In a Cottage, In a Wood by Cass Green

Author:Cass Green [Green, Cass]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2017-07-20T04:00:00+00:00

22

Richard marches ahead at speed. Neve struggles to keep up with his long-legged stride. The dog trots along next to her, gazing up with a stupid grin.

‘What’s your name then?’ she says to the dog, foolishly.

‘It’s Jarvis,’ says Richard, stopping so suddenly that she almost crashes into his large back.

‘Ah!’ says Neve. ‘You’re a Pulp fan?’

Richard looks blank.

‘Cocker?’ she adds uncertainly. ‘Jarvis Cocker?’

‘I don’t know who that is,’ says Richard, blankly. ‘It’s just a rather very intelligent system.’

Neve can only stare at him in bafflement.

‘Just A Rather Very Intelligent System,’ says Richard, more forcefully. ‘It’s an acronym. Comic book thing. From Iron Man. My sister persuaded our grandmother to give it the ridiculous name. Dog was hers.’

‘Oh,’ says Neve. ‘Okay …’

They go around the side of the house, from where Richard had originally emerged. This takes them into a large garden with wild, tangled grass.

A few statues emerge from the thick greenery, dotted with moss. One, of a cherub balancing on one foot, is listing sideways, ivy creeping up and seeming to devour the pale limbs.

‘Right, come on in then,’ he says as they reach a door. It opens into a kitchen.

This turns out to be yet another country place that doesn’t fit Neve’s preconception. She’d pictured a range; maybe a huge table with a dead pheasant on it. Copper pots.

But this décor is even older than that of Petty Whin Cottage. There’s a free-standing sink, and a couple of sideboards in a faded yellow colour. The floor is covered in greyish lino and there is a pet basket in one corner. A strong doggy smell permeates the air, which is too hot.

At least there is an Aga.

Jarvis walks over to the bed and collapses into it with a loud huff.

The kitchen table is covered in papers, along with a laptop and several smeared plates and mugs with sticky dark rings inside them. A mobile phone lies on the top of some paper files. The top one looks like information from an estate agent called Salter McColl Property.

Neve stands awkwardly while Richard regards the table, rather as if it had appeared like this in his absence.

‘Sorry about this,’ he says doubtfully. ‘Only bloody warm place in the house. I spend a lot of time in here.’

‘It’s fine,’ says Neve with forced cheerfulness. ‘You should see how I live!’

Richard scours her with a direct gaze and she wants to cram the words back in. What a stupid thing to say in the circumstances. Now he will think his sister has thrown her house away – the house he should naturally have been left – on some crusty squatter. It’s a habit she hates about herself, this need to be the joker; to always have a quip. Abashed, she stands there until Richard rather curtly suggests that she sit down.

She removes a man’s jumper and a paperback book with a baffling business title from the nearest chair and places them on the only remaining bit of table, before gingerly sitting down.

‘Coffee? Tea?’ barks Richard.

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