‘You lost your glasses walking out of a shed?’
I stared right into his eyes, which looked chocolate brown in the wintry sunlight. ‘Yes.’
‘You slept inthere?’
‘That’s my business.’
Shaking his head slightly, he began to walk away. ‘That’s great. I don’t want to know your business. I’ve got better things to do than come to your rescue every five minutes. How about next time you fall over, you do it a bit more quietly?’
‘Next time, how about ignoring me? I didn’t ask you to come to my rescue.’
‘Fine. That’s a deal. You’re obviously perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.’
‘Yes. I am. What made you think I wasn’t? The fact I have breasts and long hair means I need taking care of?’ I shouted after him.
He turned, frowning. ‘I can’t say I’d noticed. But you’re right. People lose their glasses and slip in dry puddles while walking out of sheds all the time.Good day.’
I watched him stride away, non-existent retorts dissolving in my throat. Turning around to confirm that, yep, all trace of last night’s puddles had dried up in the sunshine, I brushed a straggle of cobweb off my jeans and prepared to re-enter the shed to get my bags.
It was only later that I registered that the man had worn no shoes and carried a cricket bat. He reallyhadbeen coming to save me. No, thanks. The whole reason I was here was to prove to my family, my ex-work colleagues, the slime-ball Richard, and mostly myself that I could take care of myself. Which I would start doing that very day. Once I’d found somewhere to empty my bladder and get a decent cup of coffee.
* * *
The car didn’t leave much room in the shed for anything else but hung up around the walls were some gardening tools, various other pieces of worn-out clutter and an ancient-looking black bike. As I had no key for the car (thankfully I had found it unlocked, avoiding the need to break another window) I decided the bike would be the best way to reach civilisation before I died from caffeine withdrawal.
To my great relief, despite the oil, rust and flabby tyres, the bike was still rideable. I creaked along, feeling like a community nurse from the nineteen fifties, following the frosty track back towards the lane and eventually the village beyond. After a few minutes, I spied a footpath leading off the track and into the forest, with a signpost pointing to Middlebeck, two miles away.
Heaving the handlebars around, I followed the dirt path. Initially, it felt quite pleasant lumbering along between the trees. The only sounds were the cheeping of birds, or the whistle of the wind in the evergreens. The forest floor was still thick with autumn leaves – every colour from pale yellow through coppers and purples to rich mahogany. There were holly bushes laden with berries, fat and glistening in the pale sunlight. A robin hopped along the bushes beside me for a while.
I tossed my hair in defiance at my new neighbour’s prediction that I’d be leaving so soon. This was great. I’d grab a coffee, wander around the village, ask in a few shops about any work… Maybe a coffee shop – or, no, atea room– would need a waitress. I could sort the cottage out in my spare time, get to know some of the locals, find the key to the Mini. Everything was going to turn out splendidly.
If I could only reach Middlebeck, which was seeming more and more unlikely as the last remains of air squished out of my back tyre, and I was now bumping and wobbling along on the rims of the wheels, probably soon to be overtaken by the snail I’d passed earlier. Clambering off, I propped the bike against a large oak tree and continued on foot, sure I must have covered two miles, and the village would appear just around the next corner.
Three corners later, I saw a gate up ahead. And – was it a mirage caused by fifteen hours without caffeine, or could I smell freshly ground coffee?
Hurrying through the gate, I emerged into a large clearing. It offered space to park twenty cars or so, several picnic tables, a large noticeboard displaying a map and, to my joy and relief, a brick building with a sign that read ‘The Common Café’anda loo.
I took a few minutes to wash my face and dab at the worst of the grot on my clothes with a paper towel. Hot water – bliss! I then scanned the chalk-board menu displayed beside a hatch designed to serve customers eating outside.
‘What can I get you?’ the young woman on the other side of the hatch asked.
I ordered a large Americano and a mega-breakfast cob. I wasn’t sure what a cob was, but I needed the mega.
‘Were you here for New Year?’ The woman stepped back to throw a sausage onto a griddle.
‘No. I’ve just moved here.’
She twisted back around to look at me, a streaky slice of bacon dangling from her fingers. ‘Middlebeck? I didn’t hear anyone new’d moved in.’
Wow. Mum had warned me it was a place where everybody knew everything about everybody else. How small was the village? Wasthis clearingMiddlebeck?
‘No. A cottage in the forest.’
She glanced over my shoulder at the footpath I’d approached from, cracking two eggs onto the griddle one-handed. ‘Charlotte Meadows’ place? Mack never said. But then, he wouldn’t.’
I nodded vaguely, pretending to be engrossed in taking the lid off my coffee-cup and clicking it on again. Not sure whether to feel pleased, upset or embarrassed that a stranger in a café window had just told me my grandmother’s name.
‘You must like a challenge, taking that on.’ She grabbed the biggest bread roll I’d ever seen and deftly placed the bacon, sausage and eggs inside, adding a slice of beef tomato and another of cheese, followed by a squirt of ketchup.
