When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

Paul Simon

Previously…

‘Hello, girls. I thought that you’d be here; look I’m in a bit of a rush. No developments re Nigel yet, but I have received an email from Olivia about the paintings you have stored at her house.’

I sat on a packing case and just looked at her.

‘She says that she will not give them to anyone but you and you have to go and collect them yourself.’

My heart sank. ‘When?’ I asked.

‘Tomorrow–Friday.’

‘That’s rather short notice!’ exclaimed Abby.

‘Yes, it is.’

I looked at them both.

‘I’ll have to go,’ I said, ‘in her state of mind; she might destroy them if I don’t.’

My friends looked at me and I felt rather sick again. I had to go back to my old home and see Olivia again. Something that I never really wanted to do; and now I had to.

And now the story continues…

‘ You are not going there by yourself,’ exclaimed Abby.

I looked at her and smiled.

‘She won’t eat me; it will be unpleasant, but I have to face her.’

‘It would be very unwise to go on your own, Samantha,’ Katie interjected.

‘Look, I’m just going to pick up the paintings and leave!’

Abby came over and put her hands on my shoulders. ‘God, Sam, you just don’t realise, do you? You still think that Olivia won’t hurt you–even after all you’ve been through. Then there’s Nigel; he might be behind all this. You’ve already been threatened, so do see sense, love.’

I looked at the both of them and could see real concern written on their faces. Perhaps I was being naíve. Nothing Olivia and Nigel had done up to now had given me any confidence in putting my trust in them. I thought for a moment, the others, seeing that I had things on my mind, let me think things through.

I sighed, realising that I couldn’t trust Olivia anymore and as for Nigel––

‘Okay,’ I said finally, ‘I’ll go with someone.’

‘Not someone, we need serious backup,’ said Katie, ‘firstly I think I’ll go to give you legal protection, then, definitely Jocasta and David for spiritual guidance, then our investigators friends for muscle–’

‘–What about me?’ asked Abby, indignantly.

‘Oh you can go too, because you are all gooey about Samantha.’

Abby and I looked at each other and smiled. I was so lucky to have such friends and a wonderful lover too.

‘Are you sure that the others will come?’

‘Yes; I took the liberty of ringing Jo before coming here and she said that she wanted to come and David too, so no worries there. We’ll hire Mr Potts old mini bus. That will get all of us there–if the wheels don’t drop off–and also it will have some space to bring the paintings back. How many are there?’

‘About fifty.’

‘My, you have been a busy girl! Anyway, I’ll go and speak to Mr Potts now,’

‘Could you ask him how my beemer is coming along? I’m getting withdrawal symptoms not having her near me.’

‘Okay, Sam. Leave it with me. I’ll email Olivia back to say that we will be there late tomorrow afternoon. I’ll speak to you later.’

‘Thanks Katie, for everything.’

‘You owe me a glass or two of chardonnay for this,’ she grinned.

‘So long as you don’t expect me to drink any!’ We all laughed and Katie left us.

‘You okay, Sam?’

‘Yes, honey. I’m glad you’re coming. I need you near me.’

‘Yes, and knowing Nigel and Olivia, they might just have been planning something of a welcome for you, so the more of us there are, the less likely anything will happen.’

The rest of the day went well. Abby knew of a general builder who would do a few things that needed sorting before I could open and he agreed to come around after lunch to have a look what needed to be done and give me an estimate.

We had lunch at the Copper Kettle Tea Rooms. A cup of tea, a ham and cheese sandwich and a slice of lemon cake later, found me back in my gallery waiting for the man to come and give me his expert opinion. Abby had to go next door and open the pottery again and she told me that she would see me later.

I was moving a few tables and chairs, when there was a knock on the door. Looking up, I saw an ancient man in painters’ overalls outside.

I went over, unlocked the door and let him in. Looking at him didn’t give me any confidence in his abilities. I’m not ageist or anything, but he looked as if he was one cough away from a coffin. He was bald, thin, bent and had more lines on his face than the tram lines in Sheffield. His eyes were rheumy and he shook slightly. He tottered in wheezing and sniffing, looking around as he did so.

‘Hello.’ I said.

‘What?’ he gasped.

‘I said, hello!’

‘Speak up, gal, shouldn’t mumble at your age.’

‘I SAID HELLO,’ I bellowed.

‘No need to shout, I b’aint deaf. The name’s Potts.’

‘Erm, any relation to the mechanic?’

‘What?’

‘I SAID ANY RELATION TO MR POTTS THE MECHANIC?’

‘You’re shoutin’ again. ‘Told you I worn deaf, di’n’ I? ’E’s me nefew ’in’e?’

‘Sorry–erm–do you want to sit down?’ I asked still rather loudly, looking at my mobile and wondering whether I should fast dial for an ambulance. I wondered vaguely how old this Mr Potts was because the other one was no spring chicken.

‘No’m; feel fresh’s a daisy, me. Hang on though.’

He pulled a hip flask out of his pocket and drank deeply. Whatever it was in the flask seemed to steady him a bit and he looked less likely to keel over in the next few minutes. I took my hand off the send button and put my ’phone back in my bag, but I kept it close–just in case.

‘Ah, tha’s bet’r; little drop of medicine does ye good. Now let’s see––’

After wondering what the wonder elixir might be, I explained what I wanted, making my throat sore in the process. He cocked his head on the side like a Labrador trying to look intelligent and failing miserably.

He pulled a dirty old notebook out of his overalls and took the stub of a pencil from behind his ear. He licked the head of the pencil and then looked around.

‘Mmm,’ he said.

‘Rrrr,’ he said.

Tsk, tsk,’ he said; then wrote down a few notes.

He went over to the radiator and kicked it, nodded and then made another note sucking the air in between his teeth. After banging a few walls and looking with some concern at a ceiling that looked okay to me, he finally wrote something else in the book and then looked at me sadly.

I wondered at how much it cost and whether there was a handy bank that I could rob.

He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my breast area. I wondered if there was something in the water around here that made old men randy. Perhaps I should write to the local council and request the introduction of bromide into the water. He put a figure on a page of his book and handed it to me.

‘Couldn’ do it fer less–lass.’

Looking at the shakily written figure I was pleasantly surprised– £750–not bad at all. Then I looked up. He was sitting on a packing case and drinking some more “medicine”.

I had to find out.

‘Erm–sorry to ask, but will you have anyone to help you do the work?’

‘Wasat?’

‘I said, have you got anyone to help you do the work?’ My throat was getting really sore now.

He looked at me as if I was mad. ‘You silly, gal? I b’aint doin’ it, I’m the gaffer. My George’ll do it; ’e b’aint be more’n a lad o’ sixty. I just do the hestimates, ’e do all the ’ard work.’

‘’Oh right, sorry. Erm–when can George start?

‘Monday, first thing.’

‘When’s first thing?’

‘’Bout six.’

‘In the morning!’

‘Arrrr,’

‘Okaaay. I suppose I can get up then. Tell him that I’ll be here at six then.’

‘Yez’m.’

With that he got up, smiled a grin that showed that a single front tooth and disappeared out of the door, heading towards the Toad and Tart, no doubt to top up his flask with “medicine”.

I shook my head and carried on looking around the gallery; making plans and wondering if my new venture will be a success or a white elephant.

Eventually, I went back to the cottage and up to my studio. I wanted to do as much of Fifi as possible because I wouldn’t be here tomorrow. The painting was taking shape and I liked the way that it was going. I hadn’t lost my touch–thank God. I was still able to instil some life into my paintings. Since I was painting with acrylics, I had to work fast and spray water on the canvas to keep things moving. I was at the stage of painting where you could almost see what the finished article would look like. I took great care painting the exact expression that I wanted from Fifi. She would effectively be looking over my shoulder and into the eyes of her beloved mistress–obedient, almost aloof but with a twinkle in her eye that showed that she could let her hair down if the need and opportunity arose.

After a while, I glanced at the clock on the wall. I had been painting for three hours–time always flew when I was engrossed in my work. I took time to clean my brushes and put the lids on the little pots of paint and then, stretching, I took off my smock and went downstairs to the kitchen. I needed my fix of coffee.

I took my steaming cup and a couple of choccie digestives back up to the studio, pulled the doors open and sat on my small veranda. The rickety chair seemed on its last legs and I made a mental note to replace it as soon as poss. I didn’t want an accident!

Looking down on the beaches and quay, I could see the usual throng. Being nearly tea time, many of the holidaymakers were coming off the beach and returning to their hotels and B&B’s. It was that time of year when the sun was losing a wee bit of its heat as it made its dive towards the horizon. I wondered what it would be like here in the winter. I relished seeing the power and might of the sea making me recall the other day when David and the lifeboat had to go out on a rescue. I wished I was brave enough to do things like that, but I’m not. I remembered my promise to do a painting of the lifeboat and I put it on my mental list of things to do soon.

My jellybone rang and picking it up I could see that it was Katie.

‘Hi Katie.’

‘Hello, Sam. All is arranged. Mr Potts is going to dust off the seats of his minibus, put a new rubber band in the engine and give it a drink. We can pick it up early tomorrow. We have to go early because it’s a flaming long way to go. I suggest six o’clock.’

‘What’s all this about six o’clock, can’t I ever have a lie in?’ I groaned.

‘Stop whinging, remember what we’re doing, you get a bit of pain and then the gain–your paintings back.’

‘I know, but six o’clock.’

She laughed. ‘You’ll live. Oh, I spoke to Mr Potts about your car. Evidently, the part has reached Italy and is on its way.’

‘Is it coming by mule?’

‘Sarcasm doesn’t become you, girl. Anyway, old Potts feels so guilty about not having your car ready that he’s letting us have the old minibus for free!’

‘Wow, that’s nice of him!’

‘I thought so too, let’s hope it gets there in one piece. Anyway, I’ve told Jocasta about the arrangements and she is polishing her knuckledusters as we speak. Tammy and Mike, our tame investigators are going separately and will meet us there. David’s coming so he can hold Jo back if things get nasty. Anyway, I have to go–another boring will to sort out. See you tomorrow and don’t be late!’

‘Yes, Miss–I mean no, Miss.’

‘Cheeky bugger!’ she laughed as she disconnected.

I spent a quiet evening with Abby. We didn’t talk much about tomorrow, but I’m sure that it was in the back of her mind, as it was mine. She made a spag bol and we talked about the gallery and old Mr. Potts, the decorator. She laughed at my description of him.

‘Yes, he’s as old as anyone around here. He’s a lot tougher than he looks though. Deaf as anything though.’

‘I noticed that, though I was so scared that he might die on me. The place isn’t insured yet.’

‘Never mind that; George is his son. He does a good job but he’s chronically shy and gets his dad to do the estimates. Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t speak much when he comes, he has a stutter and he’s very self-conscious about it.’

I shook my head.

‘There are so many characters around here, I could write a book, but no one would believe me!’

We both laughed and soon after that we went to bed. We didn’t do anything naughty that night, I was not really in the mood and Abby was nice about it. She did make a promise though.

‘When all this is sorted out and we come home again, I’ll give you your first lesson in Vibrators 101.’

‘Ooh, you do say the nicest things!’

The next day at the “dawn of crack”, I was standing outside Mr Potts garage with the others. We all wore sensible clothes. I was wearing a thin woollen long sleeved top and boot cut jeans. I knew I was going to be messing about in the loft so nice clothes were not a good idea.

Jo, who was used to driving old ladies about in the minibus climbed into the driving seat. To be honest, I thought the bus was going to be old, decrepit and on its last legs, but Katie had been joking: it was nearly new and was a very comfortable twelve seater. There wasn’t any sign of Mr Potts; I think he was avoiding me for some reason. The key had been left on top of one of the tyres–how’s that for trusting?

I won’t bore you with the journey except to say that it took a long time and we had several comfort breaks and changes of driver. I didn’t drive because everyone said that I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

Eventually, we arrived at a car park near my house or what was my house, that is.

Tammy and Mike were waiting for us; it was agreed that they would be in reserve, so in case anything got nasty, they gave me a sort of panic button that would bring them running posthaste, if necessary.

Eventually, we drove up and stopped in front of the house in which I had spent my married life. I got out of the bus with the others, and couldn’t help thinking about how Olivia would react to me and whether this was going to be something of a mistake, coming here like this. But I had to have my paintings–they were my life’s work and part of me that I just did not want to let go or give up on.

I took a deep breath, brushed the hair out of my eyes and walked up the path that I knew so well. I still had a key, but I didn’t live here anymore, so I rang the bell and waited for Olivia.

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.