Mystery at Meadowbank Cottage An original story written and performed by Stephanie Poppins Music by my brother John Miles Carter Chapter 13 Tuesday St Clair brushed her sun-kissed hair back into a tight ponytail and considered her options.
The complaint had come in just after 8 the previous morning,
A message from the couple in Lodge 4 about the water in their tap being brown.
Without hesitation,
Tuesday had rushed across her garden and into the field,
Dragging two large vats behind her.
Then she checked the outside tap until it ran clear.
She told herself it was sediment,
A one-off.
She told herself these things happened with stream-fed systems.
But Tuesday knew this was Jed Norman,
Up to his tricks again.
We just don't feel comfortable using it,
The holidaymaker said,
And Tuesday could see their point.
Who wanted to fill their kettle with that?
It seemed not all the bad luck had left with Robert Shafe.
Pulling on her boots,
Tuesday made for the front door and Jed Norman's house.
She would have it out with him once and for all.
But not before she heard the gate go.
It was Colleen Green,
And she had that look about her which said,
I have all the time in the world and I want you to know about it.
At that moment,
Tuesday Sinclair hated her more than she'd ever done.
The woman was dressed for the city,
Not the country.
Her heels were picking carefully across each crooked paving stone.
She was tottering along like a demented seagull.
It was all Tuesday could do to prevent herself issuing a bad balance spell.
But no,
She was getting ahead of herself.
Only the cauldron could do things like that.
Tuesday was the messenger,
Not the conduit.
Grabbing the door handle,
Tuesday swung it open wide before Colleen had a chance to knock.
But unbelievably,
The woman seemed unfazed.
Tuesday,
She said smugly,
I heard about the water when your guests came up to buy some eggs.
Hello to you too,
Said Tuesday in disbelief.
Did this woman have no boundaries?
Brown water in the lodges,
That must have been embarrassing.
It cleared up.
Did it?
Well that's good,
Colleen replied.
Those old stream systems though,
They're so unpredictable,
Aren't they?
All it takes is something upstream,
A bit of disturbance in the bed and.
.
.
She made a small gesture with one hand.
It travels down,
You know,
You've no way of knowing when it might happen actually.
Tuesday picked up a nearby wrench,
Then set it down again just as quickly.
Is there something you want,
Colleen?
Jed asked me to come.
Colleen was unapologetic as though this was a perfectly ordinary errand.
He'd been thinking about your situation and he wanted me to put a couple of things to you because he thought you might receive it better from me.
The thin woman paused,
Looking Tuesday straight in the eye.
He may have been wrong about that though.
Spit it out,
Colleen,
Said Tuesday impatiently.
As far as she was concerned,
The gloves were now off.
Smoothing the lapels of her new jacket,
Colleen sighed.
You know someone at the waterboard,
They have a good relationship.
One that's been built up over the years,
He tells me.
Jed thinks and I think he's right.
If you wanted to move away from the stream system entirely and get those lodges connected to the mains,
He could make that happen.
Quickly and quietly with no planning headaches.
She smiled surreptitiously.
You'd never have to worry about brown water again.
And what exactly would that cost me,
Colleen?
Said Tuesday impatiently.
Just that little strip of land,
Said Colleen lightly as though it was obvious.
You know,
The land along the stream.
You don't need it,
Not really,
Not if you're on the mains.
It's just sitting there,
Isn't it?
And that bit of land matters to Jed.
For the farm,
You know.
For the stream.
Tuesday thought back to the wording on the deeds.
The bit that said about her being the keeper of the lane.
Anyway,
Think on,
That's option one,
Said Colleen.
But option two is a lot simpler.
Tuesday watched indignantly as she opened her bag and took out a folded document.
Jed's prepared to make an offer on the whole business.
The lodges,
The land,
The goodwill,
Everything.
It's generous,
More than generous,
Honestly.
More than you'd get on the open market if you marketed it properly.
Which,
She offered a small smile.
You'd have to admit,
Hasn't been your strong suit.
What does that mean?
Well,
You let your tenants down,
Didn't you?
There's no guarantee it won't happen again.
Tuesday refused to take the paper offered her.
Instead,
She turned away and looked out to the rolling fields beyond the front of her house.
Jonathan Green's rolling fields.
After their last conversation,
She'd been feeling really angry about him and her.
But angry or not,
She needed an ally.
Heaven only knew right now she needed all the allies she could get.
As she watched,
Colleen sat down uninvited on the little cast iron set.
Sissy Bucket had gifted her only the week before.
Either way,
She continued crossing her legs.
Jed has been more than fair,
I think.
And he wanted to make sure you understood that.
He's not trying to pressure you.
He just thinks you should know your options before the situation gets any worse.
You know,
Any more complicated.
At this,
Tuesday stepped forward.
Then she leant on the back of the chair facing Colleen and said slowly,
Oh,
He made very clear my options just the other week,
Actually.
Unless I'm very much mistaken,
I was the one at the top of his list.
She watched with glee as Colleen's face dropped.
In fact,
I was having such difficulty making use of all the gifts he left at my door every day.
She continued.
I had to walk them up the lane and give them to your ex-husband.
I'm not sure where you were at the time,
Colleen.
Maybe you could have put them to use.
Colleen Green stood up abruptly.
That stream is unpredictable,
She spat.
And the more time that passes Tuesday,
The more unpredictable it's going to get.
Then picking up her bag,
She trotted off through the gate with a passing.
He wants to know by Friday.
And if Friday comes and goes without a word,
He'll be applying for planning permission to open a glamping community with live music.
It would mean increased traffic,
What with the festivals.
But Jed knows a lot of people,
So I don't think he'll have a problem getting that through,
Do you?
It was an hour later,
And Tuesday Sinclair was clearing out the lodges.
First stop,
The one against her better judgment she had allowed her ex,
Robert Shafe,
To use.
She stepped in.
The lodge smelt like him still.
Stale beer and cheap pine cologne he doused himself in every morning.
She propped the front door open and let the air do its work.
Three bin bags,
That's what she'd taken in.
Three bin bags,
And she would be done with every trace of Robert Shafe.
Starting in the kitchen,
She removed the cracked mug.
A half-eaten bag of crisps.
A phone charger tangled round the leg of a stool.
She swept it all in without ceremony.
The sitting room was worse.
Cushions pulled from the sofa and never replaced.
Dried rings on the coffee table from a dozen different glasses.
She scrubbed at them with a cloth,
Jaw tight,
Telling herself she wasn't angry,
She was fine.
But she was really angry.
She got down on her knees and checked beneath the sofa.
The graveyard of whatever people didn't want to deal with.
And there was a betting slip,
A pen lid,
And something else.
She pulled it out.
It was a flyer,
One of Jed Norman's flyers.
The logo hit her first,
And her stomach dropped.
Thursday 10pm was written on the only white space available.
Tuesday sat back on her heels and turned it over slowly.
Robert had never mentioned knowing Jed.
He'd never mentioned meeting Jed.
She stood up slowly,
Folded the flyer once and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans.
Then she picked up the plastic bags.
Wiped the back of her hand across her brow.
And leaving the lodge,
Through every trace of Robert's shave,
In the bin.
