Cottage to Let

Cottage to Let

Graham Murchison paused in his work to watch the young woman who walked past his cottage. She was fair and slim but her face was tired and drawn and she wore the same listless expression he had seen several times before. Pulling against her hand was an impatient young lad, anxious to be free. She glanced briefly at the cottage then quickly turned away as if she had no wish to pry.

The man watched until she disappeared from sight, then returned to his work, but his thoughts were not on the books before him. They were with the woman and child.

He had first met them just after his arrival in Pittsworth. She had been waiting at the bus-stop one morning and the boy had been particularly difficult. As the young woman tried desperately to console him, Graham produced a handkerchief and made a rabbit with it. Fascinated, the boy played contentedly while he and the woman talked.

“You’re a stranger here, aren’t you?” she asked politely, after she had thanked him. Her eyes were dull and lifeless and he sensed an incredible sadness in her.

“Yes. Just moved into Mona Dawkin’s cottage.”

The woman started. “Oh, really?” The passive eyes were suddenly alight with interest. “You’re her nephew, then. I knew Mona. We were great friends.”

“I met her only the once,” Graham said. “I was just a lad at the time and I barely remember her. She left her cottage to me.”

“Yes, I heard that.” The woman nodded, curiously. “I didn’t know Mona had any relatives until after she died. She never married, as far as I know, and she never spoke of family at all.”

“There was a rift of sorts between my father and my aunt, unfortunately. It goes back a long way but I think it was resolved before she died.”

“What will you do, here?” the woman asked, changing the subject. She studied the man’s face as she continued. “Pittsworth’s a nice place but there is not much to do here and not much work available.”

“I’ve come here to study, actually,” he replied. “I’m working on a thesis and the cottage is a very peaceful place to do it. I travel into the city quite often but most of the work is done here.”

“What are you studying?” she asked. Her voice held genuine interest.

“Ancient Babylonia. I’m a professor of sorts, in ancient history and I’ve spent quite a few years studying those early civilisations.”

“Have you?” Her interest was bordering on enthusiasm. “I studied history once. I was hoping to teach the subject, but that was years ago. There’s no time for that sort of thing now. Looking after Timmy is a full time job in itself.” She glanced wistfully at the child and at the mention of his name, Timmy stopped his playing and tugged the woman’s sleeve.

“When’s the bus gonna come?” he whined.

“Look, it’s coming now,” Graham said. “You can just see it on the top of the hill.” He and Timmy watched it approach and the conversation was seemingly forgotten.

It was not forgotten, though, for when Graham Murchison boarded the bus, his thoughts were with the young woman sitting three seats in front of him and he wished they could have talked further. When she and Timmy left the bus she waved slightly and Graham did not see her again for some weeks. His work kept him in the city and he spent many days at the University library.

He was working in the garden when he next saw her. She was walking past his cottage and she looked ill. Her skin was sallow and the tired listless expression was even more pronounced in her deep set eyes. She smiled briefly in recognition and paused slightly as the man passed a remark to Timmy, then continued on her way.

During the weeks that followed, she often passed his cottage and it was not long before Graham realised that her movements followed a pattern and he began to watch for her. She regularly walked to the supermarket each morning with the young fellow in tow. To Graham, whose, life was his work, she was a breath of fresh air and he began to anticipate those brief encounters. Once or twice, he fell into step beside her as he walked to the bus-stop and a sense of well-being filled his heart.

He liked the woman. She was intelligent and well versed in current affairs but not overly talkative and she spoke little of her personal life. The boy Timmy was a constant distraction and she patiently bore his demands but the sense of sadness that Graham had noticed, during that first encounter, never left her face and he wondered what had caused it.

As time passed, Graham longed to know her better but his research took him to the city often and when they were together, there was always Timmy to contend with. He would have liked to invite her to the cottage for a chat but his sense of propriety prevented him. He knew little of her circumstances but he had learned through observation that she lived further up the hill in a rambling high set house that desperately needed attention.

He knew too, that besides the demanding three-year-old, she had two older children, a boy and a girl at school. Her husband, it seemed, was a truck driver, away more often than home and Graham wondered if the strain of his absence was the reason behind the pale listless expression he had seen so often. He felt a deep resentment towards the man. He saw no evidence that she was being abused but still, he wondered.

Graham was never quite sure when he began to fall in love with her. He supposed it was in that brief encounter at the bus-stop but the realisation, some months later, stunned him. He had never had time for the opposite sex. His studies had absorbed all his spare time and interest and his elderly mother had often joked that her academic son would never find a wife because he was already married to his work. Graham, in a light-hearted way had been inclined to agree with her. Now he wondered what his dear old Mum would think if she could see him mooning over a pale fair-haired woman who was not his to claim.

Sadly, he returned to his books, the picture of that sad face ever before him. He could not ignore her and his work was suffering. Resolutely, he decided to move away. He would lease the little cottage and move back to the city.

*****

Penny Anderson stopped outside the cottage and stared at the newly posted sign. A look of dismay crossed her face. “To Let,” she read as a sense of desolation passed over her. The professor was moving away.

She knew so little about him. He was writing a thesis on some ancient civilisation, he’d said, and that interested her. She wished she could talk with him some more. He was such an fascinating man, but that day at the bus-stop and those few brief interludes that followed had not allowed for in depth conversation. Timmy was always there, pulling, yelling, demanding.

It was something of a wonder to Penny that the professor had moved into old Mona’s cottage. The house had lain empty and neglected for such a long time after the old lady’s death and it saddened Penny to see it in such a state. She hadn’t realised, until the day they met, that the professor was Mona’s nephew. Somehow it seemed right that he should live there.

To Penny, the cottage was a very special place. From her earliest childhood, she had memories of playing in the garden while her mother shared a cup of tea with her friend. As Penny grew older, Mona became her own special friend, a listening ear to all her childish tales. She alone had know the sacrifice Penny had made when she gave up her studies to nurse her ailing parents. Penny had never regretted the decision but the sense of frustration still remained.

Then Peter and the children had needed her and all thought of further study had been pushed aside. She had had so little opportunity to do the things she wanted. She had taken the path she had chosen and right or wrong, she would make the best of it. Now, at twenty nine years of age, it seemed that all the vital years of her life had passed and she had so little to show for it. Raising three children, virtually on her own, was not an easy task, and Peter, God love him, was not much help when he was around, though he was a good father, she had to admit. She was tied to a situation from which there was no escape.

As if to remind her of the fact, the sudden jerking of her arm pulled her out of her reverie and the little boy at her side, said, “Come on. I want to ride in the trolley.”

“I’m coming, Timmy. I’m coming.” With a sense of exasperation she continued down the road.

Wandering around the supermarket, a short while later, Penny shopped distractedly. Nothing was the same anymore. It hadn’t been for some time. For weeks she had been grappling with a sense of unrest and discontentment. She wanted more from life than she had experienced so far and she knew in her heart that her dissatisfaction began the day she met the professor.

She thought about him, tall, dark, balding at the temples, with sombre grey eyes and a thick greying beard. She didn’t even know his name but he had said he was a professor of sorts and her love of ancient history had formed an unspoken bond between them.

Why had she never met him? Never heard of him when Mona was alive? How different things might have been? And, why was he moving away? She mused as she and Timmy approached the cottage on the way home. Was his work completed? Did he find Pittsworth too quiet after the busy city life? Whatever the reason, she knew she would miss him and she wished they could have talked more.

She gazed lovingly at the little house before her. It had come to life since the professor moved in. What would happen to it when he left? He had redeemed it from its state of neglect and the garden was blooming again just as it did when Mona was alive. It would never be the same if some careless tenant came in and let it run to ruin again. She would take the cottage herself, rather than see that happen.

As she approached the rambling old house, the thought of renting the cottage became more insistent. She had always loved it and the children would love it too. Peter was away so much. He never had time to deal with the many chores that needed a man’s touch. They could lease the big house and live in the little cottage, she mused.

Then, just as suddenly, she dismissed the idea. It wasn’t just the cottage that attracted Penny. It was the man in the cottage. The realisation stunned her. Was it possible to fall in love with someone you barely knew, someone with whom you had little more than a passing acquaintance?

For the rest of the day, Penny felt irritable and annoyed. Timmy’s constant chatter bothered her and it was all she could do to maintain her patience. With a desolate heart she went about her daily chores, preparing the house for Peter’s return that evening, and in her mind an idea was forming. She had never been an impetuous person. The decisions that had determined her life had been carefully considered and made. But an impulsive desire to talk to the professor just one more time before he left, gripped her throughout the remaining hours of the day. She could not leave the children until Peter arrived, but, in the morning, she would leave them in his care and visit the cottage.

The cottage would be her excuse, she decided. She had always loved it. Maybe her idea about renting it wasn’t such a silly notion after all. Alternately, she could ask to see the cottage for old time’s sake. On some pretext, she would call and see the professor before he moved away.

*****

Graham Murchison answered the door bell and a look of sheer astonishment crossed his face. He had had several folk respond to his notice but the last person he expected was the young woman from up the street. He hoped she could not hear his pounding heart as he stood open-mouthed before her.

“Well, hello there,” he said when he found his voice. “This is rather a surprise. You’re on your own today? No Timmy?”

“Yes,” Penny answered diffidently, her heart beating as noisily as his. “They are all with their father, this morning. I’m not intruding, am I? I saw the sign…”

“Not at all. Come in!”

“You’re…you’re leaving Pittsworth, she asked.

Graham nodded. “I’m afraid so. Circumstances have made it necessary, you see. My work…” he finished lamely.

“Oh,” she said eagerly, “ the thesis. You’ve finished it?”

He shook his head. “No, not yet. But it shouldn’t be much longer. How can I help you?” he asked, changing the subject as he realised that she had not called to discuss his circumstances.

“I-I saw the sign,” she said somewhat nervously. “I wondered if I might see the cottage. It probably sounds silly but I thought that, perhaps, we might be able to rent it. Our house is so big, you see.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“This is such a dear little cottage. I spent so many happy hours here when I was a child. Mona…your aunt…was my special friend. I always loved it here. With Peter away so much I just thought it might be easier for us if we could live in something smaller.”

Graham nodded again in his characteristic manner. “I see. Yes. Well come through. It’s rather a mess at the moment, I’m afraid. I’m sorting and packing but you’re welcome to look around.”

Penny’s heart was beating faster than ever as she stepped across the threshold and followed Graham into the sitting room. Memeories of days gone by flooded her mind. Subconsciously, she glanced about, looking at the familiar furnishings. So little was changed. The professor had kept things just as Mona had left them.

“Oh!” she gasped, suddenly overcome with emotion. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered. “Please excuse me. It’s just that …that we used to sit here and talk, Mona and I.” She indicated a pair of old chairs placed side by side by the fireplace.

“I barely remember my aunt,” Graham said, as Penny wiped the tears from her eyes. “Perhaps…you would like to tell me about her. I’ve seen pictures, of course, but one can tell very little from a photograph. Do you have time for a cup of tea. You’re not in a hurry are you? Would you like to sit down?”

Penny sat in the old rocking chair where she had sat so many times before and Graham disappeared to return a short while later with a tray of tea things.

“You’re aunt was a wonderful old lady,” she said as they sipped the hot brew together. “You would have liked her, very much. Everybody did.”

They talked for sometime, oblivious of the passing moment, both just enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company.

“I’m sorry, I really must be going. I’m keeping you from your work, Mr…”

“Murchison. Graham Murchison. I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. And you’re…?

“Penny. Penny Anderson.”

“You’re not keeping me, Mrs. Anderson. It has been such a pleasure talking with you like this.”

“I’ve enjoyed it too, “ Penny answered, “but it’s not Mrs. Anderson. It’s Miss. I’m not married.”

“Oh…sorry. I thought…” Graham said thoughtfully, and somewhat surprised. So she had not married the blighter, he mused. She’d borne his children but she hadn’t taken his name. He couldn’t understand that kind of commitment. Graham belonged to the old school where people married and created sound foundations for their children. It was their business, of course, but the thought saddened him, nevertheless.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house, before you leave,” he asked, rising from his chair.

“Yes, please.”

As she wandered from room to room, Penny’s thoughts were again carried across the passage of the years but she felt unsettled by the nearness of her host. She had enjoyed their time together and felt they had become friends. If only he were not going away.

Her eyes betrayed the sadness she was feeling for, as she turned to face him, he saw again the longing he had seen in her eyes before.

“Forgive my impertinence, Miss…Penny… but you’re not happy, are you? I’ve watched you often, and you look so sad. Is something wrong? Anything I can help you with?”

Penny shook her head but the tears began to flow. The words tumbled out. “I just feel so trapped,” she exclaimed. “I love the children and I would hate to let Peter down, but I want a life of my own. I want a little cottage like this where I can love and be loved. Oh, Mr. Murchison, you can’t imagine how lonely and hard it is being mother and father to those three children. Peter’s a good father, really he is but he is away so much and since Lesley died, he has never settled.”

“Lesley? Who’s Lesley?”

“My brother’s wife. She died three years ago when Timmy was a baby. Peter couldn’t face the future without her. He left the children with me for a week while he went off to sort things out and he somehow the week became three years and I’m the only mother Timmy has known. Please, don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Murchison. I’m not sorry that things turned out this way. I could have refused but I had no reason to. Not at the time. I had dropped my studies and I really wasn’t trained for anything in the workforce. Peter and the children needed me. It’s only recently that I’ve begun to resent the situation and long for a life of my own.

The tears continued to fall and Graham produced a handkerchief. Before he could speak, she continued. “It’s not just the children, it’s all the years of being tied to the house. Of watching my friends pursue their careers and marry and have children of their own. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m making such a fool of myself, but it’s how I feel. I haven’t talked to anyone since Mona died. She knew how much it hurt to drop out of college to look after my parent’s.”

Graham nodded compassionately, his heart bursting with love and concern for the woman beside him. He reached out to her. “Penny…my dear,” he whispered, awkwardly. “It’s quite all right. You talk as much as you like.” His arms held her gently until the tears subsided.

“What must you think of me?” I’m really sorry,” she said pulling away from him.

“Please don’t be. I wish I had known.”

She looked up into his sober grey eyes and for a moment neither spoke.

Embarrassed, Penny turned away. Mr. Murchison…Graham, about the cottage…”

He did not answer immediately. He grasped his bearded chin in a thoughtful manner and turned to her, his eyes alight with happiness.

“Yes. About the cottage. Mmm. I’m afraid, my dear, it’s no longer for rent.”

She looked at him uncertainly and he continued. “If you’re sure the children won’t be needing you for a while, would you like to stay and help me unpack?”