The Banker's Niece 15: The walk

Jane wanders up the track she shares with William, her new green wellies on her feet and her new orange Ordnance Survey ‘Explorer 2 ½ inches to 1 mile’ map clasped in her hand.

    Today, for the first time in five months, she hopes to cross an item off the list of things she wanted to do when she ‘moved to the country’, as her London friends put it. She herself didn’t think of her move like that. She thought of it as ‘escaping from London’ but she compiled the list anyway, largely so that she had something to say when her friends asked how on earth she was going to amuse herself ‘in the back of beyond’. They were probably jealous.

    It’s the change in the weather that’s spurred her on.

    Except for a few golden days in September when she was able to sit outside in the evenings, it’s blown and deluged ever since she arrived. From October onwards, bar external conferences with tradespeople sorting out a stream of domestic glitches, she’s done nothing but alternate between car trips and being indoors. So much for living in the country. She could have been anywhere. Apart from her journey to work – but that’s another story.

    This morning however as soon as she drew back her bedroom curtains and opened the window she knew that something was different, and it wasn’t simply that the wind and rain had stopped. The light was whiter. The air smelt of the sea instead of rotting vegetation. A daffodil had burst into flower at the bottom of her garden.

    Now, as she walks, she notices that there are bird noises everywhere, including an insistent ‘cheep cheep’ which she’s never heard before, and she keeps catching glimpses of little feathered shapes darting in and out of the hedgerow.

    In her new wellies, she negotiates the track’s obstacles with confidence, squishing into cowpats and splashing through puddles. Soon you would hardly know the wellies were once green. They're plastered with Devon’s orange mud, some of which is unfortunately also jumping inside them. She holds on to a fence post and stands on one leg to empty each boot in turn. It doesn’t make much difference. Some bird cackles.

    She has William to thank for the boots. He gave her a lift ‘back along’ – a local phrase she has noticed and is trying to insert into her own lexicon – to the farm supplies centre. There, as well as wellies, she stocked up on other essentials of country living – a torch, humane mousetraps, a quilted gilet, draught-excluding snakes for the bottom of doors and special dirt-absorbing mats. She never realised how sheltered city-life was.

    The shop was a revelation too. Full of useful things like waterproof hats and thick socks, woodburning stoves, fencing, animal medicine and bulk food. She’ll be back, of that she has no doubt.

   

She finds William hosing down the milking parlour, the smart redbrick building she spotted last June when she first visited. Even though it’s a Saturday, he’s still working. He nearly always is.

    ‘Janey,’ he says, breaking into one of his smiles.

    Some days she could almost fall in love with him. Almost, but not quite.

    He turns off the tap and comes to stand next to her. She wishes he hadn’t. With the new freshness of the atmosphere, the cowshit on his overalls smells like vomit.

    ‘Lovely day, isn’t it,’ he says. ‘Almost spring-like.’

    So that’s what the difference is. Except during a heatwave or when it snowed, she never noticed the seasons in London. She’s forgotten what they’re like.

    ‘It is,’ she replies, unable to suppress her own smile.

    She’s still trying to play it cool, still unsure of William’s intentions, even though he drops in for drinks and nibbles several evenings a week. It suits them both. She learns about the area and he, she presumes, welcomes the human contact after a day on his own.
    He keeps trying to persuade her to accompany him to the Merry Harriers in the village but she thinks that might be a step too far. In any case, she can imagine the gossip. People have already started dropping hints about ‘the bird in the hand’ and how ‘you’re never too old’ etc etc. And she thought she’d got away from that, moving four hours’ drive from her mother.

    ‘Which is why’, she continues, ‘I need your help.’

    ‘Anything, you know that,’ he says.

    Something inside her gives a small tremor and she hastily suppresses it.

    ‘Well, two things,’ she says. ‘I’m thinking of going for a walk and wondered if I could borrow Jasper.’

    She wasn’t being quite honest when she blamed the weather for her lack of enterprise. She’s wanted to walk several times but never dared. She doesn’t remember ever being out in the countryside on her own and she doesn’t know what to expect. Is it safe? What about frisky cattle - fierce dogs - strange men? What if she gets lost, or falls and hurts herself?

    Then this morning, as she sat at the kitchen table in her dressing-gown downing her third espresso and looking longingly out of the window, the answer struck her like a message from God.

    She’s become very fond of Jasper over the months and has even made up a bed for him next to the kitchen radiator from an old pillow and towel so that he has somewhere to flop when he comes down with William – as he always does. He’s her sort of dog. He doesn’t bark or jump up or show his teeth. He’s a gentleman. He’s like a big warm teddy bear. She’ll be all right with him.

     ‘Of course,’ says William. ‘Walk him all you like. It’ll do the old boy good. Don’t get much time to take him out myself.’

    He unhooks a lead hanging on the wall. ‘Have this. You probably won’t need it but just in case.’

    ‘Thank you,’ she says, stuffing the lead into the pocket of her waterproof. ‘And the other thing –’

    She unfolded her map before she left home and then folded it again into a smallish square with Stockland, William’s farm, in the middle. She shows this now to William.

    ‘Do you have any suggestions as to where I should walk?’

    William trails a grimy index finger over the map, leaving a stain. Jane tries not to mind.

    ‘That’s a lovely footpath, bit steep but worth it for the view at the top. That field’ll be underwater at this time of year. I wouldn’t risk it. That wood’s very overgrown. You’ll have trouble getting through it. The route of that footpath has changed. That land belongs to old Dudley. He’s a sod. I wouldn’t go there if I were you . . .’

    Jane wishes she hadn’t asked. She decides to revert to her original plan which is to take a footpath that appears to head out of William’s farmyard straight for Muddicombe. The village is only a mile and half by car so it can’t be much further on foot. She should be able to manage that. And if she decides she doesn’t want to walk back she can ring Joe the Taxi who apparently lives nearby and who comes recommended by Lauren at work who knows or is related to everyone in the area.

    ‘Thank you,’ she says.

    She discovers Jasper snuffling through the undergrowth behind the ruined farm buildings. He gives the small jump with his front legs which is all he can manage by way of hello. He could definitely do with some exercise.

    There’s a yellow arrow on a post next to a battered metal gate leading into a field. That has to be the way. She unlatches the gate and Jasper shoots through, nose to the ground.

    William comes out of the milking parlour to see them off.

    ‘See you later,’ he calls.

    ‘I hope so,’ she says, as the gate slams behind her with an ominous clang.

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