With Vacant Possession?

  WITH VACANT POSSESSION?

  By Gillian Baxter

  With Vacant Possession? Copyright © 2017 by Gillian Baxter. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover images: istock: Abramova Kseniya

  Alphotographic

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Gillian Baxter

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  First Printing: March 2018

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue…four years later

  Chapter One

  The road seemed to have been climbing for miles. Ahead the rising surface glistened in the headlights, damp from the last shower, and on either side banks rose into the featureless darkness of the open moorland. The old Transit was labouring, its engine roaring, and there was a smell of hot metal. At the wheel, her arms aching from the long drive and her back sore from the upright old seat, Patsy peered into the darkness, hoping for somewhere to pull off the road to rest both her and the lorry. There it was…a capital P on a blue background… Parking, and the crest of the hill was ahead. Thankful, Patsy hauled the wheel round and the Transit lurched onto rough ground. A wire sheep fence showed in the headlights, and a stretch of flattish hard standing with a litter bin in a corner. Patsy braked, pulled on the handbrake, and switched off the engine. The silence was miraculous, flooding into the cab and singing in Patsy's ears. The lorry swayed as, behind, the two horses shifted in their stalls, and one of them, David, for Patsy knew both their voices intimately, whinnied. Surprisingly there was an answering whinny from outside, and Patsy saw movements in the dimness ahead. She switched on the headlights again and saw a group of moor ponies, their eyes shining in the light, staring towards her from a track which led away from the car park onto the open mountain country beyond.

  The sudden flood of light had startled the ponies. They threw up their heads and shied, turning away, their small, stocky bodies shining grey, brown, and dappled as they moved. There were sheep out there as well, startled like the ponies, white shapes settled for sleep in dips in the ground and under rocks. Patsy switched her lights off again and opened the cab door. The sweet, cold upland air flowed in, scented with earth and growing things, and a tinge of sheep. Patsy slid stiffly off her seat and lowered herself carefully to the ground, feeling her muscles crack and give after many hours behind the wheel. Eight hours, with only a short stop at the motorway services beyond the Severn Bridge. She deserved a few moments to stretch before the last tortuous bit through the lanes to the farm…her farm.

  Flinging back her head, Patsy stared up at the vast sky. Mackerel clouds were drifting across a three-quarter moon, throwing strange shadows. It felt like the top of the world up here. Far below, a cluster of lights showed a distant town, and a blinking red light high in the air was the top of a communications mast. Was she mad…coming here alone like this, to start a new life at sixty? Katy had thought so. She had told her mother that many times since Patsy had first told her about her plan to buy Bryn Uchaf.

  'But it's what I want,' Patsy reminded herself. 'Katy has her life…she's made that clear often enough. Now I'm going to have mine, even if sixty is a bit late to start doing my own thing.'

  It was time to get back into the cab, out of this great, intimidating wilderness of night and moorland and moonlight, and drive on down to the cosy farmhouse that she had fallen in love with after seeing it advertised in the Telegraph at a ridiculously low price, even for West Wales.

  The journey took another half an hour, down from the mountain, then the turning off the B road into the lanes, winding up and down between high banks until she saw the bridge over the stream, and changed down for the lorry to grind up the last short hill to the turning into her own drive, past the faded wooden sign which read 'Bryn Uchaf'.

  The Transit turned slowly in, lurching over the pot holes, and crept along between more banks topped by hedges, shaggy even now in March. A white barn owl rose silently from an overhanging branch and drifted away into the darkness, and Patsy saw the cattle grid and gate beside it which led into the yard. The Transit was lurching over the rattling bars of the cattle grid when Patsy saw the figure in front of her, close to the bonnet, only a dark shape in the darker spot between the headlights. She stamped on the brakes so suddenly that, even at their slow speed, the horsebox lurched and bounced to a stop, the engine stalling, and behind her Patsy heard the two horses banging and slipping as they struggled to keep their balance. Shaking, she wound down the window and put her head out.

  'Who is it?' she called. 'Are you all right? I almost ran you down.'

  There was no reply. Suddenly frightened, Patsy grabbed a torch from the dashboard and scrambled down from the cab. Surely she hadn't really knocked him over?

  The torch, dim against the headlights, still showed the dark gap between. There was no-one there. Her legs weak, Patsy bent down to shine the torch under the lorry, but to her utter relief the beam showed nothing but mud. It must have been her imagination, and yet it had been so real…

  'Shadows,' Patsy told herself. 'Shadows and tiredness…'

  Inside the lorry the horses were pawing anxiously at the floor, and Goliath whinnied.

  'All right…hang on a minute…' Patsy climbed back inside, re-started the engine, and drove forward to park alongside the house, with the sloping yard on her right. She was there.

  Outside the lorry the silence at first seemed absolute, the silence and the darkness, wrapping her round.

  Reaching back into the cab Patsy found her torch again and switched it on. The shadows swung and quivered, and she became aware of the sound of running water, the stream that ran just below the yard. Getting her bearings, Patsy found the outside light switch and the yard lights came on, dim, but enough to make everything seem much more accessible. There was still no sign of anyone about…the yard was deserted.

  There were two stables ready in the long stone building that had once been a cowshed, bedded down when Patsy had come down two days earlier with the furniture van. She reached up to undo the bolts which held the horsebox ramp, and lowered it with a crash onto the damp concrete.

  David and Goliath were delighted to see the outside world again. David, the elderly brown pony with the creamy coloured nose, was first out, stepping stiffly down the ramp and pricking his ears at the strange smells and shadows. Patsy led him into the nearer of the two stables, while inside the lorry Goliath kicked and pawed and roared that he was being deserted. He would not wait while she untied him, pushing her with his powerful brown and white shoulder, and the moment he felt the rope come free he was off, charging down the box ramp and calling for his friend, who was too busy exploring his new home to reply. Patsy was left staggering on the slippery ramp, the rope jerked out of her hand. By the time she reached the ground Goliath had vanished, although the thump of his hooves and more roars of anguish because he was lost came from the direction of the field. Patsy grabbed a bucket and some pony nuts from the lorry and set off in pursuit.

  There was no sign of Goliath in the field. Patsy shouted, and David whinnied in the
stable, but the brown and white horse had vanished into the wide darkness. The field was surrounded by banks, mostly topped by hedges, but hurrying along one of them Patsy saw a gap, and scrambled hoof marks going through it. She also heard the not too far distant baaing of disturbed sheep, and a dog began to bark.

  'Golly', shouted Patsy. 'Goliath…come on.'

  She scrambled through the gap, and saw sheep clustered in a corner, and beyond them the lights of another farm.

  'Golly,' called Patsy again, and this time there was a reply.

  'I've got him.' The voice was female and Welsh. 'Over by the yard…come to the lights.'

  Patsy did as she was told, and found herself at the gate into a wide, floodlit farmyard. A short, stocky woman with curly dark hair was holding Goliath's rope and letting him circle round her, while two black and white collies slipped round after him, low to the ground, like animated shadows themselves.

  'Thank you.' Patsy took charge of Goliath. 'I thought I was going to be searching all night. He can be rather a fool.'

  'No problem,' the woman assured her. 'I heard him in my sheep, and the dogs cornered him by the gate. You must be the new lady at Emrys's…all the way from London, isn't it?'

  'Well, not quite…Surrey…not far from London, though.' Patsy told her. 'I'm Patsy…Patsy Heath.'

  'I'm Rhiannon Evans,' Goliath's captor told her. 'You're all on your own, is it? That's brave…I wouldn't like to live all alone. You'll want to get this boy home…wait and I'll come with you…hold the torch. I'll get my wellies.'

  With Rhiannon leading the way, Patsy led the anxiously pulling Goliath back across her own field, and into his new stable at last. With David next door, and a nice, soft shavings bed to stand on, Goliath subsided, seeming to deflate, and lay down to roll luxuriously. Patsy gave them both an armful of hay, and turned to the watching Rhiannon, suddenly conscious of how tired she was. Rhiannon seemed to sense it, for she said, 'Better let me come in and make you a cup of tea. You could do with a sit down after that drive, couldn't you now?'

  'It…it would be nice.' For some reason, looking at the dark house, Patsy felt that she would be rather glad of company on first going into it. She found the key in her handbag, and led the way round to the front door. The key was large and made of iron, no neat little Yale key, and Rhiannon shone the torch while she pushed it into the lock. The key refused to turn. Patsy twisted and pushed, and began to feel flustered. If she couldn't even get into her new home…

  'Let me try.' Rhiannon gently took the key from her. 'Bit stiff, I expect. Come on now, let us in…'

  She turned the key, and the lock clicked. The door swung open, and Rhiannon stepped in first and reached for the light switch.

  'Know my way around, see,' she said. 'These houses are all alike, and John and me, we visited with Emrys now and again.'

  Feeling rather foolish, Patsy followed her along the hall, past the foot of the stairs, and into the back room, which was straight ahead. Another light went on, and Patsy saw her familiar furniture looking awkward in the strange room. There was a green Rayburn cooker on the right in its alcove, the slope of the wooden stairs going up above on the left. The kitchen was on the left as well, through another door, big and rather old-fashioned with its wooden units and deep windowsills, perfect for plants one day, Patsy had thought when she first saw the house. Tonight it struck cold, and Patsy shivered. There was something alien about the atmosphere, waiting and unwelcoming. It was the cold, of course, and the darkness…Patsy saw her electric kettle ready by its switch, and Rhiannon smiled at her.

  'You make the tea,' she said, 'While I see can I get that old stove started.'

  Patsy was glad to agree. She filled the electric kettle and switched it on, and rooted cups, tea, sugar, and long-life milk out of the box she had left ready. There was kindling and a hod of coal already in the deep, brick alcove beside the Rayburn, and Rhiannon built a fire and set light to it, adjusting the dampers and drawers with the skill of much practice.

  'There,' she said. 'Bank it up well when you go to bed, and almost close these two controls, and it should be glowing well in the morning.'

  Already there was a faint warmth creeping into the room, and Patsy made the tea and they sat down at the gate-legged table.

  'Well now,' said Rhiannon. 'That's better. Will your family be visiting you?'

  It was a gentle probe, and Patsy knew that she owed Rhiannon her background.

  'My daughter will,' she said. 'She's all the family I have, except a few distant cousins and so on. My husband died, eight months ago.'

  'That's hard.' Rhiannon looked sympathetic. 'I'd be lost without my John. I've a son, Gareth, but he's not into farming, a computer man is Gareth, works in Carmarthen. How will you manage, then, all on your own here?'

  'I'll get used to it, I'm sure,' Patsy told her. 'My husband…well…he hadn't been well for a long time, so I'm pretty used to managing.'

  'Well, any problems, and we're not so far away,' Rhiannon told her. 'I'll write the number down now, before I go, and don't be shy to call us if you need help. It's land line only I'm afraid, the masts don't work well round here. This is a big old place to be all by yourself in, don't go getting scared and feel all alone.'

  'Thank you very much.' Patsy was touched by the obvious concern of her new friend. 'It will be different, but somewhere like this is what I've always wanted.'

  They finished their tea in a companionable silence. Patsy was starting to feel very tired after the move, and the long drive, and Rhiannon too looked tired. The tea finished, Patsy saw her to the door. On the step Rhiannon hesitated, looking back down the hall.

  'A lady from England, now,' she said. 'A long way, and all alone. Brave, is that. You'll not be unwelcome, I'm sure, that wouldn't be right.'

  'I I hope I won't.' Patsy was startled. Rhiannon did not seem to be looking at her, but past her, rather, towards the back room with its dark wood and warm alcove, the heart of the house, Patsy had already sensed. Then Rhiannon looked back at her and smiled.

  'Don't mind me,' she said. 'I'm sure things will go well for you. Goodnight now, and remember, we're always at home.'

  She stepped out of the door and a dark shape slid out of the shadows to meet her. Patsy saw that one of the sheep dogs had followed its mistress across the fields.

  'That's Bryn,' Rhiannon told her. 'Looks after me, he does. You should get a dog, be less lonely, and he could help you round up that old horse of yours.'

  'Maybe I will,' Patsy told her. It was worth thinking about. She could have all kinds of animals now, with no-one to say they were a liability, as her husband Richard would have done. She waved as Rhiannon went back towards the fields, her torch lighting the way, and Bryn circling round her as if she was a lost sheep he had come to collect. Patsy turned back into the house, closed the back door, and leaned on it, surveying her new domain.

  Bryn Uchaf had been described in the advertisement as a holding of sixteen acres, ideal for small-holding or equestrian use. There was a small area of woodland, sloping to a stream, stables, a barn, and outbuildings with plenty of potential, although the advertisement had not specified what this might be. Patsy just intended to live here, with plenty of room for horses, space to breathe, and the pleasure of beautiful surroundings, for Bryn Uchaf was situated in the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park, in the Preseli Hills area. The house was a square, stone farmhouse with four symmetrical rooms upstairs and down, much old wood and rather shabby porches back and front. Now, as Patsy stood there in the silence, the house seemed to be waiting, holding itself apart until it discovered what its new owner was going to make of it. The previous owner's curtains, plain blue cotton, were still at the windows, his plain dark blue carpets on the floors, his worn dark red linoleum in the kitchen. In its alcove the Rayburn was murmuring faintly, but giving out, it seemed to Patsy, less warmth. She checked that the controls were as Rhiannon had advised, and shivered.

  'I'm tired,' she said aloud. 'I'll fill a hot water
bottle, and get to bed.'

  She had done so, and was actually starting to climb the stairs, when the telephone rang, sudden and shrill, shattering the stillness of the house and making Patsy jump. It was still on the floor beside the heavy oak front door, waiting for Patsy to sort her furniture out enough to find it a proper stand. Feeling her back stiffening after the drive, Patsy bent to lift the receiver.

  'Mum,' her daughter Katy's voice sounded impatient, 'So you have got there. I've rung and rung, I was starting to think something awful had happened. Are you all right?'

  'Yes, fine,' Patsy felt herself being defensive. Katy had never approved of this move. 'Golly dashed off, and a neighbour caught him. She's very nice. We had a cup of tea together, and she said if I needed help she and her husband are very near. So you see, you needn't worry.'

  'How can I help worrying when you've gone dashing off like this?' Katy demanded. 'Even Andrew thinks it's something to worry about.'

  'I'm glad he cares.' Patsy knew she sounded bitter, but Katy's lightly married boyfriend had long been a sore point. 'Anyway, we've been through all this before, and I'm here now, and I'm going to bed. I'll 'phone you tomorrow and let you know how I'm settling in.'

  After putting down the 'phone she could feel the deep weariness enveloping her. A quick wash in the unfamiliar bathroom, and then the one really familiar thing in the house, her own bed, the bed in which she had slept for all of her married life, in which Katy, in a hurry as always, had been born, and in which Richard had suffered the heart attack which had killed him. Warm, soft, full of memories of joy and sorrow, of love and fear, it was the place she could crawl to recover. She was deeply settled, the strange surroundings fading into the background, sinking luxuriously down into the first delicious sleep, when something jerked her awake. The door to her bedroom had swung open, making a slight creak.