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Authors: Jenny Colgan
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shorts and riding an ancient bicycle freewheeled down one of the hill roads. The Land Rovers – they seemed to be the only type of car allowed around here – nudged through the narrow road, followed by a truck containing a large and mutinous-sounding group of sheep. By the pond, on a small patch of green outside the church, two geese honked loudly in response. By the time she saw the two large ladies on horseback, Rosie was half expecting Windy Miller to arrive from somewhere. She phoned Gerard.
‘Hey?’ he said. He sounded groggy.
‘What are you doing?’ said Rosie, in mock annoyance. ‘I’ve been gone five minutes and you’re already having big celebration nights out?’
‘Course not,’ said Gerard easily. ‘Just me and the lads, you know. Friday nights out. Like the old days. Plus I’ve got to eat somewhere.’
‘Hmm,’ said Rosie.
‘So, how’s the old witch?’
‘She’s very run-down, bit weak … and a grumpy old witch.’
Rosie said this to make Gerard laugh, but it felt a bit disloyal.
‘She managed to make two rude remarks about my shoes as soon as I walked in the door.’
‘What, those big Cornish pasties you wear?’
‘Don’t you start.’ She paused. ‘No, she’s all right. Just lonely, I think. Sad.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Well,’ said Rosie. ‘Well. It’s a bit weird-looking. And there isn’t a Starbucks.’
‘ Oh. My. God ,’ said Gerard. ‘You won’t last the week. Have you been arrested and charged with witchcraft yet?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘But nobody has met me yet. Do you know, they even have a vicar.’
‘Cor,’ said Gerard. ‘Watch out for him. They’re always the worst pervs, vicars.’
‘That’s your medical opinion, is it?’
‘No,’ said Gerard. ‘Scientific fact.’
‘It’s pretty,’ said Rosie. ‘You’ll like it. You should come visit.’
‘I will, love, I will,’ said Gerard, stifling a yawn. ‘But first, I think I have to get to Starbucks.’
However pretty the scene, and however many people gave her inquisitive looks – which was odd; in London nobody ever looked at you at all; you could have two heads for all anybody cared – before too long her pasty was finished and her tea had been poured on the ground, and Rosie was beginning to feel as if she was in London again, a spectator of other people’s lives – other people’s happy, perfect lives, which always looked so effortless from where she was standing. When she got to thebit where she was working out whether the mothers with children were older or younger than she was, she decided something had to be done.
Although a couple of clouds were gathering in the sky, it was still a bright summer’s day. Larks were circling and, beyond the grey stone buildings opposite, the rich brown loamy fields were being ploughed. A tractor trundled up a little road towards the gentle hills in the distance, and hedgerows marked out the sprawling fields. It was lovely. Rosie decided to explore. She knew she should be getting back, making plans, sitting down with Lilian and figuring everything out, but this idea was not appealing. A quick walk around, just to familiarise herself with her surroundings, that was what she needed. That would be fine.
She passed by the tiny, traditional red-brick primary school with hopscotch drawn out in the playground. After the sign thanking people for driving slowly through Lipton came a long avenue of trees without a pavement. Fortunately there was little traffic, and Rosie marched along the ditch side, remembering as she did so how uncomfortable wellingtons were to wear for any length of time and feeling her feet begin to sweat. Then she turned into a side road that was little more than a muddy path. Here, tracks left by farm machinery had ploughed up the earth, and she found herself sinking into deep trenches. It was harder to see the fields from out here, and as she continued down the long, solitary track, just the quiet cries of birds
‘Hey?’ he said. He sounded groggy.
‘What are you doing?’ said Rosie, in mock annoyance. ‘I’ve been gone five minutes and you’re already having big celebration nights out?’
‘Course not,’ said Gerard easily. ‘Just me and the lads, you know. Friday nights out. Like the old days. Plus I’ve got to eat somewhere.’
‘Hmm,’ said Rosie.
‘So, how’s the old witch?’
‘She’s very run-down, bit weak … and a grumpy old witch.’
Rosie said this to make Gerard laugh, but it felt a bit disloyal.
‘She managed to make two rude remarks about my shoes as soon as I walked in the door.’
‘What, those big Cornish pasties you wear?’
‘Don’t you start.’ She paused. ‘No, she’s all right. Just lonely, I think. Sad.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Well,’ said Rosie. ‘Well. It’s a bit weird-looking. And there isn’t a Starbucks.’
‘ Oh. My. God ,’ said Gerard. ‘You won’t last the week. Have you been arrested and charged with witchcraft yet?’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘But nobody has met me yet. Do you know, they even have a vicar.’
‘Cor,’ said Gerard. ‘Watch out for him. They’re always the worst pervs, vicars.’
‘That’s your medical opinion, is it?’
‘No,’ said Gerard. ‘Scientific fact.’
‘It’s pretty,’ said Rosie. ‘You’ll like it. You should come visit.’
‘I will, love, I will,’ said Gerard, stifling a yawn. ‘But first, I think I have to get to Starbucks.’
However pretty the scene, and however many people gave her inquisitive looks – which was odd; in London nobody ever looked at you at all; you could have two heads for all anybody cared – before too long her pasty was finished and her tea had been poured on the ground, and Rosie was beginning to feel as if she was in London again, a spectator of other people’s lives – other people’s happy, perfect lives, which always looked so effortless from where she was standing. When she got to thebit where she was working out whether the mothers with children were older or younger than she was, she decided something had to be done.
Although a couple of clouds were gathering in the sky, it was still a bright summer’s day. Larks were circling and, beyond the grey stone buildings opposite, the rich brown loamy fields were being ploughed. A tractor trundled up a little road towards the gentle hills in the distance, and hedgerows marked out the sprawling fields. It was lovely. Rosie decided to explore. She knew she should be getting back, making plans, sitting down with Lilian and figuring everything out, but this idea was not appealing. A quick walk around, just to familiarise herself with her surroundings, that was what she needed. That would be fine.
She passed by the tiny, traditional red-brick primary school with hopscotch drawn out in the playground. After the sign thanking people for driving slowly through Lipton came a long avenue of trees without a pavement. Fortunately there was little traffic, and Rosie marched along the ditch side, remembering as she did so how uncomfortable wellingtons were to wear for any length of time and feeling her feet begin to sweat. Then she turned into a side road that was little more than a muddy path. Here, tracks left by farm machinery had ploughed up the earth, and she found herself sinking into deep trenches. It was harder to see the fields from out here, and as she continued down the long, solitary track, just the quiet cries of birds
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