Pink Wellies and Flat Caps (12 page)

‘Divine isn’t it?’ she continues, pointing to the
lavender.

‘Oh yes, it smells lovely. I’m actually looking for the supermarket.’

Oh dear, did that make me sound disinterested? It’s just I’ve been searching for the supermarket for the past fifteen minutes. If I have to circle the village a fourth time and pass the dead pheasants and little rabbits hanging in the butcher’s window, I think I will go mad. I’m sure we don’t have that in London. I imagine if we had, Charlie would have made an enormous fuss and reported them to the animal protection society. Then there was the baker who I passed just as many times and where the appetising smell of Cornish pasties and fresh bread wafted towards me. I was very tempted the second time around to purchase a pasty there and then, not to mention the lovely doughnuts covered in icing sugar. The only thing that stopped me was the queue. I’d also passed a pub called The Heifer. I ask you, a name like that doesn’t encourage you to order an extra portion of chips does it? Then there was the village shop which also seemed to be the local gossip corner with a noticeboard outside which I had quickly studied with a promise to return to later. Then there was a charity shop that smelt musty and a greengrocer’s. Opposite the shops is the village green. By the third time I became quite dizzy but amazingly in all that time the only men I saw were the butcher in his lovely striped apron and hat, and the greengrocer in his green overall. Surely they and Edward aren’t the only men in the village. It isn’t like one of those films is it, where there are only women and the men are used just for sex? Good heavens, they’ll be fighting over me. The greengrocer will be in competition with Edward and the butcher as to who will get to me first. Although I have to say Edward isn’t trying that hard if fish and chips and Cornish pasty is his best tactic to get a woman into bed, and I could never sleep with a butcher. I watch too many movies that’s my problem. I’m beginning to sound like the nymphomaniac city girl who’s just ridden into town. Now I’m onto westerns. I should be a novelist. I’m wasted as a housekeeper.

‘I’m Lydia,’ she says, extending one hand which was supporting the bicycle.

It wobbles and she straightens it with the other hand.

‘You must be the lady who has come to work at Trenowyth.’

Blimey, word gets around fast. I take her hand, which is dry and calloused, and almost say
I’m Alice, the famous nymphomaniac from the city,
but fight the impulse and say instead,

‘Hello, I’m Alice. I thought I’d do a bit of food shopping
…’

She grabs my hand in a vice
-like grip and turns it palm up so viciously that I almost yelp. She takes a step closer and almost stifles me.

‘Oh my, I’m getting so much from you,’ she cries.

I’m getting far too much from you I think, including the garlic you ate for dinner last night. There’s nothing worse is there than those people who cross the imaginary line and then stand boldly in your personal space. If she gets any closer there won’t be any personal space left. This is becoming seriously uncomfortable. Maybe it is her that is the nymphomaniac.

‘Let me look at your palm.’

Which I have to tell you is quite sweaty at this point.

‘Erm,’ is all I can mutter.

‘Oh my lovely, there is so much here.’

She looks up at me with pitying eyes.

‘You’ve had heartbreak haven’t you my lovely, and not too long ago.
Bastards
they are, men,
bastards
.’

Steady on.

‘I run an enlightenment group in the village. You must come to our meeting. I read palms, and yours is fascinating. I can see a new love …’ she drops my hand suddenly. ‘What am I doing, we’ve only just met. You must think me so rude. Here, let me give you a leaflet.’

She fumbles in her oversized bag pulling out rea
ms of paper.

‘Ah, here we are,’ she says, handing me a crumpled leaflet which smells of
lavender and bergamot.

‘Buddhism on Mondays, you can’t beat mindfulness. Yoga on Tuesdays and on Wednesday I do my readings
… Well it’s all in the leaflet. They see me as the weird and wonderful one in the village. All crystals and spirit raising you know the sort of thing? Still we can’t all live in the dark ages can we?’

I find I’m nodding and shaking my head all at the same time. It wouldn’t surprise me if it fell off any minute and it would all be her doing. Some spell or other.

‘Thank you, I’m sure once I get settled I’ll pop along. I wonder could you direct me to the supermarket.’

‘Oh, it’s Lidl you’ll be wanting, that’s a mile and
a half out of the village.’

Did she say Lidl? I really don’t think I look a Lidl woman. Not that I have a clue what a Lidl shopper looks like of course. I mean, why would I? I don’t think I have ever seen a Lidl. I’ve heard of them, of course and that was enough. One imagines oneself fighting over a trolley before entering the store. You probably need to go tooled up. Oh dear, now I sound such a snob.

‘I was thinking more of a Waitrose,’ I say hesitantly. After all, she may well be a loyal Lidl customer and have a special card and all sorts for all I know. You know, like knuckledusters and gumshields. I’ve only been here a day and I don’t want to start making enemies.

‘Waitrose you’re wanting. There’s nothing you can’t get in the village shop and if they don’t have it Martha will order for you. But if it’s Waitrose you need
…’

Why do I feel this urgent need to deny any interest in Waitrose?

‘No, I’m sure the village store will have everything,’ I say pulling out my little list and attempting to look busy and in a hurry.

‘Martha still has a few bunches of
lavender. Get some for the farmhouse.’

She leans closer and for one terrible moment I think she’s going to kiss me.

‘So what do you think of Edward? Lovely isn’t he,’ she says her eyes all glassy.

‘Erm
…’

‘His father was a bit of a slob. Although one must not talk badly of the dead. They say the rich and royal are filthy don’t they?’

They do? And which is Edward Fairfax?

‘Anyway, I must get off. You have food shopping to do. So don’t forget our little spiritual soirees lovely. I think you’ll enjoy them,’ she says cheerily while climbing back onto her bicycle.

I open my mouth to speak but she is off again.

‘This is what you need, a bicycle. Ted has one I’m sure. Well, see you,’ she waves, wobbles and continues.

The next twenty minutes are spent meeting the butcher and, deciding on what to cook for dinner.

‘I’ve got a lovely bit of rabbit,’ he says, proudly holding it up.

I fight the urge to gag.

‘Well,’ I mumble, swallowing back the bile.

‘Edward likes a good rabbit stew,’ he grins turning the poor little bugger around and then upside down.

Why am I not surprised that Edward likes a nice bit of rabbit?

‘Want me to prepare it?’

Before I can answer he has sliced through it with a cleaver. I wince and half expect blood to splatter everywhere. I presume he means prepare it for the oven, but who knows. After buying two lamb chops and a packet of veggie burgers I head to the greengrocers where Jake the owner fills a bag with onions and carrots for me. Finally, I enter the general store and walk straight into Edward.

‘Oh, hello,’ I say awkwardly. He looks at the bags in my hand.

‘I thought I’d make rabbit stew for dinner.’

He nods and looks impressed.

‘Martha has my order, if you could take it back with you. There’s chicken feed, dog food and a few other bits. I’ll shove it in your boot.’

Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. If I had to choose between him, the greengrocer or the butcher I’m bound to be swayed by a line like that now
, aren’t I?

‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I say sweetly.

‘So you’re Alice,’ squeals a woman behind the counter. ‘Well Ted, you never told us she was such an attractive young woman.’

I blush and Edward grunts as he lifts the bags of feed.

‘By the way, I won’t be home for dinner tonight. I’ve got the farmers’ meeting at the pub. I’ll eat there. See you later.’

‘But, I’ve had the rabbit
…’

‘I’ve got to collect some fencing. Jed will be over later to sort out some hiring and get the muck spreading started. See you later Martha. You can give the accounts to Alice.’

He turns at the door and with the late October sun glinting on his hair I can see what Lydia meant. He is rather handsome in a rugged country way and when he smiles it does send your stomach fluttering. It’s a pity he has such a manner about him.

‘Rabbit stew sounds good though, how about tomorrow?’

I stare at him. How can he be so rude, and in front of Martha too? And he might as well have been talking to me in Swahili for all the sense that made. But the words
muck spreader
do not land well on me. Even I know what muck means, and it sounds very much like he intends spreading it. I cough uncomfortably. The woman smiles and pushes a loose strand of her greying hair back into her bun and pushes in a grip to hold it there. Her watery blue eyes twinkle at me.

‘I’m Martha, my son Jed works for Ted. He met you yesterday. Anything you need you just ask. Don’t mind Ted, he lost his social skills in the last few months. Isn’t that right Ted? Now if you were a gentleman you’d invite this nice young lady to dinner after the meeting. Introduce her to the village
…’

‘Oh no,’ I interrupt
. ‘Really, there is no need.’

Edward shrugs.

‘I don’t think our local is quite what Alice is used to,’ he says pushing past me with another bag of seed and practically sending me flying into a tray of fish bait. I shudder at the sight of the maggots and choke back a scream.

‘But if you want to pop down about eight I’ll buy you a plate of sausage and mash.’

Sausage and mash? Talk about the last of the big spenders.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want you going to any great expense,’ I say sarcastically.

He grins.

‘Don’t worry I won’t. See you later then.’

I turn back to Martha and force a smile.

‘Don’t mind Edward, it’s just his way.’

‘Some way,’ I huff.

‘Don’t worry. They do a nice dinner at the local. He was joking about the sausage and mash,’ she laughs.

I wouldn’t be so sure about that.

I study my reflection in the mirror and feel that everything is wrong. I have washed and blow
-dried my hair twice. Tried it parted on the side, and then in the middle, but no matter what I do my fringe stands on end making me look like an aged punk. My insides are churning with nerves. I hadn’t realised just how much the break up with Charlie had affected me. My self-esteem couldn’t be any lower. It’s just dinner down the pub Alice, not some hot date. It isn’t like you’ll be necking later down a dark country lane is it? He’s just being nice and welcoming you to the village and all that. In fact he isn’t even doing that willingly. It’s only because Martha bulldozed him into it. All the same he didn’t have to offer. Georgie is out. Apparently living it up with the two-timing James. He’s taken her to the opera tonight so she won’t be available for help.

‘I promise to phone during the interval, see how you’re getting on,’ she had said. ‘And we’ll be down next weekend.’

I barely know Edward Fairfax. He could be a total nutcase for all I know and here I am living in his house. There must be a reason a handsome man like him doesn’t have a wife. That’s ridiculous. What’s wrong with me, can’t a man be handsome and single without being some kind of a weirdo? I give it some thought. No, it isn’t possible. He is a weirdo and there is nothing I can do to get out of the dinner date. I only hope he doesn’t spike my drink and have his wicked way with me. I take one last look at myself and blow upwards at my fringe. I will kill that bloody trainee. He should never have been let loose with a pair of scissors. I suppose I should be grateful it wasn’t my throat. I take another look around the house. The place is spotless, well as spotless as it can be. I had spent all afternoon cleaning, tidying and at one point literally scrubbing. I’ve never cleaned so much in my life. I rather enjoyed it, in fact.

The engine parts that had so magically disappeared, I had discovered in the lounge, that is if you can call it a lounge. Edward was not wrong when he said the cat will piss just about anywhere. Its favourite place had obviously been the lounge as it stinks of piss, or something like it. Jed had been great and I took to him immediately. As soon as I mentioned the bits in the lounge he had laughed.

‘Ted, the poor bugger, is exhausted most days. He’s been trying to fix some machinery around here for weeks. I’ll tell you
what; I’ll move it all to the back of the milking shed. If the old codger moans just blame me. I’ll drop some stuff into you for the cat pee smell. It should work.’