Page 17 of The Village Inn of Secret Dream

‘Can we keep this just between us for now,’ said Grandma Tilly. ‘It’s probably only a touch of arthritis and the family will all fuss otherwise.’

Belle nodded. ‘I understand. Look, Mondays are my night off. Shall I come over then?’ She smiled at Grandma Tilly. ‘Unless you’re on a hot date, that is.’

‘I’ll just have to cancel him, dear, won’t I?’ said Grandma Tilly with a chuckle. ‘Anyway, I’m worth the wait. Besides,’ she said, giving Belle a mock stern look, ‘aren’t you the one who should be on the hot dates?’

Belle shook her head as the pensioner laughed softly.

‘Life’s too short, my dear,’ said Grandma Tilly with a wink. She squeezed Belle’s arm once more and then walked away.

Belle headed back to the inn deep in thought. Registering that her aunt and uncle were embroiled in their latest row, she bypassed the kitchen where they were shouting and headed upstairs to the family’s living quarters.

The apartment was surprisingly spacious, with its own kitchen and lounge, both of which were hardly used apart from at breakfast time. The family’s lives were more or less lived downstairs, apart from sleeping, but the apartment did at least feel homely, albeit a bit draughty as the boiler was extremely temperamental and the heating pretty much non-existent.

Down the short corridor, there were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The first, the biggest of the double bedrooms, was her aunt and uncle’s. The next, Belle’s bedroom, was smaller but was still large enough for a double bed and a few pieces of furniture.

But it was the third bedroom, the smallest, which had been her beloved grandmother’s bedroom and always brought a smile to Belle’s face. Even now as she pushed open the door, she could imagine that she could still smell her grandmother’s rose perfume in the air.

She went over to the small, rickety desk under the window and ran her hand over the smooth metal of the sewing machine, which she ensured was regularly dusted. It was her most prized possession. It was lovely and simple, unlike everything else in her life up until that point. It had no fancy gizmos, just a bobbin, a tension dial and a needle. Once she placed her foot on the pedal on the floor, all her cares and worries instantly drifted away. She found the sound of the machine purring into life very comforting.

Not that she did much sewing these days, she had to admit. She had made a few half-hearted efforts once her grandmother had passed away, but her heart wasn’t really in it.

As well as the sewing machine, Belle had also inherited her grandmother’s clothes. She had been something of a clothes horse and had made all her own clothes. There were styles from every decade and most of them were beautiful and timeless. Even now, hidden away in moth-proof bags, Belle could see the kaleidoscope of colours. It was in marked contrast to her own dark clothes that she always wore.

Occasionally she had given in to her grandmother’s urging and tried on a couple of pieces. But then she would go back to her own dark clothes.

‘You’re so pretty,’ her grandmother had told her. ‘Why don’t you wear a bit of colour now and then? Brighten yourself up a bit, girl.’

But Belle had just shaken her head in response. Having lived on eggshells throughout her childhood, waiting for the next argument between her parents to erupt, she preferred to blend into the background.

Besides, Aunty Angie’s clothes were already so bright that you needed sunglasses to look at her and that was more than enough colour for one family.

There was never any need to wear any of the clothes that she had spent so much time admiring. It was enough for her to just look at the pretty materials and sigh longingly.

There was one dress in particular that was her favourite. It was red and draped down to the floor in soft waves. Her grandmother had made Belle promise to one day ‘show yourself off’ by wearing it. But when would Belle ever have the chance to wear it anywhere? Maybe Amber’s forthcoming wedding, she mused. But she knew she wouldn’t be brave enough.

But even the sight of the sewing machine and all the materials couldn’t bring Belle comfort for too long. The inn was going to be sold and then where would she end up?

She looked around the tiny box room. Wherever she went, she would be taking her rolls of material, grandmother’s vintage clothes and beloved sewing machine with her, of course.

But she still found a lump appearing at the back of her throat as she fought back the tears. Despite the worn-out furniture, the dodgy roof which leaked every time it rained and the temperamental heating in the apartment upstairs, it was home.

She just wasn’t sure for how much longer.

8

The last thing Belle wanted to do that evening was host a birthday party at the inn for Uncle Mick. Her heart was heavy and every time she stepped outside The Black Swan, there was a brand new For Sale sign, which made her feel even worse.

Aunty Angie, however, loved a good party. ‘Come on,’ she said, checking her lipstick in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs out the back. ‘Cheer up. We’re supposed to be celebrating.’

Belle made a face. ‘I’m wearing an outfit, aren’t I?’ she said.

To Belle’s horror, Uncle Mick had insisted that it be a fancy-dress party, which meant a change from the safety of her normal, nondescript clothes.

Aunt Angie rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve got a cheap plastic witch’s hat on, black jeans and a black jumper. It’s hardly a big change for you, is it?’

‘Well, I didn’t want to upstage you,’ said Belle with a forced smile.

It would have been pretty hard, anyway, she added silently to herself. Her aunt had really outdone herself this time. She was wearing a bright blue shiny jumpsuit which ended in huge flares of material at her wrists and ankles. Angie had added a pair of silver platforms and a silver wig.