What in God's name would we do in Cornwall?'
'Time enough to think of that later. For now, just hold on
to that thought – we're moving to Cornwall! Forget about the
rest. Now, are you going to start kissing me back or not?'
We moved to South Cornwall in the autumn, less than six
months after that momentous epiphany by the sea.
Amy and Will were delighted from the start, but it took
some convincing to get Ben on our side. Having put his acting
career more or less on hold during the period when my work
kept me away from home for so many long hours, his was the
practical voice of reason in the midst of our wild fantasies.
'What will we do in Cornwall?' he continued to ask. 'You'll
never get a high-powered job like you've got now.'
'I don't want one any more. You know that.'
'And what could I do? It's hard enough in the London theatre,
where will I get an acting job in Cornwall?'
'But Ben, you'll have more time, as I'll have sole responsibility
for Amy and Will. There are films and television –
actors have to travel all over the world these days, so it
shouldn't matter where you live. And you've said yourself that
in some ways, regional theatre has more exciting opportunities
for actors than the London theatre now.' I took his hand.
'Look, we'll find something. Both of us are willing to work,
to do anything.'
He still wasn't convinced. 'It's not just work. What about
our family and friends? How can you bear to leave them?'
But our families didn't live nearby anyway and as for our
friends, I knew we'd probably see more of them in Cornwall,
when they visited us for weekends and holidays, than we saw
of them now in London.
We talked it over, until finally Ben succumbed to the idea
and we made the decision to move. Once he'd decided, Ben
was as enthusiastic as I was and, like me, eager to get on and
start our new life.
We made plans. We would sell our house and use the proceeds
to buy another one in Cornwall as well as starting our own
business. The idea we finally hit on was a paint-your-own-pottery
business. There were several of these in our area in
London and they were immensely popular; our own children
and their friends loved to go to them and we'd heard that it
was a lucrative business. It was something we could do from
home too, converting a shed or a garage into premises.
Before we moved, we prepared, determined to do this right.
We read everything we could about starting a small business
and being self-employed. We drew up our own business plan,
wrote letters asking for advice, talked to others and wrote out
charts and projected goals. We were so well-prepared for our
new Cornish life that the reality of it, when it hit, was doubly
hard to come to terms with.
At first, everything went swimmingly. I didn't even have
to quit my job – by a wonderful quirk of luck, I was made
redundant before I handed in my notice. Pretending to
be grief-stricken at the news that a restructuring meant my
job would have to go, I phoned Ben at once to celebrate. The
redundancy pay would help cover the cost of the move and
even some unemployed time as our new business took off.
And then our house sold, quicker than we'd expected. Now
all we had to do was find one in Cornwall, to make into our
new home. How smoothly it was all going, we thought smugly.
How simple it all was, once we'd thought it through and made
our decision. And how wrong we were. How terribly, horribly
wrong.
To begin with, finding a house in Cornwall was mindblowingly
difficult. It seemed everyone had suddenly fallen
in love with the place and wanted a second home there,
which made house prices go ballistic. It was happening
everywhere else too, but in Cornwall it seemed even crazier.
As houses on the market were snapped up within twenty-four
hours, before we had a chance to even look at them, we
heard dire tales. Buyers were throwing up to £70,000 over the
asking prices at properties. We heard that 5,000 folk a month
were moving into Cornwall and we