A Silent Love. Susan Wright
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being driven to their new home. The two elderly women in the front talked non stop for the entire journey. Jessie smiled to herself as she realised that they were both talking and no one was listening. The woman from the bus was describing her journey and her sister was talking about her husband’s bad knee. Neither seemed to notice, nor mind, that the other one was paying no attention.
‘What’s the number we are looking for?’
‘Number 130 I think, yes that’s right, 130.’
‘Would you believe it, it’s the house across the street from Mrs Bun.’
‘Well, so it is.’
Jessie wondered who was Mrs Bun. One glance though at the sign above the door of the small corner bakery told her. It said Mrs Bunnington’s Bakery. As if reading her thoughts’ one of the sister’s said, ‘Mrs Bun makes the best meat pies in the district. Her pastry is just melt in the mouth. You will never need to go hungry living across the street from her.’_
All thoughts of mouth-watering pies vanished as Jessie looked at the cottage on the opposite corner. There had been some mistake Jessie thought. There was no mistake. The number on the gate that hung on a drunken angle clearly said 130. In her mind Jessie had conjured up a picture of a delightful cottage, with lace curtains at the windows. She had even pictured a lovely cottage garden. However the reality was far from what she had imagined. The cottage was badly in need of repair. The spouting along one wall had come off at one end and now hung down the wall. One end of the roof on the veranda had also fallen down. Every blackbird and sparrow in the area, must have tried building their nests on the remaining eaves of the cottage. Nesting material hung precariously from the veranda. Instead of lace curtains at the windows there was a very thick coating of dirt. Trees and shrubs had all grown wild. Jessie suddenly became aware that everyone, including herself, had stopped speaking and all were staring in astonishment at the cottage. Jessie felt tears welling up and swallowed hard trying to stem their flow.
‘Good heaven’s girl, you can’t stay there. It’s nothing better than a hovel’
‘Well, we have nowhere else to go. I am sure inside it will be better. Come on Allison, help me get the cases out of the boot.’ She determined she was not going to let the two women see just how upset she was. They said nothing, as she and Allison unpacked their things. Then Jessie thanked them both for their help and taking up a case in each hand, they walked towards the cottage.
The path to the front door was completely overgrown, so they decided to try the back entrance. The back door stood slightly ajar. Jessie tried pushing it open, but it was well and truly stuck. Putting down the suitcases she put her shoulder to the door and using every ounce of strength she possessed, she pushed hard. The door grated back over years of accumulated dirt and rubbish. The dominate smell was one of neglect and decay. The cottage was basically a three room dwelling. One large room ran along the entire back of the house. A large black old-fashioned coal range dominated the room. A door in the middle of the room leads to a small passage opening out to the front door and the veranda. On each side of the passage stood identical small bedrooms. Each bedroom contained an old-fashioned iron bedstead. The only other pieces of furniture were a well-worn horse hair sofa and a small table and two chairs painted a nauseating shade of green. At the back of the cottage, just outside the back door was a small room containing an old tin bath and a very dirty chipped hand basin. All this Jessie and Allison took in without saying a word to each other. Their misery was so great, they could not communicate their disappointment. Finally Allison signed, ‘Where is the toilet?’
Jessie pointed out the dirty window. An overgrown path led to a long drop toilet at the bottom of the section. The look of total devastation, and hurt that registered on Allison’s face was too much for Jessie to cope with. She slumped down on the wooden chair and putting her head in her hands, she began to weep. At that instant if Paul had driven up and asked her to go back to the farm she would willingly have gone, even putting up with his abuse. She felt she had made the biggest mistake of her life bringing Allison to this dreadful cottage. Allison tried to offer solace to her mother by wrapping her arms around her shoulders. There was nothing to say.
Chapter four
Nelson, New Zealand
They were so engrossed in their shared misery that they did not hear the footsteps approaching the back door. There was a sharp knock at the door. ‘Hello, can I come in?’ Jessie hurriedly wiped her face and stood up to face whoever was entering. Her mind was reeling trying to work out who could be at the door, they knew no one. The door grated back against the dirt and a very large woman squeezed her way inside. Jessie glanced at Allison and thought she looked like a frightened rabbit. Quickly she placed a protective arm around her shoulders. The woman seemed to dominate the room, such was her disposition. She wore a spotless white smock, over which she wore an apron covered in biscuit crumbs and spotted with raspberry jam. Jessie guessed correctly that she came from the bakery across the street. Her long red hair she wore in a bun that resembled an untidy beehive. Instinctively Jessie liked the woman although she had still not spoken a word. ‘Hello can I help?’ Jessie asked with more confidence than she felt. The woman did not immediately reply, but continued to stare with unabashed amazement around the room.
‘Can I help?’ The woman chuckled. ‘Well now that’s one for the books isn’t it? It strikes me that it is you my dear that is in need of help.’
Jessie felt about to retort but the large woman motioned to her to keep quiet. ‘My name is Gertrude Matilda Georgina Bunnington but you can call me Mrs Bun, every one else does. In my fifty-seven years of life I can still not fathom out why any parent would land their child with such a handle.’
Jessie stared open mouth, meanwhile Allison giggled.
‘Good, that’s what I like, a child with a smile, not a face as long as a garden rake. Now tell me, what you are doing here, in old Miss Kelly’s house?’
Jessie introduced herself and Allison. Then she briefly explained that they had been given consent to live here. ‘I have a letter here from Fred Kelly, who now owns the cottage.’ She reached to get her bag and produce the letter.
‘Look here, I don’t care if you have a letter from the Queen herself, there is no way you can stay here. Just look at the place. Miss Kelly has been dead for some years now and no one has bothered with keeping it in repair. We all knew there was a brother somewhere. It has been an eyesore in the community, but no one knew how to contact this brother. Mind you the old dear was a funny old trout, she never bothered with any of the neighbours. At one time the garden was a real show-piece which is more than I can say for her, plain as a pike staff she was. However enough about her, the problem today is that you two cannot stay here and that is obvious. I have a spare room with a big feather bed so you can both stay with me until you get yourselves sorted. So quick sharp, now gather up your things.’
Jessie felt like a child who had just been given a lecture. Mrs Bun was right of course, there was no way that they could stay with the place in this condition. The memory of Allison’s disgust at having to use the outside toilet was her foremost thought. She felt she should make some token gesture of objecting. However the look of relief that had flooded over her daughter’s face made her swallow her pride. ‘Thank you Mrs Bun. We would be very grateful to accept your offer and more than willing to pay you for your kindness.’
‘If I had wanted a boarder I would have gone out and advertised for one, so there will be no more talk of money.’
Jessie and Allison gathered up their belongings and followed Mrs Bun across the road. Although she was a large woman she moved with amazing speed and agility. Jessie found herself puffing by the time she reached Mrs Bun’s back door. A dog of indefinable breed lay sprawled out across the step. ‘Come on, Murphy, move yourself, you great big lazy heap of bones.’ Mrs Bun gently kicked the tired looking dog, which moved with infinite slowness. He then sat down again on the path, with a look of annoyance on his shaggy face. Allison put down her bags and began fondling the dog’s ears.
‘Do