lane narrowed and beech branches met overhead. Although late autumn, the day was sunny and almost warm. If this was global warming, thought Zillah, she couldn’t get enough of it. Never mind the seas rising and the coastline disappearing, she didn’t live near the coast. And maybe she wouldn’t live down here at all much longer, not if she married Jims, her best friend, her childhood friend, really the nicest man she knew.
At the ford she trod carefully on the flat stones that formed a causeway across the brook. Ducks stared indifferently at her from the bank and a swan glided downstream. She had to admit it was pretty, and it would be a whole heap prettier if she could venture out into it from Fredington Crucis House wearing Armani jeans, a sheepskin jacket, and Timberland boots, having left the Range Rover parked outside the church. But Jims was gay, a difficulty not to be underrated. And what about Jerry? He wouldn’t have got whoever it was to send her that letter if he didn’t want her to think he was dead, but he was brilliant at changing his mind. If there was one thing beyond his liking mints and hating bananas that— well—
defined
Jerry, it was his rapid mind changes. Suppose he had a rethink and wanted to be alive again?
A large duckpond dominated the front garden, if this it could be called, of the Old Mill House. Although no rain had fallen in Long Fredington for a week and the stream water was exceptionally low, the banks of the pond were a quagmire. Waterfowl had been slopping about in it, animals with hooves had churned it up, and now Annie’s three children and her two were sitting in it, Annie’s Rosalba instructing her sister, Fabia, her brother, Titus, and Zillah’s children in the art of face-painting with mud. When Zillah came up the drive, she had just completed a rendering of a Union Jack in monochrome that extended from Jordan’s chin and round cheeks to his high domed forehead.
“Jordan ate a slug, Mummy,” said Eugenie. “Titus said there was this man ate a live goldfish and the cruelty to animals people made him pay a lot of money.”
“And Jordan wanted to eat one,” said Rosalba, “because he’s a naughty boy but there’s no goldfishes in our pond. So he ate a slug. And that’s cruel too and he’ll have to pay a hundred pounds.”
“Not a naughty boy,” Jordan wailed. Tears gushed out of his eyes and he rubbed them with his fists, ruining the Union Jack. “Won’t pay a hundred pounds. I want my daddy.”
Those words, frequently uttered, never failed to upset Zillah. She picked him up. He was wet through and covered with mud. Rather late in the day, she wondered indignantly what Annie was thinking of, leaving five children, the eldest of whom was eight, alone beside a large pond that must be at least six feet deep in the middle.
“I only left them for two minutes,” Annie cried, running out from the front door. “The phone was ringing. Oh, look at them! You three are going straight in the bath.”
Though she had no need to think of the cost of hot water as Zillah did, she didn’t offer to put Eugenie and Jordan in the bath. She didn’t ask Zillah in either. Jordan hung round Zillah’s neck, wiping his hands on her hair and rubbing his muddy cheek against hers. The chances were she’d have to carry him all the way home. She waited for Annie to say something about picking her up in the morning and taking her shopping, but Annie only said she’d see her soon and if she’d excuse her she’d have to get this lot cleaned up as she and Charles were going out to dinner in Lyme and they’d have to leave by seven.
Zillah sat Jordan on her right hip with her right arm round him. He was a heavy boy, big for his age. Eugenie said it was getting dark, which it wasn’t, not yet, and she’d be frightened if she didn’t hold Zillah’s hand.
“Why am I too big to be carried, Mummy?”
“You just are. Miles too big,” said Zillah. “Four is the upper limit. No
At the ford she trod carefully on the flat stones that formed a causeway across the brook. Ducks stared indifferently at her from the bank and a swan glided downstream. She had to admit it was pretty, and it would be a whole heap prettier if she could venture out into it from Fredington Crucis House wearing Armani jeans, a sheepskin jacket, and Timberland boots, having left the Range Rover parked outside the church. But Jims was gay, a difficulty not to be underrated. And what about Jerry? He wouldn’t have got whoever it was to send her that letter if he didn’t want her to think he was dead, but he was brilliant at changing his mind. If there was one thing beyond his liking mints and hating bananas that— well—
defined
Jerry, it was his rapid mind changes. Suppose he had a rethink and wanted to be alive again?
A large duckpond dominated the front garden, if this it could be called, of the Old Mill House. Although no rain had fallen in Long Fredington for a week and the stream water was exceptionally low, the banks of the pond were a quagmire. Waterfowl had been slopping about in it, animals with hooves had churned it up, and now Annie’s three children and her two were sitting in it, Annie’s Rosalba instructing her sister, Fabia, her brother, Titus, and Zillah’s children in the art of face-painting with mud. When Zillah came up the drive, she had just completed a rendering of a Union Jack in monochrome that extended from Jordan’s chin and round cheeks to his high domed forehead.
“Jordan ate a slug, Mummy,” said Eugenie. “Titus said there was this man ate a live goldfish and the cruelty to animals people made him pay a lot of money.”
“And Jordan wanted to eat one,” said Rosalba, “because he’s a naughty boy but there’s no goldfishes in our pond. So he ate a slug. And that’s cruel too and he’ll have to pay a hundred pounds.”
“Not a naughty boy,” Jordan wailed. Tears gushed out of his eyes and he rubbed them with his fists, ruining the Union Jack. “Won’t pay a hundred pounds. I want my daddy.”
Those words, frequently uttered, never failed to upset Zillah. She picked him up. He was wet through and covered with mud. Rather late in the day, she wondered indignantly what Annie was thinking of, leaving five children, the eldest of whom was eight, alone beside a large pond that must be at least six feet deep in the middle.
“I only left them for two minutes,” Annie cried, running out from the front door. “The phone was ringing. Oh, look at them! You three are going straight in the bath.”
Though she had no need to think of the cost of hot water as Zillah did, she didn’t offer to put Eugenie and Jordan in the bath. She didn’t ask Zillah in either. Jordan hung round Zillah’s neck, wiping his hands on her hair and rubbing his muddy cheek against hers. The chances were she’d have to carry him all the way home. She waited for Annie to say something about picking her up in the morning and taking her shopping, but Annie only said she’d see her soon and if she’d excuse her she’d have to get this lot cleaned up as she and Charles were going out to dinner in Lyme and they’d have to leave by seven.
Zillah sat Jordan on her right hip with her right arm round him. He was a heavy boy, big for his age. Eugenie said it was getting dark, which it wasn’t, not yet, and she’d be frightened if she didn’t hold Zillah’s hand.
“Why am I too big to be carried, Mummy?”
“You just are. Miles too big,” said Zillah. “Four is the upper limit. No
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