Read Online The Magic Cottage by James Herbert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Herbert
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good,’ I said, smacking my lips appreciatively.
‘You’re sure you don’t need something more?’
‘This is fine. Too tired to be hungry.’
‘Mm, me too. Doesn’t the forest look tantalizing with the sun turning its roof reddy-brown, while underneath it’s so dark and mysterious.’
‘Looks kinda creepy to me.’ I finished the last of the soup and put the empty mug down beside me, picking up a can of beer as I straightened again.
‘And already there’s a mist rising.’
‘Must be pretty waterlogged out there in the open with all the rain.’ I pulled the tab and drank from the can. ‘D’you think it gets really cold here at night?’
‘Maybe a bit more than city boys are used to, but I don’t think you’ll need your thermals for a while yet.’
‘Bet it gets dark too. No street lamps.’
Midge stretched out her slim legs, her shoulders snuggling down against the back of the bench. ‘You’ll get used to it, Mike.’ She sighed long and deep, a comfortable sigh, and said, ‘It’s good to be back.’
‘Still a country girl at heart, eh?’
‘I suppose I must be. Nine years in the city can’t completely eradicate an upbringing, nor would I want it to.’ The change in mood was swift – often the case with Midge. She lowered her eyes. ‘I wish they could have seen Gramarye, Mike; I know they would have loved it here.’
Putting down the can, I took her hand in both of mine and held on to it.
She said quietly, ‘I think they had hopes of me eventually marrying a nice country vet, or a parson.’ She smiled, but it was an expression of sadness. ‘Dad would have loved that. Imagine the long evenings they’d have spent talking shop.’
‘He wouldn’t have found much in common with me.’
‘Oh, Mike, I didn’t mean it like that. Dad would have loved you. You’re both very alike in many ways.’
‘I’d have liked him, Midge. From all you’ve told me, I think I’d have loved him too.’
‘Mother would have thought you a rascal. That’s how she’d have put it – a rascal . And she’d have enjoyed that.’
The first tear emerged to dampen her cheek. ‘It was so cruel, Mike, so horribly cruel.’
My arm went around her shoulders and I moved my head close to hers. ‘You’ve got to try and forget that part of it. They’d have wanted you to remember the good things.’
‘It’s impossible to forget what happened to them.’
‘Then accept. Accept the cruelty of that along with all the good times. And think of how proud they would have been of you now.’
‘That’s what hurts. They can’t know, they can never know about my work, about you . . . about – about this place. It would have meant so much to them. And to me, it would have meant so much to have them proud of me.’
There wasn’t a lot I could say, so I just held her close and let her weep, hoping as I had many times before that the tears were part of her letting go, each measure of outward grief part of the healing process. How much hurt was still locked deep inside, I had no way of knowing, but I could be patient; she was worth that.
‘I’m sorry, Mike,’ she said after a while. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil everything.’
I kissed away tears. ‘You haven’t. Here and now, with me, is a good time for you to cry. I only wish there was more I could do to ease it for you.’
‘You’ve always helped, you’ve always understood. I know it’s foolish of me to be still grieving after all these years . . .’
‘There’s no special time limit for such things, Midge, there’s no clock you can suddenly switch off. It has to run down on its own.’ I lifted her chin with my finger. ‘Just remember what the doctor told you: don’t let that sorrow taint everything else. You’ve a right to be happy, and that’s what your parents would have wanted.’
‘Am I that bad?’
‘No, not at all. Though it’s when you’re at your most contented that memories seem to edge their way in.’
‘That’s when I
‘You’re sure you don’t need something more?’
‘This is fine. Too tired to be hungry.’
‘Mm, me too. Doesn’t the forest look tantalizing with the sun turning its roof reddy-brown, while underneath it’s so dark and mysterious.’
‘Looks kinda creepy to me.’ I finished the last of the soup and put the empty mug down beside me, picking up a can of beer as I straightened again.
‘And already there’s a mist rising.’
‘Must be pretty waterlogged out there in the open with all the rain.’ I pulled the tab and drank from the can. ‘D’you think it gets really cold here at night?’
‘Maybe a bit more than city boys are used to, but I don’t think you’ll need your thermals for a while yet.’
‘Bet it gets dark too. No street lamps.’
Midge stretched out her slim legs, her shoulders snuggling down against the back of the bench. ‘You’ll get used to it, Mike.’ She sighed long and deep, a comfortable sigh, and said, ‘It’s good to be back.’
‘Still a country girl at heart, eh?’
‘I suppose I must be. Nine years in the city can’t completely eradicate an upbringing, nor would I want it to.’ The change in mood was swift – often the case with Midge. She lowered her eyes. ‘I wish they could have seen Gramarye, Mike; I know they would have loved it here.’
Putting down the can, I took her hand in both of mine and held on to it.
She said quietly, ‘I think they had hopes of me eventually marrying a nice country vet, or a parson.’ She smiled, but it was an expression of sadness. ‘Dad would have loved that. Imagine the long evenings they’d have spent talking shop.’
‘He wouldn’t have found much in common with me.’
‘Oh, Mike, I didn’t mean it like that. Dad would have loved you. You’re both very alike in many ways.’
‘I’d have liked him, Midge. From all you’ve told me, I think I’d have loved him too.’
‘Mother would have thought you a rascal. That’s how she’d have put it – a rascal . And she’d have enjoyed that.’
The first tear emerged to dampen her cheek. ‘It was so cruel, Mike, so horribly cruel.’
My arm went around her shoulders and I moved my head close to hers. ‘You’ve got to try and forget that part of it. They’d have wanted you to remember the good things.’
‘It’s impossible to forget what happened to them.’
‘Then accept. Accept the cruelty of that along with all the good times. And think of how proud they would have been of you now.’
‘That’s what hurts. They can’t know, they can never know about my work, about you . . . about – about this place. It would have meant so much to them. And to me, it would have meant so much to have them proud of me.’
There wasn’t a lot I could say, so I just held her close and let her weep, hoping as I had many times before that the tears were part of her letting go, each measure of outward grief part of the healing process. How much hurt was still locked deep inside, I had no way of knowing, but I could be patient; she was worth that.
‘I’m sorry, Mike,’ she said after a while. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil everything.’
I kissed away tears. ‘You haven’t. Here and now, with me, is a good time for you to cry. I only wish there was more I could do to ease it for you.’
‘You’ve always helped, you’ve always understood. I know it’s foolish of me to be still grieving after all these years . . .’
‘There’s no special time limit for such things, Midge, there’s no clock you can suddenly switch off. It has to run down on its own.’ I lifted her chin with my finger. ‘Just remember what the doctor told you: don’t let that sorrow taint everything else. You’ve a right to be happy, and that’s what your parents would have wanted.’
‘Am I that bad?’
‘No, not at all. Though it’s when you’re at your most contented that memories seem to edge their way in.’
‘That’s when I
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