The Banker's Niece 16: Jane's New Life

How could I have been so stupid, she thinks as she puffs up the track. How could I have forgotten about contours?

    The path may have looked easy when she studied the map at home but now when she looks at it again she notices the sinuous, not to say sinister, brown lines covering the entire surface like a watercolour wash. What’s more, her path cuts across a series of ever-closer lines, which means – as far as she remembers – that the terrain will become even steeper.

    She stops to catch her breath and look around.

    It’s a wide path with high banks. Sun shines through the scrub along the top of the right bank, lighting up a tangle of ivy on her left and making the leaves gleam as if lacquered. Opposite, in shade, are tree roots coated in lime-green moss. She touches it. It’s as dense and real as Jasper’s fur. It makes her feel a bit peculiar. She has a mad idea that the moss is conscious.
    It's weird. In London, where everything important is supposed to happen, you have to insulate yourself from your surroundings in order to survive. Here in the country, where it is supposed that nothing happens, your surroundings talk to you.

    She can hear Jasper crashing around at the top of the bank. He’s been racing up and down the track and up and down the banks, dislodging rubble and startling Jane out of her reveries. She has a sneaking suspicion he's teasing her. So much for him being unfit.

     Her t-shirt is damp with sweat so she takes off her waterproof and tries to stuff it into her backpack. However, as the pack already contains her discarded fleece, a woolly hat, a scarf, gloves, a waterbottle, her purse and her phone, she gives up and ties the waterproof round her waist. She didn’t believe locals when they boasted that in Devon you could experience four seasons in one day so she’s come prepared for three only. She neglected summer. It is February, after all.

   

At last she reaches the top of the track and emerges from between the hedgebanks to find herself walking along a high ridge between stony fields filled with sheep. They stare at Jasper with suspicion so she gets the lead out and clips it to his collar. She wonders if the sheep know that makes him safe. She hopes so as she wouldn’t like to upset them. Isn’t it around now that they start producing lambs? Or have things changed in the four decades since she last had close contact with the countryside?

    The sky has clouded over. Up here, exposed, there's a wind. It buffets her hair and flattens her damp t-shirt to her chest. Back to autumn. With one foot on the lead, she puts her waterproof on again and retrieves her hat, gloves and scarf.

    She sets off once more, striding purposefully. How nice it is to use her body instead of being hunched over a desk or slumped on the sofa. Jasper is a bit of a nuisance though, tugging at his lead. The sooner she can let him off, the better.
    Far away on the horizon on either side of the ridge she can see big brown hills. Could these be Exmoor and Dartmoor? The back of her neck prickles. Exploring the moors was definitely on her list of Things to do When She Moved to the Country but, now that she sees them, she’s not so sure. They look ancient and fierce, like sleeping dinosaurs. She doesn't feel equipped either mentally or physically to deal with them. She doesn’t want to end up lost in the Wild Wood like foolish Mole in The Wind in the Willows*. Who would rescue her?

    She thinks about some of the other items on her list, like learning yoga, catching up on reading, and getting involved with the community (whatever that means). What with all the hoo-ha of moving, she's put them out of her mind and, coming back to them, they seem rather tame. They’re what the old Jane would have done, and she wants to be completely new.

    Looking at the wide open spaces all around her, she wonders about paragliding, being an artist, running naked.

    Now she’s just being silly.

Before long, the path starts to slope again, down this time, and instead of a high hedge on her right there is only a fence. Far below, cupped in the hills, is a village. Muddicombe, she hopes. She can see a grey-stone church tower and rows of white houses. She can hear a hubbub of children’s voices. They must be outside enjoying the good weather.

    A shaft of sun shoots out from a gap in the clouds and floods the village in light. For a moment, Jane thinks it’s God pointing a finger, showing her the way to go. ‘Everything is a sign,’ says Sharon’s voice in her head. Well, Sharon says a lot of things and Jane doesn’t necessarily believe them. Nevertheless, she unclips Jasper from his lead and the two of them half-walk, half-run down the slippery path.

    Since saying goodbye to William earlier in the morning she’s not met a single soul. For the first time since moving she’s been ‘enjoying the peace of the country’ – another item on her list. It’s not been at all what she expected. She thought it would either be scary or that it would lull her. On the contrary, even though nothing has happened, it’s been exciting. It’s woken her up.

    She’s ready now to move on. Today is the real start of her New Life in the Country. So much for Sharon’s dire warnings about catastrophe (The Tower) and ghosts from her past (the Prince of Wands). Even though the tarot cards are still vivid in her mind, she knows that only good things await her below.

She stands outside Muddicombe village shop, confused. She’s lost her focus. The world has turned ordinary again. Garish posters advertising special offers adorn the shop windows. The square is chock-a-block with cars and it smells of them too.

    She doesn’t know what to do. She’s not ready to walk back: she’s not even sure she could. Perhaps she should she go to the Merry Harriers and have some lunch, but would they take Jasper and does she really want to sit there on her own like a lemon? Anyway, she’s not hungry. The walk has dampened her appetite.

    Chocolate, she thinks. When in doubt, chocolate. She always has room for chocolate and she certainly deserves it after all that climbing.

    Leaving Jasper attached by his lead to a convenient hook in the wall, she pushes open the shop door.

    She’s been into the shop before. She often drops in  after work to pick up nibbles for William's visit. Although the butcher with its trays of raw meat takes up half the premises, she has to her surprise found guacamole, hummus and olives hidden in the fridges as well as delicious oatcakes and sesame-studded biscuits on a gourmet shelf.

    The shop has always been full of people. Customers have been loading up their baskets and the assistants busy dealing with the queues at the tills. She’s been able to disappear into the background. She hasn't had to engage with anyone.

    Today, the shop is empty. Three large women assistants stand behind the counter. They stare at Jane, like the sheep staring at Jasper. She’s tries to smile, knowing straight away that’s the wrong thing to do. She should either stalk in as if she owned the place, or charm them all with her banter. The assistants ignore her.

     Jane hides behind the chocolate shelves. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

    She's too upset by her social inadequacy to concentrate on the chocolate, but what she has spotted with the unaccustomed emptiness of the shop is a rack of newspapers.

    And she knows that, whatever happens, she must not turn round to look at them. Broadsheets are all right but tabloids, like chat shows and all populist television, are poison for her. She forswore them many years ago.

    She turns round.

    It’s the picture that catches her attention first. Then the headline ‘The Rock crumbles’. Then she reads the small paragraph under the picture.

    A bullet of pain shoots from her right shoulder, up her neck and over her head, coming to rest with dreadful inevitability above her right eye.

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*By Kenneth Grahame