The Path

Chapter Three

A quick shower, a swipe of lip gloss and a spritz of perfume and I’m almost ready to go.  Having spent the last few days in grubby jeans and t-shirts, this maxi dress is a welcome change.  I scrape my towel- dried hair up in a pony-tail; grab my bag and keys head off.  The brightness of the midday sun causes me squint and makes me regret not bringing sunglasses. The weather has been fantastic since I arrived, although I haven’t seen much of it.  The house has taken far longer to sort than I expected, sifting through Dorothy’s pictures and papers. 

I found a diary today.  It was tucked away in a small drawer in a cabinet and I really don’t know what I’m going to do with it.  Sorting and disposing of old bills and such-like was easy.  These were merely functional documents that told me little about Dorothy, but a diary is something else and I am not sure if I want to read it.  It feels like I’d be intruding into her personal life.  The diary is old and water stained but the writing is still legible and dated 1942.  From as far I have dared to venture inside it, I can see what beautiful handwriting she had.  

“Good morning Alice.”

A voice frees me from my thoughts.

Good morning,” I say to an elderly woman pulling a shopping trolley behind her and feel a little surprised that she knows my name.

“You off to the barbecue then?”

“Err..Yes, thought it time I met some people.  I’ve been a bit of a hermit since I arrived.”

The old lady gives me a kind smile.  “Good friends I was with your Aunt.  She’d have loved to have met you nowadays.”  Her eyes twinkle and her lips smirk slightly.  “You come round mine for tea tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about her if you like?”

"Thank you, that would be very nice, Mrs…” 

“No Mrs anything, you can call me Muriel.  I live two doors down from you so pop round at five.  Does that suit?”

“Ah, so you’re my neighbour with the magical green fingers then?”  Her back garden is wonderful; beautifully planted with flowers and shrubs grouped together in blocks of colour.  It makes mine an embarrassing eyesore in comparison.

“Thank you, dear,” she says and laughs. “Your Aunt wasn’t much of a gardener too.  But these days I can’t take all the credit for mine; I am too old to be out breaking sweat with a shovel.  Tell you what, I’ll give you the details of the man who does mine when you come round.”

“That'd be great, thanks. See you tomorrow at five then.”

She nods.  "Enjoy the barbecue, but stay away from Mr Wheeler, the man who owns the garage.  I’m told he gets a bit handsy when he's had one too many.”

“Will do,” I laugh and we part ways. 

I continue down the road towards the village and soon come to the house with the funny dog, which is sat behind the gate.  He sees me, slowly gets up and walks over, tongue hanging out; his tail frantically waving from side to side.  A quick check tells me that me that his owner is nowhere to be seen so I stop and give the top of his head a little scratch. 

“Hello boy, you seem happy to see me.”

The dog pants happily back.

“Too hot for you is it?”

“Jet, how've you managed to get out again?” I look and see a woman in a navy uniform come down the drive. “Mr Piper is despairing of you.  Now get you back inside.”

The dog turns and gives me a forlorn look and then retreats to the house.

“Don’t know what’s got into that dog?” She says addressing me.  “He's normally such a compliant animal, but the last few days he's been sat at that gate as if he's waiting for something.”