Mystery at Meadowbank Cottage An Original Story Written and Performed by Stephanie Poppins Music by my brother,
John Miles Carter Episode 8 Tuesday St Clair stood at the kitchen window of Meadowbank Cottage and considered what the day held for her.
It was Saturday and the pretty village of Leyton was aglow with all the colours of an early autumn day.
Hugging her mug of tea,
She caught sight of the old spellbook sitting on the broad windowsill and considered the life she'd forged for herself with smug satisfaction.
She had become a white witch in training and she'd lost all the inhibition of her former city life.
And with that,
The ball and chain that was Robert Schafe.
And she'd gained better skin,
Brighter eyes and a pinpoint focus on life to boot.
Even if she still couldn't really focus farther than the length of her arm.
Where were her glasses?
Through the window she could just make out the lodges at the far end of the sloping garden.
Those squat,
Stubborn little structures that had looked so full of potential in the estate agent's photographs and so full of problems when she took actual ownership of them.
Lodge 1 had a roof that sagged on the western corner like a tired eyebrow.
Lodge 2 had at some point in history been used to store something that had left a permanent and deeply unpleasant smell.
Lodge 3 was structurally the soundest but needed dousing in heavy paint.
The list went on.
But Tuesday St.
Clair had her notebook.
She had her lists and her plans.
Although she did not have her brother Justin.
Moving it towards her and away from her,
She tried to make out what his last message said.
Hmm.
6.
15 yesterday.
So sorry tea.
Going to be a few more days.
Complicated here.
Will explain later.
Tuesday had replied with three words.
Is Betsy alright?
But he hadn't answered.
It was Betsy,
His wife.
It was always Betsy,
His wife.
Tuesday placed the phone face down on the counter and took a sip of tea.
Betsy always had her reasons.
Reasons why Justin couldn't visit.
Why he couldn't help her.
Why he shouldn't come to the cottage he promised to spend the weekend at.
Working on the lodges they agreed he would.
So they could begin their cottage core business in time for the late autumn rush.
Tuesday sighed.
How could she possibly tackle all this alone?
Then turning to refill the kettle she heard footsteps on the path.
Who's that?
Can't be Tom.
He's at his sister's,
She thought.
This knock was a lot more confident than his too.
Not the hesitant tap of he who always worried if he was disturbing her.
And not the tap of the postman delivering more bills.
Or a random salesman trying to sell her something.
This was a brisk practical knock that said,
I mean business.
Tuesday straightened her hair and checked her fresh complexion in the mirror.
Then she opened the door reluctantly.
She had a feeling this was Jonathan Green.
And she was not wrong.
He stood on her doorstep with his coat half buttoned against the October chill.
It was a sheepskin tan coloured with shanked leather buttons.
And a dark collar that sat neatly against his rugged complexion.
His unnecessarily kind eyes sparkled as he held out a card in one hand.
Jonathan.
Tuesday didn't know whether she was in the mood for this.
She liked to be prepared and she felt naked without her mascara and dark eyeliner.
Tuesday.
How utterly infuriating,
She said to herself.
Then she checked her expression and turned back to face the kettle.
After all,
This man was not going to go away.
He was her nearest neighbour.
The old farmhouse he shared with Colleen was just down the lane.
And it seemed the man had time on his hands.
Not only was his wife too busy cavorting with Jed the local competitor.
There was also no sign of any children.
Nothing to keep him at home.
Tuesday wondered why he had never had any children.
Come in,
She said briskly.
As inconvenient as him turning up unannounced was.
There was no need to be rude.
Sorry to bother you,
He said.
This just landed on my doormat.
Tuesday turned round to accept the card.
The postman must have misread the address,
He continued.
The handwriting's,
Well,
Not exactly clear.
He glanced down at the envelope.
And Tuesday resisted a bashful smile.
Ever since he'd caught her with his mother's cauldron in the back garden.
And her book of brews.
Jonathan Green had been a lot softer in his approach to her.
And having dug up the box underneath the stone laid in her back garden.
Tuesday now felt as if she were intruding somehow.
Not that she'd the courage to open it up yet.
This was the one mystery she wasn't ready to solve.
Burying boxes in back gardens was a private affair,
She reckoned.
And hadn't old Tom told her his mother did it.
To realise a thing she wanted most to come true.
And the worst thing was,
The stone marker above it.
Had Jonathan's initials on it.
Screwing up her eyes she scanned the writing on the front of the letter.
Then something shifted in her face.
Jonathan noticed it.
Tuesday was never very good at hiding her emotions.
But this was the last handwriting she wanted to see.
All the letters cramped up.
And leaning to the left with a T crossed far too hard.
Like someone was in an impatient rush.
Right,
She said shortly.
Well,
Thanks for that.
No problem.
But Jonathan Green didn't leave.
He just stood there far too close than Tuesday would have liked.
And to add insult to injury.
He was still wearing the same scent he'd worn all those years ago on stage.
At the end of the high school play.
Is he trying to get a rise out of me?
She said to herself.
But no matter how determined Tuesday Sinclair was.
She couldn't help but be drawn in.
Why did the man have to be so attractive?
Damn him.
The last thing she needed was this feeling of anticipation.
And desire and upset and intrigue.
And for God's sake T,
Get a grip.
Not what you were expecting.
Fish Jonathan,
His rugged hand on the door frame.
It's our anniversary.
She said lightly.
Well,
It was.
It would have been.
Despite changing numbers and selling her city life for a simpler one in the country.
Tuesday Sinclair was disgusted to realise Robert Schafe was still not getting the message.
What was wrong with the man?
Walking over to the bin.
She dropped the card in unopened.
Her eyes shining with indignation.
Then snatching up a wooden spoon.
She rammed it down even further.
So her soggy tea bag soaked the lettering into an inky mess.
There we go.
She muttered defiantly.
Do you want a cup of tea?
She straightened up and then reached for the kettle.
There was no point in being rude.
Jonathan was a man facing considerable difficulty.
Even if he only knew the half of it.
His wife Colleen was having an affair with a man poisoning his water.
And if Tuesday's instincts were correct.
He was feeling the sting of being left alone.
One time too many.
Jonathan stepped in as Tuesday reached clumsily for the mugs.
And then the milk.
And then the sugar.
You okay?
He smiled.
Tuesday could sense he felt very comfortable in his mother's old house.
Must be the memories,
She thought.
Can't be me after all this time,
Can it?
I'm making a fool of myself.
She was feeling much less than comfortable.
Especially since she was having trouble seeing a thing.
I can't really see without my glasses,
She said.
I've usually got my contacts in by now.
Here,
Jonathan offered,
Grabbing her glasses from the side.
Then facing each other head on.
All Tuesday's good intentions went out of the window.
They're my reading ones,
She replied.
Making up her mind to brew up a rejection spell as soon as Jonathan left.
This would not do.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire was not really a good look.
It reeked of desperation.
Well,
Tuesday Sinclair was not desperate.
And she did not need any more complications in her life.
Why the devil wouldn't her brother stand up to his wife and come down for the weekend like he said he would?
She needed Justin now more than ever.
I think this cottage eats things,
She said as lightheartedly as she could.
Glasses,
Lenses,
One sop from every pair.
I think it's hungry.
When did you last have them?
He asked.
Refusing to step back from his solid stance.
Yesterday I was looking at the lodges.
Tuesday paused.
That means they're probably in one of the lodges.
Yeah,
Should we go and take a look?
Tuesday wanted to say no.
But she needed her glasses and two sets of eyes were better than one.
Especially when one set could actually see.
Why not?
She answered a little too hurriedly.
She didn't really have a choice,
Did she?
They made their way out of the front door along the garden path that twisted around through the back garden and out of the gate,
Across the lane and into the adjoining field where the circle of lodges lay.
I was in lodge two,
I think,
Trying to work out whether the problem's structural or it's just,
You know,
Residual.
I think that's the word.
Jonathan followed her onto the veranda and gazed at the hills beyond the village,
Just visible through the last of the autumn leaves.
He pulled the door open for her and followed Tuesday in.
And after a few minutes of systematic searching that involved looking under a folding table behind an old wooden crate and on top of a windowsill that Tuesday didn't remember putting anything on,
They found the small pair of delicate glasses.
Ha!
Said Tuesday triumphantly.
I can see again.
She looked closely at the scene.
The low ceiling,
Wooden walls and the window that let in a stripe of grey light across the floor were quite cosy,
In spite of the lingering smell and the sagging roof.
Tuesday loved these lodges and was desperate for them to look as wonderful as she knew they could be.
There's a fair bit of work here to be done,
Said Jonathan.
Yes,
You're right there,
She said thoughtfully.
But I'm game.
You're on your own at the moment,
I hear,
Said Jonathan.
Tuesday winced.
So he'd been talking with Justin behind her back,
Had he?
But this was hers and Justin's business,
Not his.
Didn't he have enough problems of his own?
Look,
T,
Jonathan caught her arm as she made to leave.
I want to help with the lodges.
I'm around,
I have the time.
So why not?
Your brother's OK with it.
The words hung in the air like a bad smell.
No one called her T but Justin,
Certainly not he who had turned his back on her all those years ago.
She had to keep this formal,
Even if she did need help.
Justin will be here as soon as he can,
She said shortly.
He's done it before.
He did up a farmhouse in the day or three years ago.
He knows what he's doing.
He's just busy at the moment,
That's all.
But he's not coming.
He said that,
Said Jonathan.
Now,
I'm no builder,
But this is structural and that's heavy work.
I've got a bit of time on my hands,
Why not?
Tuesday faced him head on,
Her hair now loose and her eyes shining.
She knew she looked good.
Many days in the summer sun and a lot of hard work outside had done that.
In fact,
She knew she looked the best she had ever looked.
And she'd aged much better than his wife,
That was for sure.
Colleen had always liked to drink and that hadn't done her any favours.
But what did that have to do with anything?
Jonathan,
I really don't need.
I can see you're doing really well on your own,
He interrupted.
I can't believe how Meadowbank Cottage has changed.
Tuesday relaxed and with it came her trademark winning smile.
And then,
Of course,
There was nothing for it but Jonathan to smile back.
Before Spike ran through the front door to join the party.
Hey,
Little fella,
He gushed his eyes wide.
What?
And now the man likes cats?
Really?
Tuesday sighed.
But all things considered,
She didn't see she had much choice.
She needed a return on her investment and it looked like Jonathan Green was the only one who could help her with that.
She bent down to pick up her kitten,
Trying to work out what to say next.
But she didn't need to have bothered.
Jonathan had it in hands.
It'll be two pairs of eyes instead of one and you don't have to pay me.
You can just feed me lunch occasionally.
Tuesday thought back to the notebook full of lists that kept getting longer.
She thought about the sagging roofs and the inexplicable damp patches and all the measurements she hadn't properly taken yet.
She thought about eating lunch alone since Tom Bucket went to visit his sister.
This was not a good idea.
In fact,
This was a very bad idea.
All right,
She said.
Thanks.
That'll be.
.
.
Yeah,
All right.
This was far from ideal.
It should have been her brother standing opposite her.
But this was the new Tuesday and it was time to throw caution to the wind.
There was nothing for it but to make hay while the sun shined.
Before they knew it,
It would be winter again,
Then the problems with the lodges would only get worse.
It was time to make things happen,
With or without Justin.
The only question was,
What on earth would Colleen say when she found out?
