Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection

John had readily done as he asked, for he knew that the man had suffered a complete breakdown, and he was sympathetic, as well as respectful to Emily’s father for her sake as well as for Michael’s. He did, however, inform Michael of Emily being happily wed, with child and all. It was cheering news to Michael, who was unaware of John’s heartbreak. He knew of the friendship between Emily and John, yet had left Potts End before it had developed into love.

‘Michael was a neighbour.’ John gave Archie the same answer as always. ‘As for his private business, I don’t reckon it’s anything to do with us.’

‘You know more than you’re letting on.’

‘D’you want to see what I’ve done to the cottage or not?’

Archie good-naturedly took the hint. ‘Go on then,’ he said, and gave him a push forward.

Beyond the working area was the site of the cottage. With a screen constructed all round it, the building was hidden from view and no one – not Rosie, Archie or anyone else – was allowed inside – apart from the delivery men, who were too tired and preoccupied with their jobs to notice what was going on right under their nose.

‘Mind you don’t walk that muck into the cottage,’ John warned as he led Archie over the rubble. ‘And don’t say a word until you’ve seen everything,’ he ordered, ‘upstairs and down. I want you to look properly, and then tell me what you think after we’re done.’

‘I should have thought Rosie would be the one to see it before me,’ Archie pointed out. ‘I mean, it’s her who’ll live here with you.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘Or am I invited into the happy home as well?’

John was horrified. ‘Good God, man! Don’t you think I’ve suffered your company long enough? Harriet and I have put up with your snoring, sleep-walking and smelly feet, and now she and the other lodgers can have you all to themselves. So, no! You’re definitely not invited to share the cottage with me and Rosie.’

‘Ah, go on. You’ll miss me really,’ Archie said fondly.

‘Yes, I will, even though you’re a crafty old bugger. Now then, shipmate – inside with you, and like I say, don’t utter a word until we’ve gone all over. After that, I’ll want your honest opinion.’

‘What if I don’t like it?’

‘You will.’

‘Mebbe, but what if I don’t? Have I to say so, or would you rather I pretend?’

‘I want the truth, Archie. Whether you like it or not, I need you to tell me the truth.’

‘All right. Lead on.’

John entered the cottage first, with Archie treading carefully behind. As John had instructed, he took note of everything as they went from room to room.

‘Good Lord above!’ The old chap was flabbergasted. ‘However did you do all this by yourself? I can’t believe it. Since when were you a builder and decorator?’

‘Since I set my mind to it,’ John replied. ‘Once you get started, it all seems to fall into place.’

Pointing to the sitting-room floor, Archie was about to speak, when John stopped him. ‘Not a word, remember?’ he warned. ‘Until you’ve seen it all.’

Archie duly clamped his mouth shut and followed John upstairs, growing more and more amazed as he went. The last time he had been in this place, it was shabby and neglected, complete with crumbling walls, dipping floors you tripped over, and ceilings that sagged to a dangerous low. But now it was as pretty as a picture. Every wall and floor was straight as a die and made good; the floors had new floorboards and colourful rugs; the walls were finished in soft, subtle colours, and at each and every window were hung curtains of dainty floral fabric.

There were four fireplaces throughout the cottage; small, beautifully tiled ones in each of the three bedrooms, and a larger one in the sitting room. As with the other three, this one was newly fitted; blackleaded to a bright shine, and with a marble hearth surrounded by a smart brass fender – though unlike the other three, this one had a slipper-box at each end of the fender. The fireplace itself was a grander feature as this was the room where they would do their living and entertaining, if any.

The furniture had been chosen to complement the warm, homely character of the place: a deep brown horsehair sofa, matching armchairs and a delightful, honey-coloured deep-drawered dresser beneath the sitting-room window.

In front of the fireplace was the loveliest peg-rug of browns and greens, with a splash of cream round the edges. Hung on the wall above the hearth was a picture of a ship in full sail, and covering the mantelpiece, a tasselled cream-coloured velvet runner set the whole thing off to perfection.

The bedrooms, too, were furnished in the same simple but attractive manner.

‘Well? What do you think?’ Eager to know what somebody else made of his handiwork, John could hardly wait for the verdict.

As they came out, Archie closed the freshly painted front door behind him. ‘I can’t believe what I’ve just seen,’ he answered quietly, shaking his head.

‘What?’ John’s disappointment was etched on his face. ‘You don’t like it, do you? Rosie will hate it – that’s what you’re saying?’

Smiling, the old man put him out of his misery. ‘I think it’s the prettiest little palace I’ve ever seen,’ he said proudly. ‘You’ve done wonders!’

John laughed out loud. ‘So, you think Rosie will like it, do you?’

Archie had no doubts whatsoever. ‘She’ll love it!’ A thought occurred to him, though. ‘How did you know what colours she liked? And what about the furniture – did she tell you what she wanted? Is that how you went about choosing it all?’

‘I haven’t even asked her.’ John was made to think at Archie’s observation. ‘I just listened and watched and made mental notes when we were out and about. I saw how she’d furnished her father’s cottage, and I got a sense of what she might like.’

‘Hmh!’ Archie thought he was a brave man. ‘Women can be funny about such things.’

John was really worried now. ‘I should have asked her, shouldn’t I?’ he groaned. ‘I should never have done it without talking to her first.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Archie snorted. ‘Rosie knew all along that you were doing the cottage up.’

‘Yes, but she didn’t know I was furnishing it and everything.’

‘Oh, don’t start worriting, man! Any woman would give her right arm to have that cottage. Trust me, she’ll be over the moon.’

What Archie had said touched John deeply. ‘Any woman’? And John couldn’t help but wonder if Emily would have liked this place, too.

As though he had read his thoughts, Archie said gently, ‘Don’t go upsetting yourself about things you can’t change, lad. The past is the past and this is your future – yours and Rosie’s. You remember that, and you’ll be all right.’

John nodded. ‘You’re right. The past is the past, and there’s no going back.’ He slapped Archie on the shoulder. ‘You’re the best mate I’ve ever had, did you know that?’

Archie made light of it. ‘Does that mean you might still let me come an’ live here too?’

John laughed out loud. ‘Nice try, but no. And think how poor Harriet would miss you!’

Archie had noticed something else as he went through that delightful little cottage, and he told John now. ‘You put an awful lot o’ work into that place. For somebody who claims not to be getting wed for the love of it, there seems to have been a lot of time and care in the choosing of things.’

Taken aback, John swiftly put him right. ‘That’s because I was spending good money and I wanted it to be right for Rosie. She’s a good woman, as you well know. What! If it hadn’t been for her, I doubt we’d have a business at all.’

Archie had his own thoughts on that but he brushed them aside, as he asked hopefully, ‘I know it’s early, and I know it’s Sunday, but there’s a friendly landlord who might just serve us with a pint of good ale, to celebrate the forthcoming nuptials. What d’you say to that?’

John liked the idea. ‘I say we should pay this friendly landlord a visit.’ And that was exactly what they did.

The wedding took place on 1 March, at St Peter’s Church in Liverpool. It was a cold day, but with a welcome smattering of sunshine. The church was packed, and it seemed that everyone the couple knew had turned out to wish them well.

There was Archie as best man, all done up ‘like a penguin’, as he aptly put it. Then Rosie’s family: her father, Lonnie, a large-boned man who hid the pain of his physical disabilities behind a warm, proud smile, and her older sister, Rachel, who with her long fair hair and brown eyes looked uncannily like Rosie, but without the smiling eyes and sense of mischief.

Harriet Witherington was a guest of honour, looking grand and very overcome, her hankie at the ready for when the emotion of the occasion became too much.

Michael Ramsden lingered at the back of the church, his mind on his own wife and family, and the need to go home becoming stronger with every passing day.