been using as a pillow.

“What are you doing?” asked Annie.

“I’m leaving,” said Alfred.

“You can’t go out in this!” said Annie. “The weather’s terrible.”

As though to strengthen her point, a gust of wind hit the shutters like someone was outside battering them with a canoe.

“Just stay, please,” said Annie. “If it’s all right with Mari, it’s all right with me.”

Alfred smiled hesitantly. His leathery cheeks folded like a concertina into deep lines that traveled up past his eyes and along his weather-beaten forehead. His wasn’t a face that was used to smiling.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” said Annie. “Do you need anything?”

“No, thanks,” said Alfred. “I’ve got everything I need.”

What you need is somewhere to live! Annie thought, but she said: “Okay, then. Well, good night.”

This time Alfred really smiled; the lines in his face deepened so that it looked like his face was swallowing itself. His eyes twinkled, and Annie couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good night,” said Alfred. “And thank you.”

Back upstairs, the warmth of the little flat washed over her, and Annie felt a pang of sorrow for the things that made Alfred feel he couldn’t cope with being an “inny.” She made herself a cup of chamomile tea, plucked Mari’s guide to Saltwater Nook from the bookcase, and settled back into bed.

Annie opened the handwritten book and flipped through the pages. At the beginning of the section marked Autumn was a side note, which read:

    Alfred.

Around this time of year, Alfred will occasionally let himself in of an evening when the weather is particularly squally. He is homeless. Something happened a long time ago that caused him to feel like he didn’t belong in one. He is a good man, I am sure, and a man of nature, too. He is as in harmony with the world as the birds are the air.

Alfred is an all-weather friend with a practical hand you’ll find yourself mighty grateful for. He has a key to the padlock on the furthest set of shutters so he can sleep in the old tearoom. It’s dry, if a little drafty. I don’t mind saying I feel better about thunderstorms when Alfred’s downstairs. When winter sets in proper, he’ll be on his way, and you won’t see him again till the hyacinth bloom. He’s no bother and he’ll thank you to do nothing for him. He’s a proud man and one of the best I’ve known.



Annie placed the book on her bedside table and determined to pay it some proper attention, lest she find herself in store for more surprises.





Chapter 25



When Annie left Saltwater Nook the next morning in search of a copy of The Woman in White, the air was so bitingly fresh it took her breath away. She had woken up early and taken a mug of tea downstairs for Alfred, but the tearoom was empty; he must have left before sunrise.

Annie shivered until she was a third of the way up the hill, when the chill turned to sweat. She repeated It will get easier in her mind like a mantra, over the sound of her ragged breathing and the screaming ache in her thighs. It was good to have goals.

The library stood just off the main street and backed onto a park, with woods beyond. She decided to call Sally quickly while she waited for her cheeks to fade from beetroot purple to radish pink.

“Annie! Hi!” came Sally’s voice. “Good to hear from you. How’s the new pad?”

“It’s great, actually,” said Annie. “I think I really struck it lucky with this place.”

“Good,” said Sally. “And how’s your brain? Any clearer?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Annie replied. “Listen, I know this might sound weird, but would you fancy joining a Victorian book club? I don’t quite know how it happened but I seem to be hosting one.”

Sally laughed. “Shit the bed, Annie, you really can’t say no to anything, can you!”

“Apparently not,” said Annie. “But in this case, I think my being a pushover might be a positive thing.”

“I agree,” said Sally. “Count me in! My last book club had to be disbanded due to irrevocable political differences.”

“Blimey!” said Annie.

“Yes,” Sally mused. “All got a bit messy toward the end. We should never have pitted the Bront? sisters’ works against each other. Still, you live and learn. And you’d hardly know Olivia’s nose had even been broken now!”