"I'll bring Mum over tomorrow. She'll want to see the place with everything in."
"Come after dinner. I want to explore the countryside while the weather's nice."
"Take your phone with you. It might look like paradise, but there are bad people everywhere."
"I know. And I will."
I hadn't lived so far away all my life, but even though we'd visited the village, I'd never been up into the woods or walked along the river bank. I wanted to do that. I wanted to experience the feeling of tranquillity rather than the hustle and bustle of the town. It was older people here who'd probably never ventured that far in their lives. Houses rarely came up for sale and I'd been so lucky to find one just as I'd had the money to buy.
"It is tranquil though. Unspoilt. I remember playing up in the woods as a kid." He looked wistful as he twisted to see out of the windows. You could easily see the gentle tree-covered hills in the distance.
I followed his gaze. Both Mum and Dad had been born in this village so in a way, it was a little like returning to my roots.
After Dad had gone, I was alone. I felt it for perhaps the first time in my life. Just me in my own place. Most people when they moved out lived with someone. Either a partner or sharing with friends. I was going straight into adult life on my own at twenty-three. No reason why I shouldn't. I was putting my teacher training to profitable use online rather than in a school. There were suddenly lots of affluent parents out there who wanted their children tutored at home these days. Covid and social media's portrayal of wokeness invading all aspects of school, whether true or not, had made lots of affluent middle-class parents reassess their children's education. I'd come out of Teacher Training at just the right time to tap into that. I was my own boss, and I was doing well at it.
It was the summer break at the moment and I had only the one lad I was in contact with currently. He had very wealthy parents with high hopes, and he was a bit of a prodigy. He liked lessons far more than he liked holidays, always keen to hoover up information.
When the new term started, I'd be into my second year of teaching and a lot busier, with fresh clients I'd recently made arrangements with.
But for now, it was a matter of getting my new home organised. It didn't need much. A few pictures hanging and a trip to the shops tomorrow to stock up the kitchen. All the walls were painted in neutral colours. I'd turn my hand to decorating at some point, probably in the winter when I couldn't get out so much. There was nothing I couldn't live with for the time being.
I smiled when I saw our old Christmas tree neatly wrapped and leaning against the bedroom wall. By its side was a box of decorations. This was what I'd grown up seeing each festive season until Mum had decided on a newer, bigger one last year. The old one was still serviceable and carried lots of happy memories. It had fairy lights with real bulbs that came with the fun of finding the blown one each time they were pulled out and strung over the branches. Frustrating, but kind of a tradition I didn't mind for the benefit of reliving my childhood for a few weeks.
But it was summer. I wouldn't be needing a Christmas tree for a while yet. I decided I'd put it in the loft until it was time to sit and remember all those ridiculously early Christmas mornings, excitedly opening presents with my brother under the watchful eyes of family.
I climbed the stepladder and pushed the loft hatch away gingerly. All the while my eyes were glancing around for my biggest fear. Spiders and creepy crawlies. I spun the torch and looked over the rafters quickly. It was surprisingly clean for an old place. Just dusty and dark, apart from where light seeped under the tiles. Not so bad.
It was awkward hauling the tree up and the ladder wobbled as I twisted about to push it through the gap and position it where it could be easily retrieved when December arrived. As I lifted the decorations in I caught a glimpse of a shape by the chimney breast. An old suitcase left behind by some previous residents.
"Fer fuck sake." I muttered as I realised it was well out of reach.
Curiosity had gripped me and I couldn't not retrieve it. I clambered through the hatch wishing I had better upper body strength to haul myself up. Then with the torch between my teeth, I balanced on the rafters and crawled forward until I could grasp the handle. Christ, it was heavy. I hoped it was going to be worth it.
Getting down was harder. I couldn't see and my fear of spiders had returned. I hung on, kicking my feet around like the condemned on the gallows until I found a footing.
I started down, manoeuvring the old case after me.
"Shit."
I missed my step and started tumbling, losing the suitcase as I fell. Then in some way I didn't understand I defied physics. As if an unseen force had pushed me upright and I grabbed the ladder just as the case hit the floor with an almighty thud.
For a moment I caught my breath trying to work out why I wasn't sprawled on the floor. Or worse, tumbling down the nearby stairs. I wasn't doing that again.
The suitcase was covered with thick dust. I choked as it billowed around me when I laid it flat. In daylight I could see the hard shell was blue, dulled by years and years of dirt. What had once been chrome clips held it shut, but they had rusted over time and were now merely coated in fine brown dust. Praying it wasn't locked, I pressed them and they sprung free.
I expected a musty smell. The scent of mould and sale air. Instead, there was a sweet smell. Flowers. A little something of summer.
Inside was a time capsule. There was a gorgeous fabric lining that still retained the bright luxury of its former life and an age forgotten by time. But it was the contents that intrigued me. Magazines with the title Jackie, a set of Enid Blyton adventure stories, and a small teddy bear. It was fairly clean if a little stiff, protected from the dirt and fading effects of the light for decades. It looked like a child's much-loved toy. I held it up and brushed out the fur. It looked sweet and had moveable limbs. It might soften up with a brush. If it did, I'd keep it as a memento. A little link to the past of the house. I might even read the books. I wasn't so adult that books written for young teens couldn't hold my interest.
The magazines were fascinating. A glimpse of an innocent history that I hardly recognised. I sat cross-legged and thumbed through articles on bands and singers I'd never heard of. Who the hell was David Cassidy? He looked hot in his centre page spread though.
I found a problem page titled Cathy and Claire and became engrossed. A lot of the subjects were recognisable in any age, anorexia, pregnancy and relationship problems. I felt the latter were answered with pretty outdated views. So often the replies put the blame on the girls, but there was an underlying kindness to them.
A glance at the covers dated them to the early and mid-nineteen seventies. It was ancient history to me. Mum and Dad hadn't been even born when some mysterious young girl had been reading these.
I flicked through the pages seeing tips on makeup and hair styles. These were magazines for young teens. There was nothing in the case which told me anything about who the young girl might have been that had once sat in my house drawling over that Cassidy fella. I couldn't help but wonder who she might have been and where she was now. She'd probably be my grandparent's age. Perhaps she still lived in the village. An old lady with grandchildren now.
At the bottom of the case, I found something unexpected. A sketch pad. It was a bit yellowed and felt like an old book in a museum as I opened it. But it was the contents that surprised me. Pencil sketches of girls that showed a talent. Mostly faces, some were more daring and were of nudes. It didn't take me long to work out that they were images from the magazines with an added flourish.
I smiled at the realisation they were the musings of a young girl with more than a passing interest in female celebrities of that time. This girl had been less interested in David Cassidy than she had been in Agnetha from ABBA or someone called Marie Osmond. Again I wondered how her life had turned out. Had she outgrown a phase and married? Or embraced her sexuality and found love with another like-minded girl. Now I would be looking out for two old ladies living together when I explored the village.
Between the last pages were some pressed wild flowers. Quite beautiful. Delicate with age, but they still retained their colours. I lifted them out and put them safely between the pages of the Enid Blyton books where they'd be held more securely.
I packed the magazines and books away and stood the case against the wall. I'd decide what to do with them later. It seemed a little disrespectful to just bin them.
The teddy, however, I decided to rinse off with warm water and fluff up. If it survived, I'd keep it in my bedroom. I could even frame a couple of the magazines and hang them on a wall. Perhaps even one of this girl's drawings, though that would be best hidden away in my bedroom. Just a little link to the past that would be appropriate to the history of the cottage.
My first night in my new home. It felt a little strange being alone. All my life there had been my parents around when I was downstairs, or in the room next door when I went to bed. And of course, an annoying brother across the landing, until he'd moved out last year.
I sniggered to myself that for the first time in my life, I didn't have to worry if I made a noise or if I'd slipped the bolt on the door for some private time.
I was a bit of an oddity. Where my contemporaries desired city life, clubs and parties, I loved the countryside and my own company. They wanted boyfriends and I wanted to be alone in my thoughts.
I wasn't a virgin, but I did lack a lot of experience. Sex just didn't appeal to me in the way it did my friends. I remember from university the obsession with getting drunk and sleeping with whichever hot lad took their attention on the night. I'd tried to be that girl and mix in. And yes, I'd had a couple of meaningless shags. The first had been a one-off. A slightly scary experience to have my cherry popped in his bedsit. He hadn't wanted to know me after and I'd filed it as a right of passage
After that, I went with a second guy as boyfriend and girlfriend for a couple of months until I'd bored of him and pretending sex was the be-all and end-all of my youth. Its magic hadn't been as promised if I was truthful, and I failed to see the need my friends had of being fucked at every opportunity.
No. Sex was just a release. One I could adequately achieve with a Rabbit vibrator and my imagination. I was slim and pretty, and I attracted male attention. There was no doubt about that. I just didn't feel inspired by it enough to return the interest.
I didn't need a boyfriend and I was happy enough satisfying my urges alone. That said, I certainly had them. I was normal in that sense and most nights I needed to get off before I could sleep. No different tonight. If anything, the need was heightened by my new surroundings and the freedom to be a little wild. The ache between my legs had been rumbling all evening and in the comfort of my bed, it was reminding me that I wasn't allowed to sleep until I answered it.
I rolled onto my back and stared up as my fingers began caressing my tits. Little squeezes and gentle tugs of swollen nipples that seemed directly connected by taut wires to my clit.
"Huh."
