Where Dreamers Dwell

ALYS had the oddest feeling as she steered her little car down the treetunnelled lane towards the cottage at its end. It was like coming home.

But the Dell wasn’t her home. She was only staying there, looking after a cat for Aunt Marnie whilst she was in hospital, recovering from a broken ankle.

It was some years since Alys had last been here, but everything was blessedly the same. The gabled house in its wooded dell, a former keeper’s cottage when the area around here had been part of a rich estate, with its door plaque announcing,

With a wry smile, Alys unlatched the gate and wheeled her luggage carefully through.

She was later than she’d intended, but as she stepped into the long back garden, she was suddenly pleased she’d been delayed.

Evening light spread warm spring fingers across an enchanting expanse of grotto, lawn and Marnie’s studio, abutting an old wall of the same honeyed brick as the house.

For the first time since the whole Luca debacle, Alys could feel herself begin to relax. The Dell had been a magical place to visit when she was growing up and it was good to be back.

Her longing for a cup of tea forgotten, she wandered through the garden, unable to resist brushing her fingers across the dozing flowers and setting their scents free.

Memories assailed her of sticky summer days spent romping through the woodland behind the house, and afternoon tea spread out under the apple tree, the adults playing endless rounds of cards.

Smiling, Alys turned the studio door’s brass handle and peeped inside.

Her gasp set the dust motes dancing in the fading light. If the house in the woods held whispers of old fairy tales, here was definitely where they burst into being.

Marnie had once owned a children’s bookshop, but when it had had to shut down she’d decided to combine her two greatest loves. The result was a successful career writing and illustrating books like those she used to sell.

Her workshop was just right for the woman Alys used to call her fairy godmother.

A turreted castle rose from swirling painted mists in a huge mural. Dragons and princesses shared shelf space with a ceramic frog who looked about to transform into a human any second, and on the easel sat Marnie’s latest project.

It was a half-animated black cat, patiently awaiting her return.

“Oh, no!” Alys exclaimed. “Scheherazade!”

She dashed out of the studio.

A hasty search of kitchen cupboards produced cat food and bowls.

“Scheherazade!” Alys called throughout the house and down the garden in her best sing-song tone.

But despite her efforts, no cat had appeared by the time she telephoned Marnie at her hospital bed.

“Oh, don’t worry about my muse,” Marnie said airily. “She’ll turn up when she’s hungry. How is everything there? Not too quiet?”

“Gloriously peaceful,” Alys assured her aunt, “with enough food in your cupboards to feed an army.”

“Well, use whatever you fancy. I just want you to relax and forget all about that France business.”

“I will,” Alys promised. “How could you not in such surroundings?” Marnie laughed. “Yes, it’s my little slice of storybook. Speaking of which, have a look at my latest creations. They’re in the fireplace nook. I am happy you’re there, darling, despite the circumstances.”

“Me, too,” Alys murmured, whilst images of a handsome Gallic face brought a familiar bitterness to her tongue.

After bidding Marnie goodnight, she put the phone back in its cradle. She couldn’t stop thinking of Luca and his infidelity.

When her feelings threatened to overwhelm her, she shook herself and headed for the front room fireplace. She needed a distraction.

The books were charming young children’s tales of a very clever cat and her rather clumsy owner, with titles like

Alys had a lot of thinking to do, and she had found the perfect place to do it . . .

“Scheherazade, The Witch’s Cat” and “Scheherazade And The Wonky Spell”, all sprinkled with Marnie’s rich illustrations.

Alys was enchanted, and couldn’t wait to meet the real-life version, whenever she decided to come home.

When she awoke the next morning, Alys lay for a while, listening to the hushed atmosphere surrounding the Dell.

She’d had the strangest dreams of cats, castles and magic spells; not surprising, considering last night’s reading material.

But at least she’d slept through the night – a thing she hadn’t done since her affair with the man she’d left England for had ended.

It was kind of Marnie to welcome Alys into her home. She’d always had a wonderfully quixotic approach to life. Other family members hadn’t been so open-minded.

To them, Alys abandoning a good career at thirty-five and running off with a handsome Frenchman was just another example of a sadly volatile personality.

The fact that the handsome Frenchman had turned out to be as unfaithful as he was gorgeous was inevitable in the family’s eyes, and their lukewarm sympathy had left Alys – already disillusioned – feeling cross and foolish, with no idea of what to do with the rest of her life.

Marnie’s had been the only non-judgemental voice, making out that Alys was doing her a favour by looking after the Dell, when it was she who was the saviour in giving her niece a much-needed bolthole.

Sighing, Alys flung aside the bedcovers. Enough reproach. It was time to get to work.

She cleaned the cottage from top to bottom, revelling in the simple task of returning the shine to Marnie’s home.

Having earned a good lunch, she took a sausage roll and sandwiches into the garden and ate on a bench by the birch-framed fountain.

As the birdsong and soft trickle of water began to work their soothing magic, Alys sighed and lay back. It really was lovely here. “Are you all right, dear?” Alys woke with a start and glanced up to see an old woman by the wall separating the Dell from next door’s rather wild garden.

At first glance, she could have been the witch from Marnie’s books; the hand holding a walking stick was gnarled and clawed, her back hunched. But a second look showed soft, kind eyes in a face that must have been stunning in its youth.

“I’m fine,” Alys mumbled, sitting up. “I must have dozed off.”

“Well, this place will do that to you. You must be Marnie’s niece.”

Alys blinked away the remains of sleep, returning the woman’s smile. “Yes. I’m Alys.”

“The one from France?” The smile dimmed. “Once upon a time.” “I’m Lizbet from next door.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Marnie never mentioned a neighbour.”

“I won’t disturb you, dear. I just wondered how she’s getting along.”

“Healing fast, though I’m a bit concerned about her managing those steep stairs when she comes home.”

Lizbet leaned both hands on her cane.

“There’s time enough to worry about such things. For now, you just concentrate on getting yourself mended.”

Alys lowered her gaze. “Is it that obvious?” “A pretty girl seeking solace in a secluded cottage? She’s either lost or had her heart broken.”

“How about both?”

“Tell me about it,” Lizbet invited.

And Alys did, relating the whole sorry story as briefly as possible. When she finished, she could feel herself smiling, as if in telling her tale to a stranger, she had somehow managed to set herself apart from it and weakened its power over her.

“So,” she concluded, “here I am, house-sitting for a cat I can’t find, having lost myself along the way.”

Lizbet looked beyond them to the swaying forest canopy turned golden by the sun.

“Don’t fret. You’ll find the way out of the woods. As for Scheherazade, she’ll show herself when she’s sure of you.”

Lizbet was right. When Alys returned from visiting Marnie, there was the cat, sable-sleek, on the back doorstep, awaiting her supper.

“It’s good to have you home,” Alys greeted her. “You really are as beautiful as your pictures.”

The cat calmly preened, as if the compliment was no more than her due. Alys couldn’t help laughing. She could learn a few things from Scheherazade.

The cat followed her when she went to bed and began writing in her journal, a therapeutic exercise suggested by her doctor.

It hadn’t done much good in the weeks she’d spent wallowing in a rented studio flat. But here at the Dell, it was a different story.

“What do you think, Scheherazade?” she asked at last. “Was I a complete idiot to trust a guy like Luca?”

The cat observed her from the top of the dresser, then padded across the bedclothes to curl herself into the crook of Alys’s arm.

“That’s what I thought,” Alys murmured, then settled down to sleep.

The next day dawned fine and bright, so Alys took an early sun-dappled walk in the woods, then tackled mowing and weeding the back garden.

It was a lovely morning, and the work therapeutic.

As Scheherazade stalked imaginary prey in the undergrowth, Alys found herself humming. When she realised, she laughed and sat back on her heels. She must be feeling better.

Marnie’s voice echoed back at her from a time long past, from a game she used to play with her nieces, hunting flower bells and thistledown to indicate that magic folk were near and might grant wishes.

“Remember, girls, faerie is never that far away . . .”

“I see the witch’s cat is back.”

Alys was jolted from her reverie by Lizbet’s voice. Peeling off her gardening gloves, she went to join her at the wall.

“Oh, yes. She’s my new bedfellow.”

“You must be a special young lady, then. Sherry doesn’t take to just anyone. How’s the patient?” “Longing to get home.” “I can imagine! It must have been a shock to her, that fall.” Lizbet laughed.

“Yes,” Alys agreed. “She’s always been so active.”

Lizbet sighed.

“It’s not easy coping with such things when you get older. I worry about her, here on her own. She’s been a good friend to me, especially after my husband died.”

“Oh, I won’t leave her until she’s back on her feet,” Alys assured the older woman.

“And what about you, young lady?”

Alys smiled.

“I’m beginning to feel more like myself,” she admitted.

“Well, that’s a start.” Lizbet considered a moment, then waved her over the wall. “Come with me, dear. There’s something I’d like you to see.”

Curious, Alys followed the hobbling woman through fronds of whispering wildflowers to a greenhouse whose door hung slightly askew.

Inside, the shelves

Alys had had the strangest dreams of cats, castles and magic spells

were filled with trays and bottles of dried herbs, the lingering scent a mix of sweet and spicy. Alys gazed round with a delighted laugh.

“You’re the witch!” she exclaimed. “Scheherazade belongs to you.”

“She used to,” Lizbet confirmed. “Before she adopted Marnie. And I prefer herbalist to witch, if you don’t mind.”

Alys allowed her fingers to explore the shelves as Lizbet talked her through the various concoctions.

“This hobby got me through some tough times,” she said with a reminiscent smile. “We all need something like that in life. Maybe you could give it a try. Or carry on with gardening; you seem to have a feel for that.”

Alys joined Lizbet in looking out over next door’s garden.

“I used to come here every year as a child. Marnie made it a magical place; she was my very own fairy godmother. You might believe she is in need of me right now, but it’s actually the other way round.”

Lizbet’s smile held a certain serenity.

“You don’t need any guidance to get through those woods,” she murmured. “You’ve already found your way.”

Marnie’s face lit up when she saw the magazines Alys had brought her.

“That should keep me busy for a while.”

“Not long now,” Alys said comfortingly, “and you’ll be home with all your own things around you.”

Marnie nodded but still looked troubled. “What is it?” Alys asked. “I guess I’m just feeling a little vulnerable after the fall.”

“You don’t have to. I won’t abandon you.”

“That’s sweet, darling, but the Dell is my dream, not yours. You know how I feel about folk living their dreams,” Marnie said.

“Yes, well, look where following mine got me.”

“Oh, Alys! You can’t let one bad experience stop you from believing in adventures.”

Alys shrugged.

“I’ll get over it. Being at the Dell has helped already.”

“Yes.” Marnie sighed. “It’s such a lovely spot. When I found it, I’d just had my own failed adventure, and I was searching for a place where magic could still dwell.

“My grandfather always said that if you undertake some restoration project, bringing something back to life, in the process you’ll be restored yourself. And he was right. I did that with the Dell, and look how it rewarded me.”

Sighing again, she squeezed Alys’s hand.

“I just have to remember I’m not twenty-five any more and take better care, especially now I don’t have close neighbours.”

Alys jumped.

“No neighbours?” “Not now that both the Adamses have passed away. Lizbet and I were friends and we looked out for each other, so I missed her when I had my fall.

“She left the house to her son, but he lives in Australia and hasn’t decided what to do with it yet. So who knows what kind of neighbour I’ll get next!” She shook herself. “But enough of that. Let’s see what we’re supposed to be wearing this season.”

Alys made a visible effort to join in with Marnie’s chatter as her aunt flicked through her magazines.

With Scheherazade snuggled in her arms, Alys gazed out across the Dell and the Adamses’ back garden as the daylight began to fade.

Had it been a hallucination – the product of an overwrought mind – when she’d found herself talking to the kindly stranger? She remembered the old lady’s parting words: “You don’t need any guidance to get through those woods.”

Had it been a touch of heavenly assistance sent to help Alys put things in perspective, or just Alys’s own head, conjuring up an unthreatening image to voice all the jumbled thoughts that had been tumbling about in her brain since leaving France?

Whatever the truth was, it didn’t really matter. The result was the same.

She’d been massaging Scheherazade behind the ear. Now, as the cat began to purr, Alys smiled. Finally, she was able to think about Luca without feeling such a fool.

Many a girl had fallen for that Gallic charm, as she had learned a little too late. France had been the wrong direction, but it had brought her here, where dreamers dwell.

The next day was rather overcast.

Hoping it would at least stay dry if not sunny, Alys busied herself in the kitchen. Marnie was being discharged from hospital later on, and rain would put a damper on her welcomehome tea idea.

Singing along to Eighties hits on the radio, she got stuck into some baking and soon the kitchen was smelling delightfully of vanilla and cinnamon.

During a break at the kitchen table with coffee and warm biscuits, she made some notes on her idea to install internet access at the Dell, which she hoped would help market Marnie’s books and improve her sales.

Once that was done, she drank down the rest of her coffee, watching Scheherazade pad across the window-sill, and smiled to herself. Witch’s cat, indeed.

Marnie came home to a warm welcome and afternoon tea spread under the apple tree, just like old times. She was delighted, especially when Alys asked if she could stay on for a while.

“Darling, I’d love it!” She sighed. “But is that what you want – to live with an ageing crock like me?”

Alys got up from the blanket to envelop her in a fierce hug.

“You’re joking, surely! It would be lovely to live here with you. But only if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“Sharing’s fine, so long as it’s with the right person. Besides, Sherry’s attached herself to you so firmly that if you left you’d have to take her, too, and I’d hate to lose my muse.”

Marnie nodded to the cat padding towards Alys’s lap. Alys laughed and fondled the silky midnight head.

“Well, we couldn’t have that, could we? The ‘Witch’s Cat’ books are your best yet. Which reminds me . . .” She told Marnie her marketing ideas as they munched their way through the spread.

“It sounds great,” Marnie said eagerly. “But could we get what we need installed out here?”

Alys shrugged.

“I have an old school friend who’s in the business. I’m sure he’d help out.”

Marnie looked up from a choc-cherry slice, a significant gleam in her eye.

“An old school friend, eh? Is he single?”

“Now, don’t go jumping to conclusions,” Alys warned. “I’ve sworn off romance!”

“I know. But if he’s unattached, and you get on well . . .”

Alys rolled her eyes. “You’re right. Let nature take its course, I say. By the way, these cakes are scrummy,” Marnie said with a glint in her eye.

As afternoon faded into evening, and the sun stretched its lazy limbs across the garden and the woods beyond, Alys read aloud to a dozing Marnie, Scheherazade curled in her lap.

Finally, Marnie sighed and turned to her.

“Remember what I said to you in the hospital, Alys, about following your dreams? Is this really yours, this funny house in the woods?”

Alys lowered the book and looked about her.

“Ultimately, who knows?” she said softly. “But it’ll certainly do for now . . .” n