Mystery at Meadowbank Cottage An original story written and performed by Stephanie Poppins Music by my brother John Miles Carter Chapter 5 It was one of those mornings at Meadowbank Cottage that felt like the countryside was on parade.
A pale golden light warmed the wide fields of wheat,
And the sky held the kind of optimism Tuesday St.
Clair used to have when she lived in Leighton all those years ago with her family.
But now her parents were gone,
And her brother Justin was back in the city,
Living the city life that she had left behind in the quest for inner peace.
It was just her now,
And her kitten Spike.
And she was beginning to like it that way.
Meadowbank Cottage,
Her new home,
Sat on the corner of Leighton Lane,
Looking,
She thought,
Almost exactly as she'd imagined a perfectly pretty English cottage should do.
The polished windows were lead-lit,
And the wooden fence ivy-strewn.
The little cobbled path leading to the front door was overgrown,
And the wildflowers were in abundance,
Just the way Tuesday liked them.
But the lodges along the back were still not doing what they were told.
She would have to speak to her brother again about that.
Oh well,
One step at a time.
Today she had bigger problems,
Tractor-shaped problems.
You're blocking the lane,
Jonathan Green shouted down from the cab of his latest machine.
Tuesday pushed back the sleeves of her old blue cardigan,
And went inside for her keys.
Jonathan Green was being obtuse.
She'd explained to him about the delivery.
She'd told him her car was in the ditch.
The lane was narrow,
She said,
But there was just enough room,
She was sure.
Earlier that morning,
Tuesday had had to pull her car halfway into the lane to give the delivery men room to manoeuvre.
Her much-anticipated delivery of French furniture,
She'd bought online from an old carpenter nearby,
Was now safely ensconced in her home.
The van hadn't long since left,
And she'd only just arranged it into place when the impatient horn began.
What was Jonathan's problem?
She'd been careful to tuck the car into the verge as tightly as she could,
And the van had managed well enough,
Hadn't it?
Why was the man being so impatient?
He obviously believed every second of the day belonged to him and him alone.
If anything,
He should be the one being nice.
He owed her that,
Didn't he,
After leaving her in the lurch all those years before.
I'm aware,
Jonathan,
I'm moving it,
She shouted back,
Refusing to acknowledge his belligerent expression.
But I need to get through now.
And I said I'm moving it.
Tuesday felt upset for the first time since arriving at Meadowbank Cottage.
It had all been plain sailing up until now,
Apart from Jonathan's horrible wife Colleen,
That was.
Still,
Tuesday had seen very little of her since their last meeting,
Thank goodness.
But why on earth would she let a busy man's moods affect her like this?
She rushed back to the front door.
Thinking better of it,
She took a breath,
Composed herself,
Checked her reflection in the mirror,
Then exited into the warm afternoon sun with as calm a step as she could muster.
Jonathan may have got to her,
But she wasn't going to let him see that.
Tuesday St Clair was no longer a walkover.
All that stopped when she freed herself from Robert's chafe.
So why was she getting annoyed with this idiot?
Injustice,
That's what it was.
He was taking his bad mood out on her,
As if she had to put up with that from a complete stranger.
Well,
Not exactly a stranger,
But as good as dammit.
And I thought moving back to the country was supposed to be the stressful bit,
She muttered as she opened her car door.
You'll have to back up,
Jonathan,
She yelled.
In truth,
Tuesday had been a bit flustered since seven that morning.
It hadn't been easy directing delivery men through a gate that was clearly six inches too narrow,
But they'd been much kinder about it than Jonathan Green.
Checking her rear mirror,
She put the car into reverse and jammed her foot on the gas.
Jonathan was watching everything she was doing with a face like thunder.
Well,
If he was in a rush,
The sooner he was out of the way,
The sooner he could get through and be left to stew in his own juices.
The clang was not catastrophic.
A reasonable person on a sunny morning with fields stretching out golden behind him,
And not a cloud in sight,
Might have laughed it off.
After all,
It was Tuesday's car that suffered.
His tractor had barely a scratch.
But Jonathan Green,
As it turned out,
Was not a reasonable person.
Do you actually have a licence?
At this,
Tuesday saw red.
To stand up for myself when I'm being personally attacked?
Yes,
I do,
She sniped back.
So leave me the hell alone,
Jonathan Green.
Go and take your foul mood out on someone who cares.
That's not me.
Then,
With one slam of her car door and one flick of her long ponytail,
Tuesday St Clair turned her back on Jonathan Green and walked up her garden path with a triumphant smile.
Her car might be a little worse for wear,
But she had never felt more alive.
She was getting good at this.
The new Tuesday St Clair was taking no prisoners,
And the more people that understood that,
The better.
It was late afternoon,
And Tuesday's phone was ringing.
Elbow deep in soil,
She grabbed the nearest cloth and wiped her hands.
Hello?
T,
It's me.
You OK?
Yes,
Justin,
I'm fine.
I'm going to take a look at the lodges later,
Like you asked.
Then I'll send you a breakdown of any emergency repairs needed,
OK?
Great.
It's time we got on with our cottagecore business.
The season's already well underway.
I know it's a tall order,
But I thought we might get at least a couple of them up and running for October half-term.
What do you think?
I don't see why not,
As long as we start soon.
It's much easier to get outdoor work done in the sun,
Isn't it?
OK,
Good.
I'll wait on your report then.
And how's things over there?
Seen any more of Jonathan or Colleen?
Funny you should ask that.
The man's an absolute menace.
I don't know what I ever saw in him.
Yeah?
Tell me more.
What's going on?
Still in her coat,
Tuesday switched the kettle on and willed it to boil as fast as it could.
She'd been hard at it ever since the altercation in the lane.
What better a way to blow off steam than in the garden?
That was the bonus of working from home.
You could fit work in around your life rather than the other way round.
Jonathan Green is an unnecessarily difficult man,
She continued.
Thank God he lives at the other end of the lane with this silly superficial excuse for a wife.
They're perfect for each other.
Hmm?
Yes,
Tea,
Tell me more.
Well,
This morning he was in a very bad mood.
Right.
And I kind of reversed into his tractor.
Hmm,
That might have something to do with it.
No,
Justin,
He was in a bad mood already and he was taking it out on me.
I see.
Tiff with a wife,
You think?
I don't know and I don't care.
The last time she came round she wasted my entire TV time bitching about her Botox buddies and my new decor.
She said,
And I quote,
It looks like Laura Ashley's had a field day in here.
There was a pause on the line.
Tuesday could hear her brother chuckling.
Woe betide anyone who challenges your lifelong devotion to Laura Ashley.
Then she started on the lodges,
Tuesday continued,
Saying how we needed to get on with them,
That they're bringing the tone of the area down.
Well,
Justin said carefully,
They are looking a bit tired,
Tea,
But we're on it now,
Aren't we?
Once I've received your report,
I'll organise stuff and come back for the weekend,
OK?
Then I suppose you'll be having a catch up with your old pal,
Jonathan?
Maybe.
Or you can tell him from me,
The next time he's in a mood,
To think twice before knocking at my door,
Or he's going to get a mouthful.
I've just cleaned out one bad smell and I'm not in the mood for another.
Justin laughed out loud.
My God,
Tea,
Country living's brought the fire out in you,
That's for sure.
Are you surprised?
Old Mrs Green,
Who lived here before me,
Was a witch,
And I'm just taking over from where she left off.
Complete with little black cat,
Laughed Justin.
Look out,
Locals,
Tuesday Sinclair of Meadowbank Cottage is not to be messed with.
Just don't forget,
Said Tuesday protectively,
Watch yourself around,
Jonathan,
He's a user.
Clearly,
He said he'd give you a hand with the lodges and he hasn't said anything since,
Has he?
You always were fiercely loyal,
Smiled Justin,
But you don't need to defend me,
Sis,
I can stand up for myself.
Tuesday wanted to say,
Not when it comes to toxic women you can't,
But she left it.
As it stood,
Justin was the only person in the world she had left on her side.
Except old Tom Bucket.
He'd been appearing at Meadowbank ever since she'd moved in,
Offering fresh eggs and homemade bread.
And later on he was going to meet her,
He said,
After she'd finished here,
And help her look over the lodges.
He didn't like Colleen either.
And,
Tuesday reckoned,
She could moan about Jonathan all she wanted to him,
For he wouldn't say a word.
As dusk gathered softly over the green,
Where Leyton Lane bent and became Claybury Hill,
The six wooden lodges sat in a loose crescent around the grass,
Their weather-worn faces holding the last of the day's warmth.
Tuesday checked the windows.
Some were cracked,
But all caught the fading light and returned it in brief golden glints before surrendering to the shadows.
Across the green the grass had been worn smooth in places and remained tufted in others.
It was uneven,
Dark green in the shadows and yellowy green in the centre,
Whilst the paint on each set of wooden steps had been cracked from the frostbite of the preceding winter.
Tuesday shuddered as a mild wind moved through the hedges.
She stood listening for any sign of old Tom.
In the distance,
The dry whisper of leaves rang down the slope of Claybury Hill.
It was peaceful here and she felt strangely at ease,
Considering she was about to begin the long list of all the problems she had to fix before she could use the lodges as holiday lets.
Somewhere a gate clicked and she turned to welcome her old friend.
She could barely see now and the lodges seemed to lean inward as the sky dimmed further,
Their roofs gathering the last ash-rose streaks of evening.
Then,
Almost imperceptibly,
The green became dark and the roads slipped fully into night.
Hidden by the lodges' frame,
Tuesday had intended to step out into the centre to be seen,
But the familiar laugh she heard next was not an inviting one,
For this was not old Tom Bucket,
But Colleen Green,
And the man she was leaning into was not her husband,
Jonathan.
