measurements Ruthie had taken up the lovely bedroom curtains: light mauve and dark purple violets that had hung in Etta’s bedroom at Bluebell Hill. In Etta’s new bed-room they now hung six inches too long and muddied by removal men’s feet.
Seeing his mother shivering, Martin exhorted her not to worry. ‘Dad’s huge duvet folded double will keep you warm.’
‘I miss Sampy so much,’ Romy mopped her eyes, ‘seeing all his things here.’
‘These came for you this morning.’ Martin thrust a handful of letters into Etta’s hand as they left.
Now the sledgehammers and drills of Badger’s Court were silent, loneliness swept over Etta. She could have coped if she’d had a lovely bath to soak in or, more importantly, if Bartlett were still alive. She’d never feel herself until she had an animal with whom to share her life. Why did her children paralyse her with fear as Sampson had done? Why hadn’t she visited the bungalow more often and laid down the law about conifer hedges and hard standings?
Listlessly she opened one of the letters. It was crammed with glow stars to put on the ceiling, and contained a card from Trixie: ‘Darling Granny, Good Luck in your new home.’
Etta burst into tears. How could anyone ever call this hellhole a home?
11
Willowwood, clinging to one side of a steep wooded valley, was one of those sleepy Cotswold villages with a village green, a high street flanked by grey-golden houses, a lichened church and a pub called the Fox, because the politically correct former land-lady had lopped off the words ‘and Hounds’.
To the north was the Salix Estate, inhabited by the less affluent members of the community: some old villagers, and some wilder elements given to dumping rubbish, playing too loud music and chucking fireworks. There was also Greycoats, an excellent village school, which put at least £45,000 on the house prices.
‘So lovely that Drummond and Poppy will grow up with lots of local friends,’ gushed Romy.
Along the bottom of the valley meandered the River Fleet and descending into it, like a host of blondes racing down to wash their hair, was a wood consisting entirely of weeping willows. The same willows, their leaves curling with the approach of autumn or falling to reveal golden stems, ringed the village and adorned the village green – hence the name Willowwood. There was a legend in the village that every time a boy was born a willow must be planted.
Rushing or trickling, depending on recent rainfall, through the village and accompanied when it reached the woods by a grassy footpath was the stream which passed Etta’s bungalow, flowing into a rushy willow-flanked pond and out again, down to the river.
Willowwood was such a lovely village that its inhabitants were as appalled by Etta’s bungalow as Etta herself.
How the hell had Martin Bancroft got planning permission?
People were entirely sympathetic towards Valent Edwards, who must have planted the mature conifer hedge so the lovely grey eyes of Bonny Richards didn’t have to gaze on such a monstrosity.
On the Monday after Etta arrived, Romy and Martin set off on a fundraising course on how to entrap celebrities, leaving her in charge of Drummond and Poppy. Etta promptly goofed by putting chocolate, crisps and ham sandwiches made with white bread in Drummond’s lunch box, which turned him into more of a fiend than ever.
Returning to the barn after school, Drummond had complained he’d seen a big rat in the potting shed, locked Etta in when she went to investigate, ate a box of chocolates she’d been sent as a moving-in present, and became so hyper he beat up his sister for letting Etta out.
Returning to screaming chaos, Romy ticked Etta off roundly. Poppy then announced that Granny was going to get a puppy.
‘You are not getting a puppy, Mother,’ exploded Romy. ‘It would chew up everything and dirty our lovely barn. Drummond is allergic to dogs. And frankly, Etta, aren’t you a little too old? It’s rather selfish to take on a puppy that might outlive you. You’ll be kept quite busy enough getting to know your grandchildren.’
The following morning, returning to the bungalow having dropped off Drummond and Poppy at their school, Etta began worrying about what she could give them for tea without poisoning them. And how the hell could she find a home for the towers of books on the floor, the clothes on her bed and the pictures propped against the walls before Romy bagged them for the Willowwood Autumn Fayre?