Up With the Larks Read Online Free Page B

was watching
through the net curtains.
    I turned on the charm, doing my best bubbly bit. 'Visiting
for now, but not for long I hope. Still living Up Country but
coming down every weekend to house hunt.' He nodded appreciatively.
I didn't know if it was my skilful use of the Cornish
'Up Country' or my newly tanned and waxed legs that prompted
his appreciation.
    He listened while I rambled on for a bit about the charms
of the county, the seaside, the village and the weather. When
I got to the weather he baulked. 'You don't go movin' here
'cause of the weather, y'know. T'is wet most of the time,' he
squinted against the sun to peer at the windows still not cleaned,
and shifted uneasily. I sensed the guilt at not using every
moment of sunshine was starting to get to him, so I made my
move quickly.
    'We've had so much trouble finding a house down here.' I
lowered my eyes and added a note of tragedy to my voice. Ben eat your heart out , I thought. 'I wonder if you might know of
something? You work and live here, you must know if anything
might be coming up for sale soon.'
    He turned back from gazing at the windows to gazing at
me again. 'Well matter of fact, I do. House for sale right here
in the village. Just about to go to the estate agent's.'
    My excitement showed in my face. 'Fantastic.'
    'Good sturdy house. Decent garden, big an'all.'
    'Fantastic,' I was repeating myself but I didn't care. I'd already
moved Ben, Will, Amy and Jake and was already planning colour
schemes and garden plants.
    'Yep. Good house. Was me mum's for years. She died a
couple weeks back, suddenly like.'
    'How many bedrooms?'
    He looked at me with horror and I realized what I'd said.
I'd been away with the fairies, frolicking around our beautiful
garden in this lovely Cornish village, with my sweet children
and my gorgeous husband. I'd heard his words but hadn't taken
them in, so wrapped up was I in my own dreams and schemes.
    I felt dreadful. Mortified, embarrassed and guilt-stricken.
'Oh God, I didn't mean – oh I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. About
your mother. Poor her. Poor you. Oh what you must think of
me, so inconsiderate, so unfeeling.' I went on in this fashion
for a few more sentences, feeling terrible and desperately trying
to make amends.
    Finally I dithered to an end. He was backing away from me
but opening his mouth like a fish gasping for water, no doubt
to utter some ancient Cornish curse on my soul.
    'Three,' he said.
    'Pardon?'
    'Three bedrooms. There was a fourth, but Ma used it for
her best parlour.'
    We didn't buy that house, though we did look at it. It wasn't
quite right for us, but very shortly afterwards, through word
of mouth, we found another house in the same stunning village
of Treverny.
     
    My first week with Royal Mail is a blur. Kindly folk in the post
office show me the ropes, get me acquainted with the rules,
regulations and various quirks of a vast government body.
They're kind, but there's a wariness in their attitude towards
me, a kind of aloofness. Like Susie, they don't think I'll be
around long.
    Susie has shown me around: the main sorting office in Truro
and the two small post offices where I'll be based, in St Geraint
and Morranport, two harbour villages. I've also been shown
the various routes that I will cover, a sixty-mile round by van
and seven miles by foot. I'm doing relief work, covering for
Susie and an older postman called Reg. I've had a go on my
own but only with an experienced Royal Mail helper shadowing
and backing me up.
    But now all that is over and today I am a proper postperson,
completely on my own.
    I plunge gamely into the controlled chaos in the mail room,
sort my letters and parcels, load them onto my trolley in proper
order and even manage a light-hearted raunchy joke or two
with the others as we gather our post.
    Feeling smug and well pleased with myself, I push open the
two massive rubber doors with my trolley and trundle outside
into the darkness and the rain. And that's when the panic