it!’
Debbie laughed. ‘I know, and it still drives me mad.’ She peeped over the top of the buggy. ‘Oh, that’s good, she’s away.’ Eighteen-month-old Holly had flaked out, exhausted by the morning’s activity.
They had seen the lambs at feeding-time first of all. Twenty lusty-looking orphans, all bleating frantically, butted one another and the sides of their pen in their anxiety to get to the bottles of milk the assistant was doling out to the children squashed onto the row of hay-bales.
The chicks and ducklings were next. Holly had stood quivering in silent, round-eyed joy as Debbie tipped a tiny yellow chick into her cupped hands. Then they had watched a dozen piglets running around in the sunshine whilst the huge sow lay snoring in a corner.
‘I bet she needs a glass or two of wine after getting that lot to bed at night,’ Kate said.
After visiting the gentle great shire horses, their manes and tails gaily plaited to show off to the holiday crowds, and the goats, who ate Holly’s bag of goat food, paper and all, the women had herded the children into the café for lunch. Now, four kids’ meals, two jars of baby food, two coffees and two packs of sandwiches later, Holly was out for the count and Debbie and Kate could finally have a proper conversation. Debbie and her husband Jonny, a freelance journalist, had moved to Suffolk five years before, so Kate had no hesitation in being honest about her own experiences of being a newcomer.
‘You know, I always thought it must be a myth, country people being kinder, but they genuinely seem to be, here,’ Kate mused.
Debbie threw back her curly head and laughed. ‘I think that’s self-preservation, actually. They’re probably no nicer or no meaner than anywhere else. It’s because everyone knows everyone. They daren’t say anything unkind in case it gets back to their victim that they said it. I hated that when we first came,’ she remembered. ‘How people talked about you behind your back. You’d meet a complete stranger, in the post office, say, and they’d know lots about you and seemed to think it was their right to find out more. Everyone kept asking about Johnny like he was a celebrity or something, just ’cos he writes for the papers. Things are changing, though,’ she added. ‘The locals are getting used to newcomers’ funny ways. Even in the last five years you can see there are more and more people like us moving here from London, demanding fast service and designer this and that. The shops are going upmarket, and you can’t get a plumber or a carpenter for love or money, there are so many incomers buying up property and throwing money around doing it up. It’s awful for local people, what it’s doing to house prices.’
‘Well, here we both are, adding to the problem. And on that selfish note, I just wish we had a property to throw money around on,’ Kate said sadly.
‘Have you seen nothing you like recently?’
‘Not really.’ Kate felt embarrassed to say that she had a vision of the house she wanted. The dream she’d had only twice sounded rather silly nine months later and in daylight. Since the Victorian rectory there had been hardly anything that they had both liked, and Simon had lost the energy for going round properties at weekends unless Kate was so keen on something that she forced him.
‘There must be somewhere you both like, Kate,’ ventured Debbie. ‘Shouldn’t you just take the plunge and go for something?’
Kate thought about it then said carefully, ‘You’re probably right. We’ve just reached a bit of a boggy patch about it. Simon’s so busy at the moment and I think the estate agents are getting fed up with us. But so much of the nice stuff is going to sealed bids. You have to be really motivated to get it.’ She would have liked to say more of what was on her mind to Debbie, but they were still new friends and she felt it would be disloyal to talk about Simon behind his back. She cast her mind
Debbie laughed. ‘I know, and it still drives me mad.’ She peeped over the top of the buggy. ‘Oh, that’s good, she’s away.’ Eighteen-month-old Holly had flaked out, exhausted by the morning’s activity.
They had seen the lambs at feeding-time first of all. Twenty lusty-looking orphans, all bleating frantically, butted one another and the sides of their pen in their anxiety to get to the bottles of milk the assistant was doling out to the children squashed onto the row of hay-bales.
The chicks and ducklings were next. Holly had stood quivering in silent, round-eyed joy as Debbie tipped a tiny yellow chick into her cupped hands. Then they had watched a dozen piglets running around in the sunshine whilst the huge sow lay snoring in a corner.
‘I bet she needs a glass or two of wine after getting that lot to bed at night,’ Kate said.
After visiting the gentle great shire horses, their manes and tails gaily plaited to show off to the holiday crowds, and the goats, who ate Holly’s bag of goat food, paper and all, the women had herded the children into the café for lunch. Now, four kids’ meals, two jars of baby food, two coffees and two packs of sandwiches later, Holly was out for the count and Debbie and Kate could finally have a proper conversation. Debbie and her husband Jonny, a freelance journalist, had moved to Suffolk five years before, so Kate had no hesitation in being honest about her own experiences of being a newcomer.
‘You know, I always thought it must be a myth, country people being kinder, but they genuinely seem to be, here,’ Kate mused.
Debbie threw back her curly head and laughed. ‘I think that’s self-preservation, actually. They’re probably no nicer or no meaner than anywhere else. It’s because everyone knows everyone. They daren’t say anything unkind in case it gets back to their victim that they said it. I hated that when we first came,’ she remembered. ‘How people talked about you behind your back. You’d meet a complete stranger, in the post office, say, and they’d know lots about you and seemed to think it was their right to find out more. Everyone kept asking about Johnny like he was a celebrity or something, just ’cos he writes for the papers. Things are changing, though,’ she added. ‘The locals are getting used to newcomers’ funny ways. Even in the last five years you can see there are more and more people like us moving here from London, demanding fast service and designer this and that. The shops are going upmarket, and you can’t get a plumber or a carpenter for love or money, there are so many incomers buying up property and throwing money around doing it up. It’s awful for local people, what it’s doing to house prices.’
‘Well, here we both are, adding to the problem. And on that selfish note, I just wish we had a property to throw money around on,’ Kate said sadly.
‘Have you seen nothing you like recently?’
‘Not really.’ Kate felt embarrassed to say that she had a vision of the house she wanted. The dream she’d had only twice sounded rather silly nine months later and in daylight. Since the Victorian rectory there had been hardly anything that they had both liked, and Simon had lost the energy for going round properties at weekends unless Kate was so keen on something that she forced him.
‘There must be somewhere you both like, Kate,’ ventured Debbie. ‘Shouldn’t you just take the plunge and go for something?’
Kate thought about it then said carefully, ‘You’re probably right. We’ve just reached a bit of a boggy patch about it. Simon’s so busy at the moment and I think the estate agents are getting fed up with us. But so much of the nice stuff is going to sealed bids. You have to be really motivated to get it.’ She would have liked to say more of what was on her mind to Debbie, but they were still new friends and she felt it would be disloyal to talk about Simon behind his back. She cast her mind
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