Escape to the Cotswolds

There was an arts and crafts room at the home and Holly did what she did best. With a couple of the residents she used modelling clay, warming it in her hands before placing it in theirs and helping them move stiff fingers to form recognisable shapes.

‘I could hardly move my fingers before you came,’ one had said. ‘Now I can’t wait to get in here every day and see what else I can make.’

With others she demonstrated some of the techniques of using watercolours and with those unable to hold a brush she, and they, had a hilarious time using finger paints. There was also a supply of coloured felt for those who could hold a pair of scissors – albeit not very sharp and with rounded ends – together with pompoms, feathers, and coloured paper for pasting onto heavy-duty card. Some rather spectacular collages were created and the walls of the craft room were rapidly becoming covered.

‘Oh but just look at all these trees,’ Holly had gasped on her return after the holidays. ‘You’ve all done so well.’ Before going away she’d cut out Christmas trees in varying sizes. Some of them had holes in. Those with holes had been interwoven with decorations and hung from the ceiling. Others that had been painted or covered in gummed stickers vied for wall space with the collages. Corner to corner across the large room paper chains had been hung, made with care and sometimes with a little pain by the residents. It must have taken them ages and had been finished while she’d been away.

‘We couldn’t wait to see your face when you came back again,’ said one.

‘No, and it was definitely worth waiting for,’ said another.

They were so proud of themselves, as was Holly, and it was unlikely that these particularly seasonal decorations would be taken down any time soon. Her one day a week at the home was the only time, other than when the Carters were at home, that she was able to forget about the loneliness that seemed to creep into bed with her every night in the dark hours. Two weeks after she returned to Cuffingham from Scotland she picked up the keys to her new home.

***

Moving Day! Not most people’s idea of a good time no matter how much the end may justify the means. Holly wasn’t having a great time. Okay, the level of excitement was way off the scale. But though in her mind she’d left almost everything behind – and as far as furniture was concerned she had – the actuality was that there were a lot of things she needed to find places for and for the most part she had no idea where she was going to put them. Most important was her mother’s old pine table. She’d hovered as the removal men lifted it off the van and manoeuvred it into the house.

‘Don’t worry, luv, a few more scratches and dents won’t make any difference. Lovely old piece, it is, but seen better days.’

‘It was my mother’s,’ she’d said, which she’d thought would explain her anxiety while it was being moved, and it did.

‘Know what you mean, Mrs Hunter. My wife’s still got her mum’s old work basket. Means more to her than anything.’

The table went into the extension. There had never been any doubt where it would go because there definitely wasn’t enough room for it in the tiny dining room. Instead all her paintings, and they were many, and all her art materials had been stacked in that otherwise empty room. Her clothes were put in the smaller of the two bedrooms for the time being, the main one comfortably accommodating the new king-sized bed without looking silly. Surprisingly for a cottage it was a decently sized room.

After the removal men had gone Holly went from room to room before twirling around ballerina-style, but with slightly less grace, and shouting ‘Wheeeee!’ into the silence. Then she took a closer look at the furniture that Mrs Foster had left. It would have to do for the time being, and maybe even for ever. Much like her mother’s table it had seen better days but it went well with the old cottage and the artist in her could see the beauty in its lines. She was very happy with it. By the time she’d made up the bed the day was well advanced and she was just wondering what to do next when Emma arrived.

‘Tom said he’d pick up the twins from school so I could come round to see if you needed any help.’

‘Well, the floors need scrubbing. I remember you offering that to me as a high treat when I came to stay with you.’

‘As if. Seriously, is there anything? I really came over to drag you back with me for something to eat. I knew you wouldn’t have even thought about food.’

‘You’re not kidding anyone. What you actually came over for was to have a good nose.’

‘You know me so well.’

‘Pity you weren’t here a bit earlier. You could have helped me make the bed. I know it’s big for one, particularly a little one like me, but it’s a luxury I promised myself after Harry and I split up.’

Holly looked up at Emma. ‘You’re a teacher. You do craft with the kids. Any good at assembling flat-pack furniture?’

‘You don’t catch me out that way. I’ve seen those flat-pack things before. Is it urgent?’

‘No, just a couple of cupboards. They’ve been dumped in the spare bedroom with my clothes but I’m happy to live out of boxes for the time being. In any case, there’s a huge built-in wardrobe cupboard in my bedroom that’ll take most of my clothes. The rest is for storage really and I’m in no hurry to move things from one place to another just for the sake of it. You serious about food?’

‘When was I ever not serious about food?’

‘Then I’d love to. Thank you.’

***

Holly’s kitchen was immaculate but sadly lacking in fundamental requirements – like crockery and cutlery and … well, it was a very long list so next morning Holly abandoned what was left of the unpacking and ventured out in search of a few vital items to add to the kettle and mugs she’d moved in with.

Tourists don’t tend to visit picturesque Cotswolds villages for new saucepans but, while a trip to the local retail park was on the cards in the near future, the general store at Emma’s end of the village would provide all she needed to tide her over. She mooched her way along the high street, popping in and out of shops every now and then to buy some essential and some not so essential items. She loved it that not a single business was one of a chain, something she’d been unable to get away from in London. Part of the joy was not knowing what to expect when she went through the door.

Without transport and the ability to reach and, more to the point, carry things back from outside the village, Holly decided to concentrate her efforts on the things she could do and applied herself for the rest of the day and those that followed to giving the side extension a much-needed facelift. Somewhere along the line ‘when it got too much for me to put things in the loft’ this room had become Mrs Foster’s storage room. It was immaculately clean, the whole house was, but it had a sad, neglected look.

Holly had bought paint, brushes, and stepladder prior to moving in, arranging for them to be delivered with everything else as she had recognised this as a priority. The rest of the house was a bit faded too but it had a warm, lived-in personality. There was no hurry to change anything there. Maybe without the matching roof the room felt like a poor relation. Holly hoped she’d be able to rectify that though she knew it would be expensive and certainly nowhere near the top of her to-do list.

Inside she set to with a will and that was when she discovered very quickly that the painting of walls and woodwork bears no resemblance at all to the watercolours that were her favourite medium. It wasn’t a task she enjoyed but she was pleased enough with the results. Country air and sheer hard work did their job and Holly slept like a baby those first few nights. She was keen for Emma to come round again to see the results and come round she did, the following Friday after school.

‘I like the make-up, Holly. Is this your new look?’

‘Yes, I know,’ she said, turning to the wall mirror in the hall and peering at her face, trying to pick yellow specks off with her fingernail. ‘I thought I’d managed to scrub it all away but it gets everywhere. I don’t think I got this much paint on me the whole time we were at college.’

Emma didn’t have a studio. Being a teacher, she had everything she needed at school. Holly though needed somewhere to work.

‘Let’s have a look then, Hol.’

Holly half dragged her to that part of the house where she now spent most of her waking hours, so glad at last to get hands-on in her new home, falling over her words as they went.

‘It’s nowhere near finished yet, but it’s clean and bright. And I had no idea how big that front window was. With a couple of coats of paint, well, you can see how the light just streams in and reflects off the walls – ét voila.’

Emma stood in the doorway, her mouth a perfectly formed ‘O’.

‘It’s a bit different from when you saw it last, isn’t it?’

‘It’s amazing. No wonder you’re so excited. You must have been decorating day and night. I can’t believe how much you’ve done since I was here last week.’

‘Well, I just couldn’t wait to get it finished, but I’ve discovered muscles I never even knew existed. If I hadn’t taken a day off in the middle to help out at the home I think everything would have seized up by now.’

‘I’d give my right arm for somewhere like this,’ Emma said, the envy discernible in her voice. ‘It’s an artist’s dream. You could get carried away in here.’

‘Well, Emma, for a small fee you can come and use the facilities any time you like.’

‘I can see what you mean about turning it into a retail gallery as well as a studio,’ Emma said, doing a three hundred and sixty degree turn as she examined the space. ‘It would work really well, but you’ll need more than just passing trade if you want to make a real go of it, particularly as you’re right out on a limb here at the end of the street.’

Emma knew about Holly’s dream; knew she wanted to build a viable business around her passion.

‘Yes, I know, and I’m going to need some help putting together a website, or more likely getting someone to do it for me. I’m not techie as you well know. I can design the flyers myself of course but I’ll get them run off professionally. My poor old printer would never cope with the quantity. It throws a hissy fit if I try anything larger than a three-page document. Then I’ll be walking the streets pushing them through letterboxes. Firstly, though, I’m going to the tourist information office and the library. I need advice from people who know what they’re talking about ’cos I sure as hell don’t.’

Holly’s voice got faster and faster as her excitement grew and it was only when she paused for breath that Emma said, ‘And next week?’

Not allowing her friend’s sarcasm to diminish her enthusiasm, she replied, ‘Okay, I know it isn’t going to happen overnight but if I’m a bit frugal – and, if I come round to yours three or four times a week to eat – I should be able to manage.’

‘Don’t be shy. Just ask. Move back in if you want to. No? I thought not. Maybe you’d like meals on wheels.’

‘Well, if you’re offering …’

‘You’re pushing it now, you know. There are limits to this friendship.’

‘But, Em. I’m a poor orphan.’

‘More of that wheedling and you’ll be a seriously bruised orphan.’

‘Anyway,’ Holly said, reverting to her normal voice, ‘I would like to be ready in time for at least some of this year’s tourist season, if I can. It’s only just February. No need to panic yet, I hope.’

‘Well, you didn’t collar every prize going at college for nothing. What was it Blush the Brush said about you? “Enormous potential to succeed”.’

‘Yeah, but …’

‘You were a little star, Hol. You know you were. This is not the time for false modesty.’

‘Emma, I know you …’

‘If anyone can make it work, you can. And when you’re rich and famous I’ll remind you how I helped set you on your way. In fact, I could be your business manager.’

‘That would be in your spare time of course.’

Emma didn’t have a lot of spare time, not with two boys and a husband to whom the adjective practical would never apply. Her work didn’t stop at the school gate either. There were always lessons to prepare and homework to be marked. Today she’d left the twins with a friend for an hour while she came over.

‘Ah, you’ve realised I’ve done a runner. No chance of any peace and quiet with my two. I’ve left them with Kate. Six-year-olds! Give me work any day.’

‘You’re not serious?’ Holly was quite indignant on behalf of her godchildren.

‘Absolutely. At least by the time I get them in class they’re into double figures and most have learned some sense. I’ve always been hopeless with small children.’

Emma was not hopeless with children of any age. She had that amazing gift that made people warm to her no matter how many years they’d notched up, or indeed how few. It was true though that as far as teaching was concerned she preferred a bit of maturity. Her enthusiasm promoted confidence in everyone though and, in Holly’s case and after all she’d been through, a welcome faith in her own ability to take control of and make a success of her future. Emma really was the best of friends.

Chapter Four

In between decorating and visiting the home that first week Holly made time to apply for permission for change of use for the extension. This was the most urgent thing on her agenda as in her opinion her whole future depended on it. Well aware it would take weeks if not months to come through it was important to set the wheels in motion as soon as possible. If they rejected her application she’d have to think again, except it didn’t bear thinking about because her heart was set on it.

‘I can’t see why they would turn you down,’ Emma had said one day when the two friends were talking on the phone. ‘All you have to do is look along the high street to see how many properties have done the same thing. Lots of them must have originally been houses rather than shops. And there isn’t a gallery as such at all. Yes, a few places sell pictures, mostly prints, along with their other gift and crafty things, but there’s nothing that is dedicated to original artwork so there would be no conflict.’

‘I know, Emma, but until I have official confirmation I can’t really move forward.’

‘Well, the decorating’s done and you don’t need to buy anything. I’ve never known anyone make something out of nothing the way you do.’

‘I must point out that that’s a slight exaggeration.’

‘Maybe, but only slight.’

‘There will be lots of things I’ll need, but you have to speculate to accumulate. Who was it said that? Anyway, I’m positive that he was right. Or she was.’

She was positive too that if she were to have any chance of achieving and maintaining a successful business she would have to run it in a professional manner. Cuffingham was in the middle of a hugely popular tourist area and there were always a lot of people milling around in the summer months. However, trade was seasonal and there were countless shops selling arts, crafts, and gifts, two of them in the high street. Hers would be different of course but it would have to be pretty special to compete.

Being on the end of the run could prove to be a blessing or a disaster – only time would tell. She hoped there’d be enough trade to carry her for the rest of the year. She assumed that was what happened with most retail outlets.

Holly’s experience at the old folks’ home had confirmed she could share her skills with others and she loved doing it. Her plan to run classes would provide an occupation out of season as well as being an added bonus the rest of the time. She began to consider seriously the logistics of running two businesses in tandem. There was no reason she could see why she wouldn’t be able to produce her own work and teach others as well.

It was then that she had a ‘eureka’ moment. While she’d been decorating, with little else to do than stare at the four walls, literally, she’d been mulling over potential names for her new business. Now, when she wasn’t thinking about it at all, it hit her square between the eyes.

She’d always loved mythology at school. At the time, though, before her marriage to Harry, she’d had a different surname. The one she had now fitted so well she could hardly believe it. Artemis – Goddess of the Hunt … and her name was Hunter. I can call the business ‘Art-e-Mis’ and I can be an Arty Mistress. She like the pun so much she repeated it to Emma.

‘If that’s the best you can do I’d advise you to stick to art. Witticisms of that kind are definitely not your forte.’

‘I thought it was quite funny.’

‘No, Holly, it’s pathetic.’

‘Oh,’ she said, feeling a little deflated and winding one of her curls around her finger the way she did whenever she was upset or disconcerted – but still liking the joke anyway.

Holly had no way of gauging the potential success of the retail trade but teaching could go a long way to providing a regular and reliable year-round income. All she had to do now was find some students. Oh, and there was the small detail of getting her proposal accepted.

Her mother’s old pine table could sit ten for dinner, twelve at a pinch, but that was for a meal. If it was going to be used as a workbench, people would need a bit of elbow room: space to spread things around. In spite of Harry not being keen, she’d insisted on keeping the table when her parents died. It reminded her of her childhood with the little pictures that she’d carved into its surface.

Her preoccupation with art had begun at an early age. It was one of those tables you expect to find in the enormous kitchen of a stately home. When Holly was little her family had lived in the ground floor/basement flat of an old Victorian house, and her mother had loved that old table. She didn’t seem to mind Holly’s carvings too much either, though there was the occasional token protest. They’d virtually lived in the basement kitchen and it had always been a warm and happy room, light filtering down through the window because they were on the sunny side of the street.

No way was Holly going to let the table go just because Harry didn’t want it. Too big for the house, it had been kept in the garage in London – who keeps their car in the garage anyway? – until she’d moved it and her paintings into storage pending divorce and the sale of the house.

‘You can have the bloody thing. I don’t want it,’ he’d said when she told him she was taking it with her to the Cotswolds. He’d sounded like one of Emma’s petulant pupils. As if she’d have left it with him anyway! For all its size it was dwarfed in the studio. It would certainly be big enough to take all the paraphernalia Holly’s students might need.

She couldn’t, however, ask them to sit on the floor so she decided her first task would be a tour of the local antique and second-hand furniture shops, far more a labour of love than a disagreeable chore. Holly had visited many of the shops over the years when staying with Emma, and since she’d left London, but there were still some she didn’t know and some she was looking forward to reacquainting herself with. She whisked herself up a smoothie to take the place of lunch, put it in a flask, and set off, excitement bubbling just below the surface.

The day was still young and Holly stepped out of her front door like a woman with a purpose. Any remaining doubts she might have had about the move had been laid to rest. Each day she felt more like a resident and less of a tourist. There were no airs and graces from the people she’d met at Kate and Charlie’s (unlike some of Harry’s friends) and over the ensuing few weeks, apart from the gap at Christmas, she’d seen most of them again and was beginning to feel she belonged.

There was only one fly in the ointment and Adam chose that moment to come out of the small post office and nearly bowl her over again. He pulled up sharply, flashing those great big blue eyes, and mumbled: ‘Look, I’m really sorry we got off to such a bad start. I guess you heard about Buttercup. I was a bit stressed. Maybe we can pretend it didn’t happen.’

Feeling a little mollified Holly opened her mouth to speak, ready to meet him halfway with her own apology, but before she had a chance to reply off he went just like he had the first time they’d met.

‘Yes but … Hang on a minute. You can’t just …’

‘Sorry. Can’t stop. Patient.’

Positively bristling with fury Holly took a deep breath and tried to regain her earlier mood of contentment. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had so got under her skin. The deep breath didn’t work but she was fairly sure retail therapy would and she set off along the street determinedly in search of something, anything, to take her mind off Adam.

She spent a very happy though fruitless half an hour or so rummaging around and finally treated herself to a small ornamental dish of absolutely no use and very little value, but she liked it. I can use it for sweets, she thought. Or peanuts. Having salved her conscience by convincing herself that it would be of some use after all, she walked across the road and sat down on a bench facing the river, taking out the smoothie and a small packet of nuts she’d also brought with her.

While she was munching she began mentally revising a part-planned leaflet and decided on a logo depicting Artemis killing a wild boar with a spear – the hunter overcoming her prey. A bit gruesome really but, hopefully, artistic! She realised also that advertising would have to come before props. There would be no point in buying six chairs if she had nobody to sit on them. Reluctantly she dragged herself away from the river.

On her way home she stopped at a shop selling art materials. They also did printing so she went in to get an estimate for a two-colour flyer and an idea of how long it would take to produce. Then it was off home to finish the leaflet design so she could get it into production and distributed as soon as possible. The chairs would have to wait.

Once the idea had taken hold it wasn’t long before Holly had tweaked the design to her satisfaction, so she turned her attention to another of her favourite things – cooking. She enjoyed what was just another aspect of her creativity. Her kitchen was the kind one dreams about but never dares hope to have.

Mrs Foster had had it refitted five years earlier, long before she’d decided to go and live with her daughter. Cooking had been her hobby too and no expense had been spared in kitting out the hub of the cottage to a very high standard. Its size, relative to the rest of the place, was huge, spanning as it did the whole of the back of the original property, now butting up against and giving access to the extension that had been added later. Holly couldn’t be at all sure it wasn’t the kitchen that had sold her on the house in the first place, with its quarry-tiled floor and fitted range.

‘I don’t know how she could bear to leave it,’ Holly had gasped at Emma soon after she’d first seen it. ‘It’s like something out of a showroom, what with all the appliances and white goods hidden behind the cupboard doors.’

‘I bet you can’t wait to get your hands on it. I still dream about your dinner parties in London. You gave up on the catering idea pretty quickly, didn’t you?’

‘Don’t remind me. Just another thing Harry didn’t want his wife to do.’

‘Seems to me he just wanted to compartmentalise you.’

‘I don’t think it was that. I really believe it would have been a blow to his ego if I’d had any kind of job other than the one at the gallery. That suited his vision of status – my status. And it was fine to have dinner parties at home but anything commercial was out of the question. He had this romantic idea of me playing housewife. It didn’t occur to him for one moment that I’d be bored out of my mind. Fortunately the attic was well lit and I could use it as a studio when I wasn’t at work. Just as long as I didn’t try to sell anything. Harry always referred to it as my hobby.’