Falling Into Place

Two neighbours clash in this lighthearted short story by Alyson Hilbourne.

Next door’s renovations were certainly knocking holes in Tess’s plans!

I’M going to the cottage, Ewan,” Tess called to her boss. “Ring if you need me.” “I won’t. I can make toasties without your help.” Ewan grinned. “Get away and enjoy your day off.”

Tess grabbed her rucksack with sandwiches, a flask of coffee and the seeds she’d bought and left the Smuggler’s Rest.

She breathed in the sea air and felt a pull on her legs as she climbed the cobbled road up the hill.

She looked forward to a day in the garden at her cottage.

The good weather had brought holidaymakers out of the terraced houses that nestled against the hillside.

Visitors sat in the sunshine with mugs of tea and bacon butties.

The village, once known for its fishing harbour, was now mostly holiday lets.

As a rule there were more tourists than locals, and the two small shops, once a general store and a hardware shop, now sold buckets and spades, postcards, fudge, ice-cream and sunglasses.

Tess could just remember the general store from the holidays she’d spent at her grandparents’ cottage.

Similarly, she could remember the last fishing boat, because Gramps would take her down to the quay when it came in with the morning catch.

Gramps chose his fish and closely watched the fishermen fillet it.

Then they climbed the hill back to the cottage and Grandma would cook the fish, unwittingly sparking Tess’s interest in cooking.

But her grandparents had long gone and their cottage was almost derelict.

It was the end of a terrace of three on the hill above the village, exposed to wind, rain and the full forced of storms.

For a while her parents had used it for holidays but they weren’t there often enough to maintain it.

They had been happy when Tess had expressed an interest in it.

Now, after the end of an acrimonious relationship, Tess had moved to the village to lick her wounds.

She worked as chef at the Smuggler’s Rest and Ewan let her a tiny attic room.

Her intention was to do up the cottage, but so far she’d only managed the garden.

She had cleared the brambles and built some raised beds.

She was looking forward to growing vegetables and planting flowers to tidy the front of the cottage.

Reaching the top of the hill, Tess squinted and frowned. Someone was on the roof of the cottage.

She hurried on and pushed open the rusty iron gate to her front garden.

“Oi! What are you doing up there?” she called.

A man peered down at her. He was wearing a T-shirt that exposed his well-formed biceps, jeans and heavy boots.

He manoeuvred himself so he was sitting on the ridge. He smiled and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes.

“Sitting on the roof,” he said.

“That’s my cottage. You have no right to be up there,” Tess called.

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Correction. This is my cottage.” He patted the tile where he was sitting. “Your cottage starts there.” He pointed one tile over. It was Tess’s turn to scowl.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m renovating. These cottages need to be lived in,” the man said.

Tess folded her arms over her chest.

“I know,” she muttered. “I hope it’s not going to be a holiday home,” she called back more loudly.

The man opened his eyes wider.

“What’s wrong with holiday homes? Don’t you ever go on holiday?”

“Not often, no,” Tess said. “And what’s wrong is that there aren’t enough houses in the village for locals any more. Young people have to leave.”

The man spread his hands.

“Not my fault,” he said. “Pah!” Tess almost spat the word at him.

She stomped round to the back of her cottage, steaming with anger.

She squeezed her hands into fists.

The last thing she wanted were holidaymakers in the cottage next to her.

She wanted someone who cared about the place, not a constant turnaround of people.

The man’s ladder was propped up against the wall of the middle cottage.

Tess was tempted to knock it down and leave the idiot stranded up there.

Instead, she unlocked her shed and got out the gardening tools.

She began clearing the weeds from the raised beds and tried to block out the sound of banging that came from next door.

Tess did not enjoy her day as much as she’d hoped. The man had a radio playing and he whistled along.

Tess loved the cottage garden; she could see the sea and hear the wind and seagulls. Normally she enjoyed her time there, but today she returned to the pub in a bad mood.

“How was your day?” Ewan asked when she got back.

Tess explained.

“More visitors.” Ewan rubbed his hands together. “Don’t knock it, Tess. More meals keeps you in a job.”

Tess glared at him and went to set up the kitchen for the evening shift.

When she looked into the bar later in the evening she spotted the man from the cottages, deep in conversation with Ewan.

Tess wanted to march over and drag Ewan away.

When he eventually came into the kitchen with an order she hissed at him.

“That’s him. That man is the one from the cottage. What did he want?”

Ewan looked contrite.

“He was asking about letting agencies.”

“See! I told you.” Tess glowered.

For the rest of the evening she banged pots and pans around in the kitchen so that Ewan looked in more than once and raised an eyebrow.

As she finished cleaning up he came in again.

“His name is Richard, and he sends his compliments to the chef. His meal was delicious, he says.”

“Ugh! I cooked for him. You should have said. I’d have –”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re far too professional,” Ewan interrupted her.

But as Tess climbed the stairs to her attic room she wasn’t sure.

“Men!” she muttered to herself.

They were all only out for themselves.

****

Over the next few weeks Tess watched as Richard appeared to be getting very friendly with Ewan, arriving at the pub almost every evening for a meal.

When she went up to the cottage, he was there, too.

He had a couple of workmen with him and the doors were open, front and back, with the radio playing.

There was lots of chatting and laughter, which made Tess crosser and crosser.

From time to time she’d feel a shiver and look up to find Richard turning away from her. He was watching her, she felt sure.

Richard had finished the roof of the cottage and put in a skylight.

The other windows were replaced with new solid frames and double-glazing.

Tess was desperate to have a look inside to see the changes they’d made.

She continued working on her garden, putting in fruit bushes and weeding the raised beds.

The carrots were showing through and she had spinach and kale growing.

She planted out pots of petunias and geraniums and was happy with the way the garden looked.

If she didn’t have the constant banging of workmen next door she would have been able to sit and enjoy the space.

One summer afternoon, Tess finished lunches at the Smuggler’s Rest and walked up to her cottage.

The village was busy with tourists taking photographs and strolling along the harbour quay.

She reached the top of the hill.

The windows were open in Richard’s cottage and she could hear the radio, but there was no sound of workmen.

She unlocked her shed and got out her gardening tools and watering can.

A couple of hours later, she’d finished weeding and watering and stood up to ease her back.

She looked across at next door. It was still as it had been when she’d arrived.

Tess frowned, realising she hadn’t seen anyone there all afternoon.

She tidied away her things and picked up her rucksack. She peered over the fence but could see no-one.

“Hello?” she called. There was no reply.

It seemed odd that the house was open and yet there was no-one around.

Tess stepped over the fence and approached the doorway.

Inside, the cottage was dark and cool and Tess blinked to help her eyes to adjust. She heard nothing so she stepped further in.

“Hello!” she shouted again.

A scrape or scratch sounded from somewhere and Tess spun round hard on her heel.

She heard wood crack and splinter and her leg dropped, scraping as it went.

The sensation of falling was the last thing she remembered.

She woke to a man’s face peering over her. He wore a mask and scrubs.

“She’s come round!”

Tess tried to raise her head.

“Lie still,” the man commanded. “We’re bringing a stretcher. I need to check for broken bones.”

“I’m fine.” Tess tried to lift her head again, but the pain made her groan.

“Lie still. We’ll have you out in no time.”

“Where am I?”

“You seem to have fallen through the floor.”

The man lifted his phone

Tess wanted to march over and drag Ewan away

and moved it round slowly.

Tess saw walls of rock and an opening ahead in the beam of the torchlight.

“Is that a tunnel?” Tess asked.

“I guess so,” the man said.

Anything else he was going to say was stopped by the stretcher being passed down.

Tess was moved on to it and strapped down and then the stretcher was lifted out of the tight space she’d fallen into.

She was briefly aware of going through a room and then out into bright sunshine before being put into an ambulance.

She clapped a hand to her head.

“Ewan!” she said. “He’ll be expecting me for my shift. Have you got my bag?”

She twisted to look at the man sitting beside her.

“This one?” He held up her rucksack.

“Please. Can you pass me the phone from the front pocket?”

“No can do,” the man said. “You’ll have to wait until you’ve been checked.” He moved the bag away. Tess gritted her teeth. She felt fine. Well, nearly fine. Her head hurt and there was a burning pain along her legs.

At the hospital, the ambulance men transferred her to a trolley and wheeled

her into an examination area.

A doctor peered into her eyes with a light and her pulse, blood pressure and heart rate were taken.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Tess said. “One minute I was standing in my neighbour’s kitchen and the next I’d fallen down a hole.”

“Well, you’ve scraped your legs pretty badly. We’ve dressed them and put antibiotic cream on.

“I’ll prescribe antibiotics. You’ve got a good-sized bump on your head.

“We’re going to keep you in overnight just to check for concussion –”

“You can’t! I’ve got to work,” Tess protested.

The doctor smiled and patted her arm.

“I’ll see you in the morning before you’re released.”

Tess groaned. Ewan would be expecting her.

It wasn’t until she’d been settled on a ward that she was allowed access to her bag. She got out the phone and sent Ewan a text.

Don’t worry, the message came back with a smiley face. All sorted. Look after yourself. See you soon.

Tess lay back and breathed deeply.

At least she knew she’d left the kitchen ready to go, and Ewan was capable of preparing meals if needed.

****

Midway through the following morning, Tess got a taxi back to the village and limped into the pub.

Her headache was almost gone, just a dull ache in the background, and her legs had stopped stinging.

She had instructions to check the dressings daily and go to the doctor if there was any infection.

“Tess!” Ewan rushed over and guided her to a table.

“Sorry to let you down,” she said, giving him a smile. “Beyond my control.”

“I hear it was you who was down,” Ewan said with a chuckle. “Down and out!” Tess’s head snapped up. “Who? What?”

“Richard came in after the ambulance took you away and explained you’d fallen into a hole. A tunnel, he said.

“He stayed and covered me in the bar while I did the evening meals. He said to call on him if ever we’re short staffed.”

Tess groaned inwardly. That man. It was his fault she’d fallen. He must have had a dodgy kitchen floor.

She went up to her room to freshen up before the lunchtime shift but Ewan called her down again.

“Visitor for you,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the bar.

Tess was greeted by an enormous bunch of flowers. Richard peeped round from behind it.

“Peace offering,” he said, thrusting the flowers towards her. “I came to see if you were OK.”

Tess leaned back.

“What? I nearly broke my neck falling through your floor. I should report you for dangerous work practices.”

She saw Richard pull himself upright.

“If I remember rightly, you were trespassing in my kitchen,” he said stiffly.

“I was concerned,” Tess said. “I could see the house was open but I hadn’t seen you around all afternoon.”

“I was working in the attic,” Richard retorted. Then he touched a hand to his chest.

Tess noted the smart checked shirt and beige chinos. Not his usual work attire. He was tanned and his cheeks dimpled when he smiled.

“Oh, I’m flattered. You care,” he said.

“Don’t kid yourself,” Tess muttered.

“You really are a difficult woman to get to know,” Richard said.

It was Tess’s turn to pull herself erect.

“Well, I don’t like people coming in and doing up the cottages to rent out. It’s sapped the life out of the village.

“When my grandparents lived here the place had a wonderful atmosphere.

“Now . . .” She lifted her hands in the air and let them drop to her sides.

“Well.” Richard put the flowers on a table and folded his arms.

“For your information, when the cottage is finished I’m going to live in it. I have every intention of being part of the community.

“I hope to set up a paddle board business and, as you know, I’ve been propping up the bar here most nights.”

“Why were you asking about rental agencies

then?” Tess snapped. Richard looked puzzled. “Oh, right. A while ago? To find somewhere to stay for me and the workmen. Somewhere that wouldn’t charge an arm and a leg.”

“Oh,” Tess looked down at the floor. “I see.”

“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“But you do have a dodgy floor in your kitchen,” Tess said, refusing to give way.

“Actually, it’s that I’ve come to talk to you about,” Richard said. “I think you might have one, too.”

Tess shook her head.

“No. My place is fine,” she said. “I’ve never fallen through the floor.”

Richard shrugged.

“Come up to the cottage this afternoon and I’ll show you what I mean,” he said.

Tess stared at him. He really didn’t get the message did he?

“Please?”

She glowered.

“Please?”

“Oh, all right.” She looked skyward. She wouldn’t go immediately, even though Ewan would probably excuse her.

She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“About three. When I’ve tidied the kitchen.”

****

The walk up the hill made Tess’s legs hurt. When she got to her cottage the radio was playing next door and workmen were painting the outside walls pale blue. “Hello!” Tess shouted. “Come round.” Richard was in the kitchen, on his knees over the square hole in the floor.

“Is that where I fell?”

Tess asked.

“Mmm. Look, there are steps down.” Richard shone his torch into the hole. “It was covered by a trap door, but the wood had rotted over the years.”

“Have you been down?” Tess leaned forward for a closer look.

“Yes. It’s a tunnel. It goes sharply downwards but is blocked by a rock fall after about ten yards. But what I want to show you is this.”

He stood up and went down the steps, then held out a hand to Tess.

She hesitated for a moment and then followed. Just below the steps the tunnel split in two.

“Look.” Richard motioned with the torch. “I reckon that goes to your cottage.”

“I don’t have a hole in the floor,” Tess protested. “Have you looked?”

“I . . . err . . . no.”

They both climbed the steps again and hurried round to Tess’s cottage.

Inside was gloomy and it felt damp. Tess shuddered involuntarily.

A rush mat covered the floor of the kitchen living area. It had been down as long as she could remember.

“May I?” Richard indicated one corner.

Tess nodded.

He rolled the matting back, revealing a stone floor with a small wooden trap door set centrally in it. He looked up with a grin. “I reckon these were smugglers’ cottages. This must have been a tunnel from the quay or from one of the houses down there or maybe even the pub.”

“The Smuggler’s Rest,” Tess mused.

“I asked Ewan about it last night but he’s never seen a tunnel,” Richard said. “But the pub has been changed over the years.”

“The cottages, however, have been barely touched,” Tess said.

“I’m going to put a window in my floor,” Ewan said. “Like they do in museums when they want you to see something beneath your feet.

“I thought it would make quite a feature. Do you want me to get a quote for you, too?”

Tess’s shoulders slumped.

“I can’t afford to do much at the moment,” she said.

“I was going to ask you. My workmen, they’re very good.

“They’re looking for work over the winter. They could use my upstairs bedroom to save on rent.”

Tess looked at him.

“I’d love more than anything to get this place fit to live in.”

“Come next door and have some tea. We can see what you can afford.”

“You didn’t find any smugglers’ treasure in that tunnel, did you?”

Richard shook his head. “’Fraid not. The bowl of a clay pipe. Nothing else.”

“Then I won’t be able to afford much,” Tess said.

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Richard said.

“I’m useless at gardening. I’d consider a swap, hour for hour, if you’d work on my garden.”

“Really?” Tess asked.

“Are you sure?”

“I know nothing about gardens. I need something that will survive without much help.”

Tess rubbed her hands together.

“You’re really going to stay here and live in the cottage?” she asked. Richard nodded.

“Yep. Ask Ewan. I’ve already got a spot to set up my paddle boards.

“He’s going to let me lock them away at the back of the pub. You couldn’t get rid of me if you wanted.”

“OK,” Tess said. “We could have a deal. Where’s that tea you promised?”

Richard led the way back to his cottage.

“Careful of the hole,” he said as he stepped inside.

“Ha ha,” Tess muttered, but she was happier than she had felt in a long time.

An opportunity to get some work done on the cottage, maybe even enough to make it habitable, sounded good. And gardening was no effort for her.

Plus, Richard was going to live in the cottage rather than renting the place out, and when he wasn’t being difficult, he was actually quite pleasant, too.

Yes, she thought to herself, stepping forward, at last her life seemed to be falling into place.

“Tess!” Two arms were wrapped around her and she was yanked back from the hole in the floor.

Well, she thought, her heart beating fast, maybe take one step at a time.

The End.