the taller weeds cut back roughly with a scythe in order to give light and air to an
otherwise small and cramped area. I knew it was a scythe that had done the work,
because the man was using it as I turned round the bend and came into view. I gave
some sort of stammered apology.
‘I... I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone lived here.’
He met my red cheeks with an amused smile, and stopped working, leaning on the
tool with practised ease.
‘Not many people do,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit isolated, even for this area.’
He studied me with a sharp and penetrating eye.
‘You must be the new people. Or one of them, anyway. I heard someone had taken
Rose Cottage. Two of you. Is that right?’
‘Yes. Just my mother and myself.’
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘That’s what I heard. You can’t keep secrets round here very
I shook my head. ‘A few weeks. Just for the summer really. Just until September.’
‘Then back to school I suppose?’
There was a question mark in his voice, but it wasn’t really a question at all.
‘Good heavens, no. I left school ages ago,’ I said with all the airy maturity I could
muster. Three weeks ago to be precise, but it didn’t seem necessary to admit it. Such
things take on an over inflated importance when you are just eighteen. There was a
time when eight and a half, or even eight and three quarters had a much greater
importance, but as an adult, I had long since put that sort of thing behind me.
Besides, what could be made of eighteen and almost a week?
His smile didn’t exactly express disbelief, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that my
ploy had been seen through.
‘It must be dull for you in the countryside,’ he said. ‘Especially here. There’s not a
lot of entertainment for a young girl.’
I stared at him frostily, in the hope that he might recognise his error. Girl indeed!
‘As it happens, I like it. I’m not a child to be entertained. When one has resources of
one’s own - mental resources, you understand, then boredom isn’t a remote
Looking back, I recognise the pomposity, but I thought my statement very mature at
the time, a thought that crumbled slightly at the edges when the smile opposite simply
broadened.
