“Isn’t it too big, Ren?” Della asked quietly as we drifted away from the grey-haired bat who’d met us at the manor house to give us the ‘grand tour.’ Not that there was anything grand about the place anymore.
The roof had partially caved in in the dining room, the eight bedrooms upstairs had a roost of pigeons sharing one and a nest of mice in another, and the kitchen was straight out of a time warp with a coal range to cook on and a sink that could fit an entire pig.
It was cold and drafty and frankly, I’d already made up my mind to say no. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect Della to camp inside a house all winter because we’d literally have to pitch a tent inside to ward off the breeze and bird shit.
But that was until the owner caught us coming down the impressive winding stairs and said, “There is, of course, an annex next door where I’ve been living for the past couple of years. It’s got two bedrooms, warm and dry, which is where you can stay. I’m moving in with my daughter and just want to get this place sold but can’t afford a builder to do what’s needed.”
“So you thought you’d rent it out, get money, all while your tenant fixes it up for you?” Della asked sharply. Her patience hadn’t been the best, and I couldn’t blame her with feeling the way she did.
The old woman narrowed her eyes, her spectacles perched on the end of a hooked nose. “It’s a nice house. I was told people do this type of arrangement all the time.”
I jumped in before Della could piss her off. “Look, thank you for your time, Mrs Collins, but I think—”
The woman held up her hand. “You seem strong, and I don’t know about you, but winter can get awfully boring without a hobby or two.” She crossed her arms. “Tell you what. You can live here all winter for free, and we’ll work out what you owe me in rent once I know what sort of renovations you’re willing to tackle. Fair?”
I hadn’t let Della know how tight funds had become. What with her doctor’s bills and the Bed and Breakfast, we barely had enough to cover one month’s rent, let alone four or five.
At least, I could earn the roof over our heads. I could do enough work that ensured my labour ought to cover our stay. The place was far enough from the city limits not to be disturbed, and there was somewhere warm to go to at night.
“Can you give us a moment?” I smiled politely at Mrs Collins.
“Of course.” She turned toward the large engraved front door. “Take your time.”
“Della?” Cupping her elbow, I pulled her into the large lounge, coughing at the dust swirling from the floor. The moment we were out of earshot, I told her the truth. “Money is running out. This might be our best hope at avoiding another winter with some coin left over to buy food.”
“But, Ren. Have you seen the amount of work required?”
“I know. It’s a lot but—”
“Do you really want to be working all winter?”
I laughed, running my thumb over her cheekbone, so damn happy there was some colour there for a change. We’d had another doctor’s appointment, and he said her levels were dropping, which was a good sign. He still insisted she should be in bed, and the fact that she’d argued until I’d brought her with me to see this house had added a bit of friction, but it wouldn’t be just me living here. She had every right to weigh in on the decision.
“Not sure if you remember, but I was happy working on Polcart Farm. Tinkering kept my mind off the short days and cold nights. I think this would be good for me.”
“Would you let me help?” She smiled, kissing my hand as it cascaded from her cheek.
“Of course. I’d adore your help.”
“Even up ladders and things?”
I frowned. “Within reason.”
“Fine. You do the hard yards, and I’ll paint and plaster and wallpaper and do whatever else you’ll deem safe enough for me.”
“So…you’re okay living here?”
“As long as there is somewhere with a working toilet and a warm bed, then yes.” She nodded. “Be kind of cool, actually.”
“Should we go tell Mrs Collins?”
Della clutched my hand and stood on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to mine. A faint line of sweat appeared on her upper lip, revealing she needed to be back in bed and resting. “Make sure we can move in tomorrow. I’m sick of you not sleeping in that Bed and Breakfast.”
I chuckled, kissing her back. “Deal.”
*
We moved in the next day after Della’s doctor’s appointment. Her hCG levels had once again dropped, and Doctor Strand finally looked more relaxed than tense around her. The cramps in her stomach weren’t as bad, and the minor bleeding had stopped along with her vomiting.
The relief at seeing the cheeky spirit in her eyes and the sheer gratefulness at her quick kisses and sarcastic comments made my heart glow with happiness.
I didn’t even care we wouldn’t be returning to the forest.
Della was okay, and I wouldn’t ask for more than that.
While we wouldn’t be heading back into the trees we’d called home for so long, I did travel back to our campsite and collected our backpacks and belongings.
Della wanted to come, but I’d put my foot down before an argument could start.
Her hipbones stuck out and her flat stomach was concave from vomiting so much.
She was on the mend, and no way would I let her risk her health after the nightmare we’d just survived.
The return trip took me over eight hours, not to mention the pack up time. And I’d never admit—even under pain of death—but I had to stop a few times due to a frustrating case of breathlessness.
I feared by not having antibiotics to ward off the flu so long ago, I’d scared my lungs a little. I kind of wanted to take Doctor Strand up on his offer to take a look at me, but our funds were strapped, and I wanted to keep what we had just in case Della needed more treatment.
Besides, I was used to long journeys, and had far too much to do than worry about an occasional cough.
*
One week turned to two, and we settled in.
In the cosy annex, we washed the curtains to remove any scent of its previous inhabitant, dusted the cute figurines of pumpkins and snow peas above the TV, and cleaned the tiny kitchen with its white countertop and wooden cupboards.
Della had a few more doctor visits, which ate into the final reserves of our cash, but she was finally given the all-clear along with a fresh prescription for the pill.
It’d been the longest we’d ever gone without having sex, and the night we celebrated her recovery—trying not to think about the fact that she’d actually been pregnant—we fell into bed together and finally gave in to how much we’d missed each other.
We made it last as long as we could, long and slow and deep.
And when it grew too much, we came together, hard and fast and wild.
Only to do it all over again a couple of hours later.
*
Two weeks melted into three, and I started working on the house.
By day, Della and I roamed the large corridors and bedrooms, making notes of what to tackle first, and reading through the list Mrs Collins had provided.
By night, we crossed the overgrown lawn, went past the weed-dotted tennis court, and hid in the small annex where the open fireplace crackled and popped, and I raided the terribly untended veggie garden by the old kitchen, pulling up long overdue broccoli and kale, leaving Della to use her internet trawling to turn them into a feast.
We’d become more adaptable—not just to outdoor living but to city living, too. When it was on our terms, neither of us felt trapped or ridiculed or afraid.
The town was nice enough with a couple of supermarkets, cheaper restaurants, and plenty of houses that looked like they kept their doors unlocked—if it came down to needing to ‘borrow’ a few things if our money ran out.
Mrs Collins was true to her word, and a week after moving in, she had three trucks deliver timber, paint, and fixings. The materials were stored in the old garage at the back, and that was one of the last interactions we had all winter.
She trusted us in her home and we trusted her to leave us alone.