Galloping Changes And A Revelation

Good afternoon, dear readers! I've prepared a substantial chapter for you to read today because I've strung you along quite enough and I know you are itching to know the contents of Clive's hobby room. Hold on to your hats...

            It was just over a week later that the phone call Min was expecting arrived. Halliwell sat at her feet and stared up her, unblinking, as she listened to Audley Runcorn broach the subject of the fate of Satis House.

            'I didn’t hear from you, Min,’ he began, somewhat tentatively. ‘So I thought I’d call anyway, see ‘ow you were doing, like.’

            ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Audley,’ said Min, who’d never had the slightest intention of calling him. ‘But I’m really not ready to talk about this just yet.’

He ploughed on as if he hadn’t heard her, like one of those scam callers who refuse to be deviated from their script. ‘It’s just that, well….the C.O.P.S would like to start making t’most of the bequest as soon as possible. We've lots of plans, y’see, and obviously t’cash would help get a lot of them off t’ground...'

            'Why 'obviously?'' said Min, briskly.

            'Well...' stumbled Audley.

            'Because it isn't obvious to me,' said Min. 'Satis House is my home. I have lived here a good part of my life. I grew up here, I nursed my mother here. There is a lot of history here for me, Audley. And I have my own plans for its future. I have no intention of selling it.'

            There was a brief silence. 'Aye. We thought you’d say as much,' said Audley. 'And obviously...er...of course, we don't want to see you leave a place that means so much to you. So what we' re proposing it this - that we're 'appy to wait for you to raise the equivalent cash value to buy us out of our share.'

            Min found herself focusing on the intently gazing eyes of Halliwell, which seemed to have a steading effect on her twitching nerves. This spiel did not sound wholly ‘Audley’ to her. There was another voice mixed in there – a scriptwriter’s voice. Audley, meanwhile, took her silence as a sign of compliance. He continued, feeling encouraged.

            'We'd like t'arrange for a market valuation. Our tenor, Spider Wilson, is a surveyor and...'

            'Good heavens!’ said Min. ‘What sort of a name is Spider for a grown man to have?'

            'Well, obviously it's not his real name,' said Audley.

            'There you go again, with your obviously,' snapped Min.

            'His real name is Morris,' said Audley. 'But he's tall as a house and skinny as a whippet so...'

            'I am NOT interested,' said Min, 'in any of your proposals at this moment in time. My brother has been dead barely a month. As I have said, I have my own plans for Satis House and I am not in the habit of changing plans once I make them. There will be no valuation, especially by tenor surveyors called Spider and if…IF…I decide to buy you out I shall be employing the services of an independent and impartial surveyor…’

            ‘Yes, yes of course…’ stammered Audley. Min continued.

‘I have made enquiries, Audley, and whilst I cannot alter the fact that, due to the inexplicable stupidity of my brother, half my home is now owned by a VERY amateur operatic society, there will can be no capital release until probate is granted which could take MANY weeks if I have my way, as no doubt Mr Burroughs has explained. Or until I am dead. And then you will have to take it up with my new beneficiary.'

And before Audley could draw breath to make a response and she ran out of breath herself, she said, 'Good day!' and slammed down the receiver.

            Halliwell blinked. 'Well done,' he seemed to say.

            'Thank you,' said Min.

And she smiled as she patted the newly decided beneficiary of the Last Will and Testament of Minerva Virginia Woolf Thing on his soft as velvet head.

            Min needed to get out of the house. It was all bluster, of course, her talk of refusing to even begin  to think about negotiating before probate was granted. Oh yes, she’d make sure she strung out THAT process for as long as possible, of course she would. And she fully intended on maintaining full possession of Satis House until her dying breath – she just needed time to think how. But the thought of making Halliwell her new and soul beneficiary tickled her. Clive had been her beneficiary  - she, at least, had been loyal to their sibling Tenants in Common agreement – but he was gone now and she would need to have her own Will redrafted. In the meantime, though, she hoped her bluster would gain her some thinking time. Whatever she did, she would make life as awkward as possible for the C.O.P.S. Bloody mindedness was a particular talent of hers.

            In the tea room above the bookshop, Min sat and waited whilst Amazing served her queue of customers. Business was brisk and had become even more so since the news about the closure of the tea room had spread. A petition was pinned to the community board by the door, and Min duly added her name to it, although she had come to the tea room with a potential solution to Amazing's problem which might render the petition redundant.

            Eventually, Amazing was able to leave counter duties to her assistant, a quiet lad called Ben. She  arrived at Min's table with a cream tea for two.

            'Now, my friend,' she said, setting out the contents of the tray with all the care afforded to an intimate afternoon repast in her own sitting room. 'This telephone call you make to me earlier today was all intrigue and mystery. Tell me – what is this plan you have?'

            Min had called Amazing as soon as she had finished speaking with Audley because, suddenly, the solution to both of their immediate problems seemed obvious. 'I have an idea,' she had said, crushing the phone receiver protectively against her ear, as if there might be spies in the camp. 'A plan. I'm coming to see you immediately.'

            However, with Amazing now sitting across the table from her, an encouraging and expectant smile on her face, Min felt her courage waiver a little. Come on now, she told herself. This will work. Don't even begin to think Amazing might say no. She took a deep breath.

            'It's like this,' she said. 'I want to start a business at my home, Satis House. I have a lot of space and a need to earn a living in a more satisfying way than I do now, which is sorting out the housing issues of often ungrateful and bad tempered people. The thing is, Amazing – well, how would you like to move your tea- room to the drawing room of Satis House? The kitchen will be yours to cook and bake in, and the gardens will make a lovely outdoor eating area during the warmer months...and there will be paying guests who need catering for...' Her voice trailed off as she realised she was babbling.

            Amazing looked at Min. Her forehead creased into the smallest and briefest of frowns and her eyes narrowed with the intensity of thought. Then she reached across the table and took Min's hands in hers.

            'Yes, Miss Minerva Thing,’ she said, without blinking. ‘Yes – that is a wonderful plan. We start now, yes? On this new venture together?' Still holding Min's hands, she turned her head towards the counter.

            'Benjamin!' she roared. 'Pack up the china and cutlery. The tins and the trays. We are moving! We are moving onwards and it will be a marvellous thing! All good is coming to us.' She paused and smiled at Min. 'And Benjamin!' she shouted. 'Get your hair cut! Your fringe is too dangly in your face. Cut it and stop flicking it back and forth across your eyes, you silly boy!

            Min exhaled with relief. It was settled. The first step of her new business plan had been instigated. She felt better already. On her way home, she posted the letter of resignation from her job as housing officer.

            'She said what?' said Sylvia. Sylvia Path (M.B.E for services to the community) was the newly elected Treasurer of the C.O.P.S and as such had already made comprehensive plans based on the generous bequest of Clive Thing. She had big dreams for the Society. There had been some mention by other, more cautious members of 'jumping guns' and 'hatching chickens' but Sylvia was very much of the opinion that life was a slippery fish and needed grabbing by the throat before it could get away. There was a substantial sum of money heading the way of the Society which needed ring fencing as quickly as possible. She had already found a very suitable commercial property to rent, which would make a perfect performance space. Her plan was to launch the C.O.P.S, and her own career, into the spotlight of the professional fame it so richly deserved.

            Audley sighed. He could sense the smell of a very uncivil war wafting uncomfortably close. The last thing he wanted to do was fall out with Minerva Thing. And it was still early days following Clive’s death; there were legal formalities to deal with before even a pound dropped into the C.O.P.S’ coffers.

In hindsight, Clive's bequest was a doubled-edged sword. When Audley had been charged by the Society to represent them as beneficiaries (having been voted the person least likely to cause an unpleasant scene) he knew exactly what Min’s reaction to the news of Clive’s new Will would be. It must have been a huge shock to her, not that she'd shown a hint of it on her face at the solicitor's office. And for all her stand-offishness, he quite liked the woman. She had determination and independence of spirit. She had tolerated living with Clive and all his odd and sometimes challenging  behaviours. She made excellent cake. So Audley had wanted to wait as long as possible after the Will reading before re-establishing discussions about the bequest but Sylvia was both persistent and insistent they should not allow the situation to drift.

            'Of course I am sorry for what has happened,' she said  (she wasn't). 'But the Society needs to move on, too,' (which it didn't, not really, not with any great urgency anyway) 'and the sooner the matter is dealt with then the better for all concerned.' And Sylvia had all but glued the telephone receiver to Audley's hand and stared at him whilst he made the call from her back bedroom which currently served as the C.O.P.S admin office.   

              Now she was sitting back in her chair, her hands folded thoughtfully before her.

              'We must contact Mr Burroughs,' she said. 'See what he advises. I’ve searched on-line about probate and it says it can be granted in less than ten days if there are no complications. There must be some kind of court order or injunction we can take out to make her comply.'

            Audley was horrified by the suggestion. ‘I don’t think there will be any need for that,’ he said.

            'And then there's the issue of who is to play Nanki-Poo,' said Sylvia, who clearly wasn't listening because, in her mind, everyone responded with speed and efficiency to her orders. 'Do you think we could persuade Alan to make a return? He’s very experienced and I did question at the time the wisdom of Clive taking on such a demanding role for his debut performance…'

            'Alan's emigrated to Portugal...' reminded Audley.

            'Oh yes,' said Sylvia. 'That's unfortunate.' She creased her face in deep thought. 'Do you have any ideas? Some undiscovered talent in the community we could persuade to join the company? Not too talented, of course! Some of us mustn’t suffer our own limelight being dimmed. Ahahahaha!’

            Audley sighed again and got to his feet.

            'I have to go,' he said. 'Things to do.'

            ‘Only we don’t want to cancel the show, do we?’ shouted Sylvia after his retreating back.

            The next day found Amazing standing in the middle of the drawing room at Satis House. She had said not a word for a good five minutes, just stood there, her eyes closed, then open, then closed again. She was visualising her new tea-room. It would be beautiful – different from the one she was leaving, of course, because she was a firm believer that when the Universe brought you a happy change like this, then it was only respectful to leave the old behind and embrace the new. Her grandmother would tell her, when she was a child and fussed over the changes that occurred naturally in life, 'Why fuss, child? You have been given the gift of difference already. Difference suits you.'

            The gentle tinkle of bone china nestling against bone china re-opened Amazing's eyes. Min had entered the room with a tea-tray and was setting it on the table that sat in the pool of sunlight in the drawing room window.

            'What do you think?' said Min. 'I know it's all very old-fashioned, but I have engaged a decorator to come in and...'

            'Space is never be old-fashioned,' said Amazing, smiling. 'Space is space is space.'

            Min nodded, although she had no idea what Amazing was saying.

            'It has atmosphere, this space,' said Amazing.

            'Oh yes,' said Min, remembering the arguments her parents used to have in this room, and wondering if Amazing could sense some kind of sinister ethereal residue. 'It certainly has that. Nothing that fresh paint and new curtains won't cure, though. You must have a say in the colours, of course.'

            Amazing laughed. 'I think,' she said, 'our fun shall be great, when we begin this adventure together. All good things will come to us.'

            Min agreed. She wasn't a massive fan of change, but she could sense a shift in herself – a shift that said, 'Why not? It’s time to do things your way.' Or was that the house talking again?

            'How many do you think we could seat in here?' she said, trying to subscribe to Amazing's space is space is space theory.

            Amazing gazed around her. 'For comfort or for profit?' she said.

            'Definitely for comfort,' said Min, who could not abide crowded eating places with their elbow restrictions and clashing together of chairs.

            'Then I think twenty,' said Amazing. 'More in the summer time when the weather shows us kindness.'

            Min had already taken her into the garden to show her the space she envisaged transforming into a small terrace. Amazing had said nothing, just nodded approval at the trees and the grass and the herb garden which, Min conceded, was looking a little past its best.

            'We could build a conservatory,' Min said suddenly. 'An orangery! Like they have in stately homes, to have the outside inside even during the winter...'

            Amazing placed a gentle hand on Min's arm.

            'One step at a time, my friend,' she said. 'One step at a time.'

           

            Early evening, and left once more to her own company, Min strode purposefully up the stairs. The summer evening had drawn out to its fullness and as she glanced through the landing window, she saw long shadows from the trees stretching across the lawn like recumbent giants. House martins swooped and darted around the eaves; a fox slunk along the boundary hedge, trying its scavenging luck for remnants carelessly dropped by that day's bin collection. 

            'Right,' Min said aloud. 'You can sort this out. You have to sort this out.'

            Around her the house nodded agreement. It had grown weary over the years with the drama of this family, with the arguments and resentments, the selfishness and neglect. It felt now that its chance to breathe for itself had come at last.

            Min’s idea to turn Satis House into a business had suddenly, she realised, grown legs of its own and was running ahead of her like an energetic and unruly toddler. Her own days of potential motherhood had passed her by, no partner had come along to turn her into wife and mother. And she was thankful for that, yes indeed she was. Yet, with sudden horror, she knew that at forty eight years old she was likely to be well over halfway through her life now, if Fate was kind and allowed her to live to an old age free from accident and disease. Where had that time gone? What had she actually achieved in those years? She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes and the gentle thrum of a tension headache knocked at the spot between her eyebrows. Don’t be so stupid, she told herself, and rubbed angrily at her face. Halliwell, her constant companion, knocked against her legs to remind her that love was here. She smiled at him, and squatted to rub his ears. ‘You’re right,’ she said, as the cat chirruped and rumbled. ‘We have a lot to do and a lot to look forward to.’

 Willow would be returning at the beginning of August to begin her decorating magic on the old and tired walls and ceilings. Amazing was so excited about moving her tea shop into the drawing room that Min wouldn't be at all surprised to find her camping on the doorstep in the morning, surrounded by boxes of china and baking equipment and ready to move in. Of course, they would have to apply for planning permission, and create a proper business plan, but Min knew in her bones that time would be absorbed by the flurry of making dreams real as quickly as sponge absorbs water. Thoughts of everything that would happen almost made Min forget the spectre of the C.O.P.S. Almost.

            Clive's hobby room door stood before her. Min breathed hard. Since she had broken down the door she had avoided dealing with the contents therein. On that day she had immediately gone to a D.I Y shop and purchased a new lock and handle. It had taken her a couple of hours and an ancient copy of 'The Reader's Digest Complete Home Owner Guide to DIY' to hack the old lock from the door frame and fit the new one, but she had done it and it was with a certain sense of pride that she stood back and admired her work. The room was once more lockable. She couldn't risk anyone entering by accident, could she? Not now she knew what was inside.

            She stood now, with the key in her hand. Too many people were about to have a stake in Satis House and she needed to deal with the contents of this room now.

            'If you're listening, Clive Neville Chamberlain Thing,' she said, 'then you need to know that a) you have a lot to answer for and b) you are weirder than I ever gave you credit.'

            She unlocked the door, but even though she knew what sight would meet her, a sicky gasp still caught in her throat. Glassy, empty staring eyes swooped in on her from every angle – some accusingly, some pleadingly, most cold and calculating. Pah – calculating! As if a dead thing was capable of such emotion. At least, thought Min, the smell had dissipated from the downright rank to something less offensively pungent, thanks to her prising open of the window and leaving it ajar ever since the day of Clive’s death.

            Shelf upon crowded shelf of dead animals stared at her – rabbits, a fox, squirrels, mice, birds of many kinds, rats, even a wild boar, looking particularly startled, like it was wondering what on earth had just happened. And there were the jars, too. When Min had first encountered the room, it was the jars that had repelled her the most. The jars contained what she could only described as 'bits of stuff.' Fleshy, discoloured, unidentifiable 'bits of stuff.' It took a lot to turn Min's stomach – rice pudding, generally, and the thought of eating a pomegranate – but these bits of stuff in jars had initiated a heave from within so violent she found herself scanning the room in a panic, seeking out the nearest convenient receptacle in which to empty her stomach. She could understand, sort of, the taxidermy element of Clive’s hobby, but why keep all the innards, the ‘bits of stuff’?

            'Good heavens!'

            Min jumped and turned at the unexpected exclamation behind her. 

            'What?' she said, adrenaline-fuelled panic grabbing at her voice. 'Who are you? Why are you here?'

            A woman stood in the doorway of Clive's hobby room. She looked vaguely familiar.

            'Someone's been having fun,' said the woman.

            Min's heart was pounding like a jack hammer. 'Do I know you?' she said. Then, 'How did you get in?'

            'The cat,' said the woman, answering the second question first and waving her hand at Halliwell who was sitting beside her looking particularly smug. 'It opened the front door. And it's Connie. Remember me? From the hospital?'

            Ah yes. The brisk yet kindly mortuary assistant. Min relaxed a little. 'The cat let you in?' she said. Really, the creature grew more talented by the day.          

            'Yes,' said Connie. 'I did knock. Several times. And then the door swung open to reveal this magnificent feline specimen. It made me feel like I should follow it. So I did.'

            Min sighed. 'He does that. It's like he owns the place, isn’t it Halliwell?'

            'You’ve trained him very well,' laughed Connie.

            'Oh, he’s not mine,' said Min. 'Well, yes...I suppose he is now... he turned up a few weeks ago and didn’t leave.'

            'Sounds like my ex-husband,' said Connie, rolling her eyes.