This Is Your Life (12 page)

Lizzie ha
d yet to meet the infamous Eucalyptus, who lived next door to the church in a tiny cottage tucked away in the trees.  By all accounts, she was a recluse, and so far, Lizzie knew her only by reputation as a painter of the abstract kind of art that Jamie used to rave over - which had always left her cold.

Entries for the horse show were coming in thick and fast.  Antonia had asked her if she’d judge the prettiest mare class. 

‘But I don’t know the first thing about horses,’ Lizzie objected.

‘That’s why you’d be perfect darling,’ said Antonia firmly.  ‘And it doesn’t matter who the judge is, someone always complains.  You’ve really nothing to worry about.’

Which didn’t fill Lizzie with confidence.

Antonia hadn’t been exaggerating. Apart from a few nods, nobody paid them much attention.  Mrs Hepplewhite had sniffed and pointedly turned her back on them, presumably for boycotting the WI, and they’d stood quietly looking at the modest party that had gathered.

‘Over there,’ mu
rmured Antonia in my ear.  ‘By the window – long face, mouth turned down – avoid like the plague.  Harriet Armitage-Brown.  Brown by name, brown by nature…’ she muttered bitchily, Harriet being dressed head to toe in dingy old clothes.  ‘Bit of a nightmare.  She’ll drag you along to her coffee-mornings which are ok because of the food, but she drones on like you wouldn’t believe.  Just don’t catch her eye.  If she comes over here we’ll make a dash for it.’

‘Oh, and
over there is Cindy, darling,’ she added, nodding towards a pretty, fair-haired woman with a rather vague air about her.  ‘Does the church flowers when she can get past Mrs H, whose are dire.  You wouldn’t believe the rivalry that goes on over a few naff old geraniums.  I say!  Look at William… doesn’t he scrub up awfully well...’

William did indeed look marginally cleaner than usual, in washed jeans and minus the beanie hat, revealing thick, tousled hair. Feeling Antonia’s eyes on him, he
turned and winked at her.

She jumped in amazement
, clutching at Lizzie’s arm.  ‘Did you see that?  He winked at me!’ 

B
ert was dressed in his Sunday best, a checked shirt and tie, his usually windblown hair combed neatly, faithful Molly at his side. Smiling and nodding at everyone, his cheeks were a little pink. Someone had covered the rickety table with a plastic tablecloth, and laid it with paper plates of food and drinks. Lizzie made the foolish mistake of nibbling the corner of one of the fish paste sandwiches.

‘Warn
ed you,’ muttered Antonia in her ear. ‘Which one was it - the salmonella special or a listeria tart? You mustn’t miss the e coli dip either, mmm, lovely…’  

             
‘That’s the Woodleighs over by the door,’ Antonia told me, ‘Well, of course you know him, from all that malarkey with the cows.  But Lord.’  She broke off. ‘Now who, I wonder, is that…’

Lizzie
followed her gaze – rendered speechless for the second time that morning, Antonia’s jaw had dropped. A youngish man, good-looking in a rather school-boyish way in a shirt and stripey tie strode in and confidently shook Mr Woodleigh’s hand.  A voice behind them muttered, ‘that’s ‘im, bit of a new broom. Fings all be different now, you mark my words…’

To which another glum sounding voice replied, ‘Aye, bugger’ll start puttin’ rents up in no time, you
mark my words…’

A skinny, worried looking woman with stooping shoulders
and dressed in shapeless black came scuttling over to Antonia.

‘I was hoping you’d be here,’ she whispered, as she peered anxiously into Antonia’s face.

‘Oh excellent! Eucalyptus!  Meet Lizzie! She’s moved in up the road from the church. Next door to Bert and Molly. I’ve told her all about your fab cakes. Which one is it today?’ enquired Antonia greedily.

This was Eucalyptus?
Lizzie’d built up a picture in her head of the cake-making artist: a plump bohemian, with titian hair, dressed in a riot of colour.  A matronly kind of woman, not a timid, neurotic-looking stick insect…

‘Hello Lizzie…’ Eucalyptus
worriedly held out a small hand that was almost as limp as her hair. ‘It’s passion fruit and macadamia, with satsuma frosting,’ she offered doubtfully, drooping even more as she stood there.

‘Oh yummy,’ said Antonia.
‘Can’t wait to try it. Don’t think I’ve tasted that one before.’

Antonia and
Lizzie exchanged glances between mouthfuls of cake, which in spite of its off-putting contents was sublime.  Mr Woodleigh, the first time Lizzie’d seen him without his cows, still looked as though he’d walked straight in from the fields which in all likelihood he had, and he made a brief speech about what a thoroughly all-round decent chap Bert had been to have working for them all these years, before everyone clapped enthusiastically. 

They
watched as the ‘new broom’ swept his way around the room, introducing himself to everyone as he went. Then he got to Lizzie, and held out his hand.  A pair of friendly brown eyes smiled eagerly. Lizzie had always noticed people‘s eyes. ‘Windows to the soul’ weren’t they supposed to be, or so she liked to think… At any rate, they were a good indicator of character, she always thought, forgetting how many times she’d got this wrong.

‘Toby Anstruther-Smythe’, he introduced himself with
huge self-assurance, in rather clipped, public-school tones. ‘I’m the new estate manager. I say, simply delighted to meet you both.’ He was looked extremely pleased with himself.  Antonia too looked rather chuffed.

‘Antonia!’  She grasped his hand and held on to it.  ‘And this is Lizzie. So how are you finding Littleton?’

‘Hmm.  Funny little place,’ he said tactlessly in his rather booming voice.  ‘Might need to shake things up a little, you know…’ he continued, oblivious to the surly looks of everyone standing within earshot.

‘Good for you darling,’ said Antonia admiringly.  ‘What did you have in mind?  I’m always up for something a little different…’

‘There’s nothing like change, is there,’ he continued, beaming at her delightedly.  ‘Anyway, awfully sorry, but must move on.  Need to get round everyone.’  But then, looking straight at Lizzie, took her completely by surprise.

‘I say
old bean, you and I should get together one evening.  You know, both of us being new round here and all that.  Found a smashing pub the other night…how about it? 

Lizzie
was filled with horror. Followed by panic, and an unsquashable conviction that this was a very bad idea.  Absolutely no way was she going on a date with someone who reminded her of a Labrador.

‘She’d love to,’ Antonia answered quickly.
‘Wouldn’t you Lizzie? Absolutely excellent idea.   Here’s her phone number.’  She ferreted around in her pocket and quickly scribbled something on some paper.

‘Antonia!  I’m not going!  You’ll have to tell him! It’s too soon and he’s not my type. You go,’ Lizzie was outraged.

‘Nonsense.
Do you good. High time you stopped moping about. It’s only a drink for goodness sake. Just go out for the sake of it, it’ll be good practice. Hardly think he’s an axe-murderer,’ said Antonia bluntly. ‘Now, let’s get another slice of cake before this bloody lot polish it off.’

But
Lizzie definitely wasn’t going.  She’d made her decision and this time, she was sticking to it.

Later, at a loose end, she wandered back up to Hethecote Farm.  Miriam was looking weary.

‘Just the girl,’ she said, brightening slightly.  ‘Only I’ve a bit of a predicament on my hands.  Mallow House have been in touch. Only they want one of our allotments… and I’m not sure what to say.’

‘What’s the problem?’ said Lizzie, who’d never heard of them.

‘Oh – of course.  Sorry… they’re a home for young offenders.  Not serious ones – just children from poor backgrounds who shoplift and daub graffiti in the wrong places… Poor little things really.  So misunderstood.  Only I’m not sure our schools would be too happy about sharing the garden with them…’

‘What if they came at different times?’ suggested Lizzie.  ‘The schools come in the mornings mostly… what if the Mallow House lot came later on?’

‘Possibly,’ said Miriam.  ‘It might work… but I’d have to write to them all wouldn’t I?  And explain… Oh dear.  There’s too much to do.’

‘Why not think about it?’ said Lizzie.  ‘And if you think it’s a good idea, I’ll help.  And can you leave these seeds somewhere for the schools to find?  They’re a gift from one of the garden centres.’

‘Isn’t everyone so kind?’ said Miriam, then winced, clutching her stomach.

‘Have you seen the doctor yet?’ said Lizzie in alarm.  ‘You really ought to…’

‘I will – when I have time…’

As
they drove the few miles to the pub, Toby Anstruther-Smythe, it soon became apparent, had extremely Big Ambitions. Boasting to Lizzie about his grand plans for the Estate, and about how it needed moving into the 21
st
century, he of course,
ho ho
, was just the person to do it. Lizzie had the feeling that his over-confidence wouldn’t win him many friends round here, but maybe there would be at least some changes for the better. Like dealing with the dreaded rat-runners for starters wouldn’t go amiss.

It was a pub
she hadn’t been to before - the Coach and Horses, and on such a sunny summer’s evening they sat outside in the garden under an umbrella that Toby insisted on leaving up, even though Lizzie had goose bumps in its shade.

‘Awfully nice
place, don’t you think?’  remarked Toby loudly.  It was one of those pubs which had been modernised, which wasn’t really to Lizzie’s taste, but it was pleasant enough and at least the wine was well chilled.

‘Funny old lot in Littleton,’ he
said bluntly, forgetting Lizzie was one of them.  ‘Could do with a bit of a shakeup, don’t you think?  Don’t know anything about this nonsense with the farmers do you?  Even old Woodleigh seems to be joining in.  Not much of an example to set to your tenant farmers…’ he added arrogantly, reminding her horribly of Jamie for an instant.

‘Well actually,’
Lizzie said, ‘have you seen that traffic that comes tearing through?  There’ll be an accident if no-one does anything.  They drive like maniacs.  And it is a country lane,’ she emphasised, before suggesting, ‘Er maybe you should get involved?  Someone in your position might be able to do something…’

‘
You’re
right,’ he agreed.  I’ll think about it old girl…’ He stared rather too obviously at her.

Toby,
Lizzie soon realised, was totally naive when it came to the opposite sex.  His version of flirting seemed to mean horribly suggestive glances which she was finding rather off-putting and in spite of her best efforts to like him, there wasn’t the tiniest spark of chemistry.  But he was pleasant enough company and as Antonia had rightly said, it didn’t do a girl good to spend too much time brooding.

‘So what brought you to
Littleton?’ asked Toby eventually, when he’d exhausted the topic of himself, his education and his somewhat limited career as an upmarket estate agent flogging overpriced property in Chelsea.

‘I walked out on my fiancé four days before our wedding,’ said
Lizzie brightly, and waited to see his shocked response. 

‘I say old girl,
that was a bit much wasn’t it?  I mean, speaking for the chap of course…’  Toby was flummoxed, but then she noticed a gleam in his eye.

A
couple of glasses of wine later, Toby offered to drive her home, and as they walked across the car park, he casually swung an arm over Lizzie’s shoulders.  Mistakenly leaving it there instead of shrugging it, Toby obviously took this as encouragement. 

If he’d
shown just the slightest finesse at that point, just maybe it would have ended differently - or maybe not.  But perhaps Lizzie should have been thankful that any romantic notions about him were well and truly squashed when he simply spun her round and clamped his mouth on hers.

Lizzie
tried to disentangle herself, but Toby’s arms were so tightly round her she could hardly move.  Not believing she hadn’t seen that coming, she had no wish to encourage him.  Pulling away, she muttered none too tactfully that having just extricated herself from one disaster, it was too soon to be embarking on another.

Finally released from that grip, she backed off while she could. Toby wasn’t so bad, but. She’d been right – he really was like a Labrador. Very eager but horribly drooly and best kept at arm’s length. A timely flashback to the gorgeous man from the pub confirmed it.

But by the time
they pulled up at Lizzie’s cottage, Toby seemed to have forgotten he’d been rebuffed. Parking by the gate, he unfastened his seatbelt and leant towards Lizzie. 

‘I suppose there’s no chance of
a coffee?’ he asked hopefully.  Short memory span too, she noticed ruefully.  Not a hope.

‘Erm, Toby, I’ve got a really early start tomorrow, but thank
you for a lovely evening.’ She shot out of the car before he tried anything.               

He visibly drooped, then brightened
as he suggested ‘Never mind old girl. Let’s do it again sometime’, before speeding off down the lane.

Lizzie
breathed a sigh of relief, listening until the sound had faded completely.  It was a lovely night, she noticed, looking around in the darkness, at the trees looming like giants, towering over her protectively as their branches swayed gently in the breeze.  Lizzie fancied she heard a whisper of something, and a sharp crack like someone had stepped on a twig.  She strained her ears, but hearing nothing more, decided she must have imagined it.

Lizzie knew Antonia would find the whole episode hilarious and she was right. Antonia had laughed loudly when she told her.

‘It’s
your fault for making me go,’ Lizzie told her sternly.  ‘In my fragile, vulnerable state you
made
me go out with him, and I could be psychologically damaged after that
assault
…’                            

‘
Crikey Lizzie, it was only a snog!  It can’t have been that bad... Perhaps you should learn self- defence, I’ll teach you if you like…’ 

It would take a brave man
or else a very stupid one to ever try it on with Antonia.  However, she’d taken a shine to Toby. ‘Don’t know what the fuss is about. You could do far worse you know…’ she had mused thoughtfully, lips pursed in contemplation.

‘
I thought you fancied William?  You’ve been ogling at him ever since I met you.  Well, go for it.  If you really want my cast-offs, Toby’s an excellent idea,’ said Lizzie.  It was the perfect solution for everybody.

‘Hmm.
’ Antonia was thoughtful. ‘Haven’t been on a date in yonks. Might be a laugh. Always had a bit of a thing for those public school types you know... Awfully sexy don’t you think?’

‘Ask him out then.
Bet he’ll say yes.’ Trying to get her head round how anyone could find Toby sexy, Lizzie decided not to add that in all likelihood, he wasn’t fussy and would probably leap on the first female of any description that showed the slightest interest.

‘You know, I think I’ll do just that.
Might be jolly handy –got quite a nice car, hasn’t he?  I know, I’ll ask him over for coffee, just being neighbourly of course... You can be here too. Then you can pretend you have to go...’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Like candy from a baby!   You free on Tuesday?’

Lizzie buried her head in her
hands.

Tim had finally got round it.  He’d turned up at Lizzie’s looking awkward, eventually asking her.  The date was fixed.

She was looking forward to Katie coming to stay again, but the beloved MG was off the road with three punctures, so she’d been forced to get a train.

‘
It’s those bloody chavs,’ Katie had raged on the phone earlier, incensed. ‘Just when I needed it.  And it’s not the first time. My poor car. Someone ought to catch the little bastards and flog them,’ sounding as though she’d be more than happy to do it herself.

Lizzie
drove her Jeep over to the usually deathly quiet little station at Boxton, which saw the arrival of just three trains a day.

Katie was already waiting outside when
she got there, and the stationmaster was lurking furtively in the background, scratching his head until flakes of dandruff rained onto the shoulders of his ill-fitting uniform issue jacket, transfixed by those two lezzer-wotsernames hugging madly and kissing each other in front of the station.  Shocking!  He’d have to make sure and tell the wife.

Having promised to meet Antonia at the Fox
for another round of the quiz night, Tilly joined them and yet again they blitzed the opposition.  

‘
That was fucking brilliant,’ declared Antonia, when it was over. ‘I say, how about we carry on at mine?’

T
aking another two bottles of the Fox’s finest vin de table, red, obviously, they all decamped to Antonia’s as seemed to be becoming a habit, leaving a bar full of disgruntled men muttering under their breath behind them. Cassie had raised her eyebrows at the four of them with an exaggerated air of resignation, and sloped off to bed, a trail of manky looking dogs shambling along behind her.

C
ollapsing into Antonia’s huge, shabby sofas, they consumed the rest of the wine.

‘No sign of Tim then,’ remarked Katie casually.

‘Probably stuck in some God-awful farmyard somewhere up to his armpits in shit,’ said Antonia brusquely.  ‘Told him years ago he should have stuck to horses.  Far more civilised, darling.  Actually, says he’s getting a locum…’ she added, getting up and disappearing out to the kitchen.

‘Pity you weren’t here for that rave last
year,’ said Tilly, going off on a tangent as she often did.  ‘Only it was really good.  What I can remember.  Come to think of it, I don’t remember much about it at all…’ she added vaguely.

‘Tilly,’ said Katie patiently, ‘that’s probably because you were stoned, don’t you think?’

Antonia
returned with some glasses.  ‘What party was that?’ she enquired bossily, and when Tilly started describing the stage made of old trailers and the multi-coloured flock of sheep, instantly said, ‘you were at that rave?  God, it nearly gave Elspeth apoplexy!  Bloody brilliant, wasn’t it?’