Once Upon A Time in the West . . . Country Read Online Free Page A

common as a politician’s apology. It wasn’t until we peered over the side gate and into the back garden that our hearts began to race. What we saw was about a quarter of an acre of well-tended garden with a small pond – charming but not particularly special. However, it was what lay beyond it that took our breath away. What a view. We were looking out at English countryside at its best. The land beyond the garden fell away before rising again the other side of the valley, presenting a spreadsheet of fields, paddocks, woods and hedgerows, all combining to create a green patchwork of varying hues that soothed the eye and calmed the senses. Not spectacular, but just simply beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
    ‘This is it!’ I said to myself.
    I knew it straight away. I just hoped that Fran liked it. If she didn’t, then this search for a house was going to take a long, long time – because we’d clearly be looking for different things.
    ‘I love it!’ said Fran. ‘It’s magical.’
    Good, we were on the same wavelength.
    ‘Wait a minute, where’s that sun?’ I said, in a moment of panic.
    Sod’s law it could be facing in the completely wrong direction, and that would be a deal breaker for me. I looked up at the cloudy sky. The sun, although not shining, was attempting to break through and I could make out where it was, and where it was heading.
    ‘The garden’s south-facing!’ I called out, at a slightly inappropriate volume.
    ‘Great,’ said Fran, no doubt relieved that this rather needless criterion had been met.
    I rang the bell in the hope that the owners would be home and I could persuade them to show us around, and a pleasant grey-haired lady in her sixties opened the door. I explained how we were heading back to London in an hour or so and that we loved the house and could she possibly permit us to come and take a look.
    ‘Goodness, the place is a mess,’ said the lady. ‘Could you come back in an hour? The pub is five minutes from here and it does nice coffee.’
    ‘Perfect, we’ll pop there then,’ I said, wondering whether such an accommodating response would have greeted cold-calling house hunters in London. ‘So sorry to descend on you like this. Thanks so much.’
    A pub within walking distance. Another big plus. All of the houses we’d viewed on the previous day had felt rather remote. This house was performing a kind of conjuring trick. From the front it was a modest cottage that was very much in the midst of a village, and yet the view from the rear suggested that it might be in the heart of a rural wilderness.
    As we walked through the village, which was pleasant but not so picturesque and quaint that it would be a target for Londoners who wanted second homes for weekend use – another bonus – we discussed excitedly the prospects of this house becoming our new home. The house that we’d not even seen inside yet. Fran’s only concern was that she had wanted a bigger garden so we could begin growing our own food. Not that either of us had any experience of this, so how much land would be required was simply guesswork.
    ‘Hang on, this might be the answer,’ I said as we drew parallel with the Parish Council notice board.
    A sign had caught my eye:
     
    ALLOTMENT AVAILABLE NEXT TO VILLAGE HALL
    £15 A YEAR
     
    ‘We could get an allotment.’ I said. ‘Let’s ring the number and see if it’s still available.’
    A phone call later and we had done the most extraordinary thing. The lady I had spoken to on the phone had explained that the poster had only just gone up and that she expected there to be a lot of interest in the allotment and that if we wanted it then we should move quickly. I made an executive decision and told her that we’d take it, even though we hadn’t even looked inside the house that had spawned our interest in it. Could this be a sign that we were meant to get this house? 4
    ‘Well, if we don’t get the house, at least we’ll have an allotment,’ I