This Is Your Life

by Susie Martyn

  ‘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?’

  Taking 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.

  Collapsing 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?’

  Chapter 13

  Tentative plans for the Hethecote Farm fund raising ball were made that weekend. The self-appointed committee of Antonia, Lizzie and Katie paid Miriam a visit on Saturday afternoon, and sitting in her large untidy kitchen outlined what they had in mind. A large black cat sat on the table near her, eying the others distrustfully.

  ‘This is Navajo,’ said Miriam stroking its head. The cat closed its eyes appreciatively, then slightly opened one which it fixed on Antonia.

  ‘Damned animal’s giving me the evils,’ she grumbled.

  ‘Oh, take no notice… he’s a sweetie,’ said Miriam and the cat looked smug. ‘One of Mrs Einstein’s actually…’

  ‘Really?’ Lizzie’s ears pricked up. ‘Funny – so is mine…’

  ‘Lord’s sakes,’ said Antonia impatiently. ‘Sod the cats. Can’t we talk about the ball? We just need to sell around two hundred tickets, for a black tie bash with live music, that should do
it,’ she said. ‘We’ll get the Bozo Dog Doo Dah Band and give everyone loads of free champagne which we’ll find someone to sponsor, and then food… I was thinking some of William’s lamb or old Woodleigh’s beef…and then when they’ve had a skinful, we’ll hold the auction! It’ll be marvellous darlings!’

  ‘Maybe the children could grow the vegetables…’ said Miriam thoughtfully. ‘Oh dear, it does seem such a cheek to ask all these people to put their hands in their pockets…’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Antonia. ‘They can afford it! Anyway, giving money to charity is a tax dodge! All perfectly in order!’

  ‘You know, the people who buy tickets for these balls are the kind of people who always give money to charity,’ said Katie. ‘And Hethecote Farm is just as deserving as any of the others. You deserve it.’

  Miriam was somewhat overwhelmed at their show of support.

  ‘I don’t what I’d have done if you hadn’t driven up that day,’ she said to Lizzie, dabbing her eyes with a grubby handkerchief. ‘Anyway,’ she sneezed, ‘I’m more than happy to leave it to the three of you. You could always hold it here you know… in a marquee?’

  Antonia opened her mouth to speak. ‘Actually…’ but Lizzie kicked her, and for once she shut up.

  ‘That’s so kind, Miriam, can we think about it?’

  ‘What on earth did you do that for?’ demanded Antonia. ‘I was only about to tell her that we couldn’t possibly hold a posh black-tie do on a clapped out old farm like Hethecote…’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘Exactly. Anyway, what would be so bad about it? The furthest part of the garden is just grass, and if you think about it, the house is quite imposing – from the outside, anyway. No-one needs to go inside, except the caterers. And getting the guests to come here would make them see the place. We could do tours! It might actually be quite a good idea…’

  ‘Miriam should auction Sid and Johnny…’ said Antonia thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, it’s the only possibility at the moment,’ said Katie sensibly. ‘Unless you’ve had a better idea?’

  ‘God. You’re both as barmy as Miriam. Let’s go to the pub.’ Antonia stalked off towards the car.

  Tim was a surprisingly good host, Lizzie only feeling slightly like a gooseberry as she sat round his kitchen table with him and Katie. Katie however, seemed quite at home. Gone was the trademark black, replaced by some very tight jeans and a checked shirt and Tim couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. At the end of the evening, Lizzie stood on tiptoes and kissed his stubbly cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said and glanced at Katie. ‘I just need to check my mobile… I’ll er - see you in the car in a minute.’

  Katie disappeared for the day on Sunday, having been swept off by a slightly bashful Tim, who promised to return her to the Star that evening, leaving Lizzie at a loose end. Deciding that she hadn’t seen Nola or Julia for at least a fortnight, on the spur of the moment she drove to Rumbleford.

  ‘Oh Lizzie, we were thinking about you!’ they said as they always did.

  ‘I suddenly thought I hadn’t seen you for ages! And Katie’s gone out for the day, so I thought I’d call in…if you’re not too busy?’

  Nola took her hand, her green eyes gazing steadily into Lizzie’s. ‘Of course we’re not! And we’re always happy to see you, you know that! Come through to the back!’

  ‘I’m not sure why I’m here,’ confessed Lizzie. ‘I mean, we’re still getting together next week aren’t we? It just came into my head to come over here, so I did…’

  ‘You don’t need a reason, silly!’ teased Nola. ‘No-one does! We’re a shop! Now tea? Or coffee? And how are the plans for the Ball?’

  ‘Apart from the fairly major decision about where we’ll hold it, fine… We’ll sort it out. I suppose I ought to let Antonia choose, seeing as it was all her idea.’

  ‘So where’s Katie today?’ asked Nola.

  ‘Out!’ said Lizzie with a grin.

  ‘Ah - Tim?’

  ‘Of course! You guessed?’

  ‘Oh Lizzie. Some things are just so obvious!’

  As Lizzie walked back to her car, she stopped in her tracks, not believing her eyes. Here he was again, coming along the pavement towards her - the stranger from the Old Goat.

  ‘Hello!’

  ‘Hello again! I still haven’t worked it out but I haven’t given up!’

  ‘Me neither,’ admitted Lizzie.

  They stood awkwardly for a moment, before he said, ‘you know, I’d ask you for a coffee, but unfortunately I have to be somewhere…’

  ‘Oh!’ said Lizzie startled. ‘Me too, actually…’

  ‘Better go then…’

  ‘Bye…’

  Crossing paths with him always made Lizzie feel at odds. The rest of the day passed in a blur. Katie disappeared back to London and on the Monday evening, she had just made it home from Ginny’s before Mr Woodleigh started herding his cows down the lane. She’d become quite adept at avoiding the movement of livestock until now, but tonight however, it all went horribly wrong, as with his hand pressed hard on his horn, one of the rat-runners in a huge BMW came speeding up the road and slammed through the middle of the cattle.

  If Lizzie hadn’t been standing right there when it happened, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible. The cattle abandoned their orderly progression and started cantering all over the place bellowing their heads off, and over the top of all the commotion was this horrible, agonised sound.

  Not knowing what else to do, Lizzie got on her mobile to Antonia who promptly called Tim. The BMW driver was stalking around furiously making calls into his mobile, well and truly immobilised now that he’d driven into a cow. A grim-faced Tim arrived within minutes and quickly despatched the mutilated animal.

  ‘I’m leaving that cow for the police,’ he said furiously. ‘It’s time those bastards did something.’

  The driver marched over. ‘I’m suing,’ he announced angrily. ‘High time someone taught those idiots a lesson. These bloody farmers think they own the place.’

  ‘I think you’ll find, sir, that they do,’ said Tim through gritted teeth. ‘And they’re not the idiots from where I’m standing.’

  The driver rounded on him. ‘What did you just call me?’ he spluttered. But in the nick of time a police car turned up. Followed by another.

  The driver pointed his finger at Tim. ‘I’ll have you…’ he said nastily.

  ‘Oh I doubt that,’ said Tim calmly. ‘I hope you’re insured, only the police are over there looking at the cow you just killed.’

  The next day, peace was restored, at least temporarily. ‘Road closed – local traffic only’ signs were placed at either end of the lane. The only pity was it took a dead cow to do it. Two police arrived on Lizzie’s doorstep, a middle-aged village bobby and a younger one with twinkling eyes who looked slightly more on the ball and she told them everything she’d seen.

  ‘Was there, um, any particular reason why the animals were being moved around so often?’ he asked. ‘Only, it seems there have been a number of complaints, though I have to say, not from anyone who lives here, about cattle and sheep on the road…’

  He looked at Lizzie most quizzically while the older one fiddled with his notebook.

  ‘Oh well, it’s the grass you see. There’s not very much about. If they don’t keep moving the animals, they escape and that’s even worse.’

  The policemen just looked at her. The other one scratched his head.

  ‘You see it’s odd,’ the younger one said, sounding puzzled. ‘Everyone we speak to says the same. Only, what I don’t get is it looks like there’s plenty of grass to me.’

  And it was clearly not Lizzie’s lucky day, because shortly after their departure, there was another knock at her door.

  ‘Harriet,’ she told her deadly seriously. ‘Armitage-Brown,’ she added in the same flat monotone. ‘Now I’ve been meaning to come round for ages, only I’m just so busy. I’m having a coffee morning. For charity. All
the ladies in the village are coming. You’ll want to bring a cake. Don’t make a coffee one, they never sell and you better not put butter icing on it because I think people watch their cholesterol levels. I do, since I’ve been ill, my doctor says…’

  Harriet rambled on and on delivering her tedious monologue until Lizzie’s eyes were glazing over. She was one of those people that didn’t stop to draw breath, and every time Lizzie tried to say something, she got louder. Having given up trying, Lizzie waited. And then Darren appeared. Sitting directly in front of Harriet, he started to cough, but in full swing by now, she ignored him. Darren, not used to being snubbed, gave Lizzie one of his winks, then proceeded to vomit up bits of mouse all over Harriet’s boots.

  There was silence – but not for long, as Harriet stood saying ‘oh, oh dear…’ over and over as she stared unhappily at her boots.

  Lizzie quickly hosed them clean, but it was too much even for Harriet.

  ‘Oh, well I better let you get on, it looks as though you have rather a lot to do…’ she said, beating a hasty retreat down the path.

  Lizzie bent down. ‘You are really are a superstar,’ she said to her cat who was looking smug. As she stroked her hand along his back, which he arched with appreciation, Lizzie realised Harriet hadn’t even asked her name. Rubbing himself possessively around her legs, Darren was purring like a motorbike.

  ‘Has Harriet been to see you?’ Lizzie asked Antonia that evening.

  ‘Ghastly old trout turned up this morning,’ said Antonia conversationally. ‘I opened the door and there she was. Jolly bad timing really, didn’t have a chance to escape so I told her one of the dogs had crapped in the kitchen. Seemed to do the trick. Did say she’d call some other time though…’ Antonia looked far from happy at the thought. ‘Nightmare.’