The Little Clock House on the Green. Eve Devon

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СКАЧАТЬ least I get to spend one hour three mornings a week doing a little butt-staring,’ Trudie wriggled her eyebrows appreciatively.

      ‘And what does Nigel have to say about this new hobby of yours?’

      ‘Oh he’s far too busy reaping the rewards to complain.’

      Kate screwed up her face. ‘Euw! T.M.I.’

      ‘What can you possibly mean,’ Trudie said, adopting an innocent expression. ‘I’m talking about having the stamina to help Nigel out in the garden – what are you talking about?’

      Kate laughed.

      ‘Now all I have to do,’ Trudie added, her attention on the fitness instructor, ‘is to convince Mr Butt that after helping out backstage at the summer play, he really wants to be in the Christmas one.’

      ‘Playing what? The back end of the pantomime horse?’

      ‘Trudie McTravers, do not make me come over there,’ came the voice from the other end of the green.

      ‘Help,’ Trudie said, not very convincingly.

      ‘Run!’ Kate advised. ‘Run like the wind.’

      Trudie finished her star-jumps and turned to give Kate a mock salute. ‘Back for forever, you say?’

      ‘Uh-huh,’ Kate murmured, saluting back, convinced she heard Trudie mutter a, ‘well, just when you think you’ve heard it all,’ under her breath as she sort of yomped back to the rest of the class.

      Kate’s smile faltered when she realised she had nothing left to distract her from what she’d come to see.

      She blew out a breath to prepare for her first proper glance… and turned to face The Clock House.

      There it stood.

      Rising up from the far end of the village green. Strong and straight and true.

      Her gaze roamed greedily over it.

      The three-storeys-high, Georgian red-brick building with the ornate clock perched proudly on top was finished off with a lead dome and brass weathervane.

      The sash windows still had their white trim, and the matching double doors, gleaming in the sunshine, looked as if they’d only recently been re-painted. In the brick space between the second and third floors, simple, no-fuss, wrought-iron lettering spelled out ‘The Clock House’.

      Her gaze sought out the face of the clock.

      Without even being conscious of it, her hand moved to stroke over the locket watch she wore.

      All this time, and, incredibly, a part of her had still expected the time on The Clock House clock to state 1:23pm.

      She squeezed against the cool metal in her palm, the chain cutting into her neck slightly.

      So selfish to think that here time would have stood still for four years.

      Bold roman numerals in the same material as the signage, reigned stately over the white face of the clock and the fact that after more than a hundred years it kept good time at all was a testament to Old Man Isaac’s family of clock-makers.

      Kate stared and breathed.

      Deeply and evenly.

      Right up until she clapped eyes on the For Sale sign staked to the low brick wall in front of the building. For the second time in twenty-eight years her little world came to a grinding stop.

      So this was how it felt to be blown apart that the building she’d grown up loving was up for sale.

      Thank goodness that pebble had landed vein-side up.

      Because maybe she really wanted this building… maybe she really needed this building… She took a shaky step forward, and then another, and then another, so that by the time she’d hopped over the low brick wall and stepped onto the gravel drive, her heart was pounding clear out of her chest.

      She hesitated and then rallied. She’d come this far, hadn’t she? Silly to turn away now.

      With trembling hands she reached out to the key-safe Old Man Isaac had fitted years ago. Everyone in Whispers Wood knew the combination because everyone used the building for village events. Flipping open the cover to expose the keypad, she entered the code her mother used before she had started the B&B, when she’d been responsible for cleaning the building, and prayed it hadn’t been altered.

      Seconds later and the key-safe opened to reveal a set of brass keys.

       In for a penny in for a pound.

      Kate put the largest of the keys in the lock, turned it, pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold.

      The shouting from the exercise group was drowned out by the whooshing in her ears as mine after mine dropped into her field of memory and exploded. Too quick for her to check for injury – too sharp to doubt she would escape unscathed.

      The Somersby Sisters.

      Bea and Kate.

      Five years old and wearing summer school dresses of green and white check. White ankle socks with frills and scuffed black shoes. Chasing each other round the building. Screeching with glee as they cartwheeled across the parquet flooring. Collapsing in a fit of giggles when they were told off for being too loud, too happy, too exuberant.

      The Somersby Sisters.

      Bea and Kate.

      Fifteen years old. Their school uniform skirts rolled up short, their long socks rolled down. School ties shoved into their bags. Lying in the gardens behind The Clock House, bitching about Gloria Pavey and whispering about boys.

      The Somersby Sisters.

      Bea and Kate.

      Twenty. In the main foyer, clearing up after Bea and Oscar’s engagement party. A little drunk and talking nineteen to the dozen about how, one day, they were going to open their own business – a little day spa that would use only the best organic treatments and would be set in the most perfect premises. Premises as perfect as The Clock House.

      A Somersby Sister, 15th October 2013.

      Kate.

      Twenty-four and staring up at The Clock House.

      Dressed in black.

      Blind with tears.

      Filled with rage.

      And completely and utterly finished with dreams.

      The sound of a door closing brought Kate back to life. She whirled around, the echoes of memory so strong she half expected to see a replay of a five-year-old Bea disappearing around a corner. But there was no movement. No sound. Nothing.

      Heaving in a breath she realised she’d been so caught up she’d been moving through the building СКАЧАТЬ