The Bellarby's

My smart, lace-up, black leather boots made a slight clopping as I strode along the front path. I had no way of knowing whether John, Irene or Claire still lived in that old cottage. Perhaps they had moved away years ago, taking their pony and cat with them. Or perhaps, I mused, John and Irene had moved into a home for the aged, and Claire had run away with Peter and had seven children, just like she'd imagined when she was 9. . I doubted both possibilities however, as I knew that Mr and Mrs Bellarby were far too comfortable where they were to leave, and that Claire was far too headstrong and independent to have settled down as a wife, especially not with somebody as boring as Peter. No, I decided, they'll all still be there as before; John in the shed doing carpentry with great enthusiasm; Irene, sitting in the spindly rocking chair, knitting away at her latest pair of mittens; and Claire. Claire would be out in the field about a quarter of a mile away, pretending to be a famous horse-rider as she raced the pony. Yes, the Bellarby's would be there, just like before.

The front path was just as long, and winding, and cobbled as I remembered, though the grass had grown long through the stones, and the avenue of trees on either side of the path had long roots that pushed the stones into uneven bumps. It twisted suddenly right, into a scanty, uneven hedge, which I knew, come springtime, would be covered in tiny yellow flowers, though now, in the height of summer, they had begun to whither and turn brown. There was a space between the hedge which I walked through, pushing the rusted iron gate closed behind me like I had done every day, many years before. This was a sure sign the Bellarby's were still there, in the little stone cottage not 10 yard in front of where I stood. I was slightly nervous, not sure what I would find when I knocked on the door. I stood for a minute, smelling the scent of lemons from the tall tree beside me, and caught a slight whiff of cherry pie, cooling, I thought amusedly, in the heat of the midday sun. Claire's favourite food was cherry pie, which she used to eat every day on the way home from school. She had even made it herself once, and ate every bit of, despite the crust being burnt. I stepped forward feeling more confident, and once more, I heard the slight clopping my boots made as I stepped from stepping stone to stepping stone. The cottage was covered in honeysuckle, and the dusty orange curtain had been drawn in one of the windows, while the other was wide open, looking as if about to devour an entire cherry pie. The wooden door had lost some of its white paint, but to me, it still felt just like home.

I raised my hand, and the five precise knocks echoed in time with the footsteps I imagined would reply.

There was no sound. I waited a few seconds, then knocked again. Then I heard the sound of a chair being scraped along a wooden floor. The door opened, and there was Irene. My face lit up into a huge smile, and after a second or two, so did hers. She looked older than I expected, and thinner too. Her straight hair had been pulled into a bun, all grey, with just the tip of the end of her hair the dark brown that I had known as a child. 'Darling!' She exclaimed. 'Oh do come in dear, it's been far too long.' She smoothed down her blue apron as I went past, and then hurriedly closed and bolted the door behind me. The house! It was just like I remembered it. The hall where I was standing still had the same red and black carpet on the floor, and the same picture on the wall. To my left was John and Irene's room, the door slightly ajar, with a pink dressing gown hanging on the handle. To my left was the parlour, into which I was led. The little round table in the middle had on it a white tablecloth that I had never seen, but despite that, the room was virtually unchanged. There was no fire in the big old fireplace, as the sun was streaming in through the large open window.

"Sit down dear, please do. Make yourself comfortable in the sun there," said Irene. I laughed heartily at her fussing as she went on with, "and I shall bring you some tea if you like.'

'Oh it's alright Irene, really, you don't have to.'