Wyatt's Magical Wardrobe || ONC 2024

[Eleven]

It's been such a long day, with everything that happened with Matt's granny, then going over reno details with Frank—who was super stoked I met his precious Lottie, and listening to Becks's plan for her tattoo parlour. Now that I'm snuggled up in bed with my book and a steaming cup of tea, I can finally relax. I'm at the part where the dreadful Mr Collins arrives. What a complete muppet he is.

My mind wanders to Louise Summerfield. It sounds like she got lucky when she ended up trapped two hundred years in the past. Anything could have happened to her, but it sounds like she landed on both feet. She married an Earl, who has a gorgeous house and property and three healthy—I'm assuming all gorgeous sons, since Matt is quite the looker.

She wouldn't have been able to become a nurse though and I can't help but feel sorry for a woman I've never met, over a life she never got to live.

I try to focus on my book. Mr Collins is going on about making ridiculous compliments to delicate young ladies, when I hear a kerfuffle coming from my wardrobe.

I'm in complete shock as I watch Matt's mum climb out of the double doors. Regardless of the fact that it's a magical doorway, it still looks so ridiculous when people climb out of it.

"Oh." She stops correcting her skirts and looks wide eyed at me sitting up in bed, my book now on my lap. "I didn't realise anyone would be in this room. I'm so sorry for disturbing you," she says.

I shake my head and brush off her protests. She's more than welcome day or night, just like granny said.

"It's no problem, Lady Summerfield. This is the only decent room in the house at the moment, so here I am," I say with a smile.

"Please call me Louise. And you must be Wyatt—the cottage’s new owner?" she says, giving me a shy smile back.

She's very beautiful. A sign of a life well lived, maybe? I hope so. Her hair is a lush strawberry blonde, pulled into a long plait that drapes down her chest. Her simple dress is white with an empire waist and long sleeves, but it makes her look very elegant. And draping over her arms is a cosy looking woollen shawl of blues and greens.

I nod and ask, "would you like a cup of tea?" Not really knowing what else to say.

"I'd kill for a coffee if you have any," she replies.

"You're in luck. My bestie brought her machine round this morning now that I have a generator, and it makes the best coffee."

I can see her salivating at my words. This poor woman must've had the worst withdrawals after the last time she went through this doorway.

"Would you like some chocolate too?"

"You're officially my new favourite person Wyatt—"

"Smith," I finish for her.

"I would offer you some Ben and Jerry’s, but I don't have a freezer yet," I say.

"Thank you, but honestly, just coffee and chocolate are more than enough. My body would probably go into shock if you added ice cream to the mix."

I laugh as I jump out of bed in my Harry Potter pyjamas and slide my feet into my granny slippers. I can see out of the corner of my eye, she's giving me the once over.

I must look like such a numpty in pyjamas covered in cartoon harrys, owls and wands, because she'd have no clue who Harry Potter is.

Although, I might actually be way too old for these, but I don't care because they're so bloody comfy.

"Is Matthew about, by any chance?" She asks as we make our way down the hall, my bright battery operated lantern in hand.

"He's staying at the Ramsbottom Inn. He thought it would be improper to stay in the same room as me, since it's the only room fit for living."

To be honest, I was relieved. I wasn't exactly keen on sharing my room with a complete stranger, no matter how good looking. Although, he is growing on me.

"You can take the boy out of eighteen twenty-four, but you can't take eighteen twenty-four out of the boy," she says, and we both laugh.

Quickly her smile disappears as she takes in the house's state. A lot of the walls have been opened up to expose the wiring and plumbing, so it really is looking bad.

"I could go pick Matt up if you'd like?" I ask, maybe seeing her son would cheer her up.

But she shakes her head. "No, it's fine. I can't stay too long this time."

I'm not sure what to talk about. She doesn't know much about her family, except that they no longer live here. Becks kept the information she shared to more recent events of me buying the house, Matt appearing and our mission to find Aunty Char.

Should I tell her, or should I leave that to Matt? Perhaps it would be better coming from him. All I have to do is keep the conversation light.

Once in the kitchen, I turn on a light that has power and it illustrates the entire space. It still looks pretty sparse because it'll have to be renovated soon.

My Ikea table is covered in papers and empty disposable coffee cups. The machine is on the bench next to my gas stove and newly brought microwave. On the opposite wall is a little camping fridge, where I keep my chocolate and milk. Then there's a few bits and pieces in the pantry surrounded by mouse traps.

"Take a seat," I say to her, and move the paper cups to the already full bin. "Sorry, it's a bit of a mess. The building crew have their tea breaks in here, so you can imagine the crap they leave lying around."

While she sits, I get the coffee ready. I decide to make her a flat white; it seems like a good introduction back into modern coffee. Not too fancy, but good all the same. Crap, does she like milk and sugar?

I turn and ask her, but she's so focused on whatever she's reading, she doesn't hear me. Oh shit! All the newspaper articles are still there.

I sit next to her as a tear smashes onto the tabletop, followed by another, then another. She’s reading the obituary of her father. I feel like the worst person in the world, leaving this all lying around in a mess, like it's not important. This wasn't how I wanted her to find out.

Then she moves onto the pages about her disappearance, pictures of her crying mum on most of them, Louise's dad clutching her to him as they navigate reporters.

"What a fool I was thinking I could travel through time with no consequences." She looks up at me, her eyes red with tears. "I got stuck there once, like what happened to your friend. It was only for a day, but I went back anyway, knowing the risk."

"It's not your fault," I say and put my hand on her shoulder. "We only just found out how the doorway closes."

Her eyes go wide at my revelation, then she wipes at them and asks how?

"It has to be lined up exactly, I'm assuming, with the wardrobe that's on the other side. If it's moved even one centimetre off, the latch disappears."

I watch her as she processes this new piece of information. She shakes her head, and disappointment is written all over her face.

"Charlotte," she whispers.

No way, she thinks it was Aunty Char.

The plot thickens.

Word count: 16,667