A New Beginning (16 page)

We
had
spent
that
evening
in
the
pub,
trying
to
avoid
searching
questions
from
the
villagers
as
to
why
a
cottage
which
had
stood
quite
happily
for
four
hundred
years,
had
suddenly
collapsed
just
after
we
had
bought
it.
They
‘couldn’t
understand
it.
It
had
always
been
so
sound’.
We
learned
quite
a
lot
about
the
generations
of
villagers
who
had
lived
there
over
the
centuries.
It
was
haunted,
of
course,
by
old
Davey
who
had
hanged
himself
in
the
well.
Nobody
seemed
to
know
why
he
had
done
this
and
some
put
it
down
to
‘attention
seeking.’
It
seemed
he
was
still
at
it,
and
you
could
hear
him
moaning
and
the
rope
creaking
as
he
swung
round
in
the
breeze,
every
Michaelmas.

‘When’s
Michaelmas?’
Martin
had
whispered
to
me.

‘I
don’t
know…something
to
do
with
daisies,
I
think,’
I’d
answered.

‘I
said
when,
not
what,’
he
said.

‘What?’

‘Oh,
never
mind.’

We
had
moved
into
the
caravan
with
a
sigh
of
relief,
as
soon
as
it
had
been
delivered
the
next
day.

***

Now,
a
week
later,
I
dragged
my
eyes
from
the
pile
of
rubble
that
had
been
part
of
the
end
wall,
and
turned
away
from
the
window
as
Martin
moved
towards
the
door
of
the
caravan,
carrying
his
mobile
phone.

‘The
reception’s
better
out
here,’
he
said
as
he
went
down
the
steps.
He
had
built
the
steps
using
breeze
blocks
and
a
brand
new,
expensive
spirit
level.
They
were
absolutely
level
and
he
was
very
proud
of
this,
but
viewed
from
a
few
feet
away,
their
‘absolute
levelness’
only
accentuated
the
lopsided
nature
of
the
dwelling
they
led
up
to.

He
came
back
after
a
few
minutes.

‘I’ve
rung
Harry.
He
said
he
thought
that
might
happen
-
wonderful
thing
hindsight.
He’s
on
his
way
up
here
with
a
couple
of
blokes,
a
digger
and
some
wooden
props.
We’re
going
to
have
to
shore-up
the
whole
thing
before
we
start
re-building
the
wall.
We’d
better
stay
away
from
it
till
then.
I
don’t
think
it’s
very
safe.’

‘That’s
probably
the
understatement
of
the
year,’
I
said.

A
sudden
burst
of
excited
barking
reminded
me
that
the
dogs
were
out
and
I
went
to
collect
them
before
Harry
arrived
and
they
felt
duty-bound
to
attack
his
JCB.
They
had
already
had
one
heart-stopping
go
at
it
when
he
had
come
to
help
with
clearing
out
the
collapsed
thatch.
The
bonfire
that
had
made
was
still
smoking
slightly
in
the
corner
of
the
orchard.

As
I
pulled
the
unwilling
dogs
back
into
the
caravan
a
rather
unpleasant
thought
struck
me.
Up
until
now
we
had
been
using
the
bathroom
at
the
house,
rather
nervously
I
admit,
but
it
was
downstairs
and
was
a
sort
of
lean-to
addition
to
the
original
cottage,
but
it
was
situated
on
the
end
wall,
the
corner
of
which
had
collapsed.
Now
that
small
luxury
was
out
of
bounds
we
would
be
reduced
to
the
porta-loo
in
the
caravan,
and
I
knew
whose
job
it
was
going
to
be
to
empty
that
-
but
where?

I
mentioned
this
to
Martin
who
was
standing
at
the
garden
gate
waiting
for
Harry.

‘I
hadn’t
thought
of
that,’
he
said.
‘I
know,
I’ll
lift
up
the
drain
cover,
you
can
empty
it
down
there.
Don’t
worry
darling,
it
won’t
be
for
long.’

I
just
knew
it
was
going
to
be
my
job.
‘How
long?’

‘Just
six
weeks,
or
so.’

Where
had
that
‘or
so’
come
from?
‘No,’
I
said.

‘No,
what?’

‘I
am
not
marching
down
to
the
drain
every
day
carrying
that
thing,
for
a
start
its
heavy.’

‘You
don’t
have
to
lift
the
whole
thing.
Look,
I’ll
show
you,’
he
said.

‘I
don’t
want
a
lesson
in
loo-emptying.
Can’t
you
plumb
the
toilet
in
the
caravan
into
the
sewer,
if
you
know
where
it
is?
Surely
you
only
need
a
pipe
or
something.’
I’m
a
bit
vague
about
the
finer
workings
of
sewers:
‘And
the
shower,’
I
remembered.