spun round. She was on the right but it couldn’t have been her, could it? Her eyes darted around the room. Nobody was moving, not even a twitch. Her heart was racing and she could feel the panic rising.
‘Two ninety, at the back,’ said the auctioneer and Beth let out a sigh of relief. That was a lucky escape.
‘Any advance on two ninety?’ The auctioneer was looking directly at Beth.
What the hell had she bid on? She snatched up the catalogue and quickly thumbed through the pages, past her first choice of apartments she had come to buy and that had shot high above her budget.
‘Selling for two ninety,’ said the auctioneer, looking at someone at the back. ‘Lot 37, Willow Cottage, selling for two hundred and ninety thousand pounds.’
Beth found Willow Cottage in the catalogue and speed-read the blurb. It sounded like a slice of paradise – a cottage overlooking a traditional village green in the heart of the Cotswolds. She bit her lip. It was like that moment on eBay when you quite like something; it’s not exactly what you were after but the urge to grab a bargain and be termed a winner suddenly surpasses everything.
‘All done at two hundred and ninety thousand pounds? Going once, going twice …’
Beth waved her bidding card in the air. ‘Three hundred thousand,’ she croaked, wondering what on earth she was doing. She was meant to be waiting for her second choice of flats to be auctioned.
‘Three hundred thousand on my right, thank you,’ said the auctioneer. After checking with the other bidders he finally concluded. ‘Sold to the lady on the right brandishing the upside-down bidding card.’ And the gavel gave a satisfying thud as it hit the wood.
‘You have reached your destination,’ announced the Sat Nav with ultimate confidence. Beth pulled the hire car into the kerb, switched off the engine and looked around. She was parked by a large area of greensward, which was dotted with trees and encircled by impressive old properties of differing sizes.
Beth picked up the auction catalogue and peered at the small grainy photograph, then reread the description underneath – ‘Willow Cottage stands in a secluded position overlooking the village green within the picturesque Cotswold village of Dumbleford. Rare opportunity to purchase this freehold detached dwelling. Plot circa 0.6 acres with stream running through the property. Renovation opportunity.’
Somewhere in the back of Beth’s mind she recalled a certain person saying that he wouldn’t live in the countryside if his life depended on it and right now that felt like an added bonus. She checked the back seat. Leo was stirring from his journey-induced slumber and he instantly smiled when he saw his mother. The six-year-old was too tall for his car seat and would soon need to upgrade to a booster, but for now Beth just wanted to keep him safe.
‘I wish you’d brung my iPad,’ said Leo as he stretched.
‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t find it. And brought is the past tense of bring. Okay?’ What did they teach them at these private schools? ‘Shall we go and explore our new home?’ Beth waved the auction details excitedly.
Leo yawned and stretched. ‘I’m hungry, Mum.’
Having anticipated this, Beth went to rummage in the boot and handed Leo a small bag of dried mango pieces as he got out of the car. Beth crouched down and showed Leo the small photograph of Willow Cottage on the auction sheet.
‘Now all we have to do is find our cottage. Which one is it, do you think?’
They both studied the small photograph. It was taken at an angle and part of the cottage appeared to have a climbing plant growing prettily up one side. There was a biggish garden in the foreground and very obviously a willow tree. It was quite a dark picture so it was hard to make out much else.
‘It can’t be hard to find a cottage with a tree like that in the garden, now can it?’
Leo shook his head as he shoved another mango piece into his already full mouth. He thrust the empty packet at his mother and hand in hand they started to walk around the green, checking out each house.
‘There’s no swings in the park,’ observed Leo.
Beth chuckled. ‘It’s not a park, it’s the village green. It’s more like a garden.’
‘Whose garden is it?’ asked Leo.
‘No one’s and everyone’s, it’s for everybody to use.’
‘Huh,’ said Leo, looking a little perplexed at the concept and possibly at the pointlessness of a space such as this without any swings.
It really was a divinely pretty village, thought Beth as she looked about her. The village green itself was the biggest she’d ever come across with well-worn paths crisscrossing it and a mixture of mature trees that she would need to consult Leo’s Book of the Countryside to identify correctly. Well cared for benches, with no signs of graffiti, were dotted at strategic points and the whole area was surrounded by the prettiest white chain-link fence that scalloped its way from post to post around the perimeter. A very grand mock-Tudor building had a prized position overlooking the centre of the green and two very symmetrical red-brick buildings either side stood slightly back, as if knowing their place. A couple of the smaller ones were thatched and Leo shouted excitedly as he spotted a thatched figure on the roof.
‘Pigeon!’ he squealed.
Another sign her son was London born and bred. ‘No, I think it’s meant to be a peacock,’ said Beth, squinting a little at the odd-shaped creature with the long tail. A small pond was home to a handful of fat ducks and what looked like a few of this year’s ducklings. There was a tearoom that had the look of a converted cottage, the only thing giving it away was the swinging sign in the shape of a large teapot. Each window had pristine white shutters making it stand out against the other not so well dressed properties. At the other end of the green was the village store cum Post Office, which appeared to be semi-detached to a very sweet looking cottage with a white picket-fenced front garden. Beth studied the small photo again. No, Willow Cottage was meant to be detached and there was no sign of the tree. Next to the store was the pub – the Bleeding Bear. It had a pub sign that could easily give a six-year-old nightmares so Beth hurried them past. As they drew near to the hire car Beth realized they had done a whole circuit. She spun round to see an ornate sign that clearly stated ‘DUMBLEFORD’ so they were definitely in the right place, but where was Willow Cottage?
A clanging bell announced that the door of the village store was opening and Beth and Leo watched as a figure dressed head to toe in beige came out, pulling a tartan wheelie trolley.
‘Let’s ask someone,’ said Beth, and she and Leo approached the hunched-up person. ‘Excuse me. Please could you direct me to Willow Cottage?’
The beige-clad old lady jumped and clutched at her heart. She was barely bigger than the trolley. ‘Oh my life, you gave me a turn!’ she said as she started to rummage in her trolley. She pulled out a bottle of sherry, unscrewed the top and took a large slug of the contents. Beth knew her eyes were as wide as an owl right now and she was very unsure what to do. Leo was mesmerized. The lady went to return the bottle to the trolley but stopped and suddenly thrust it under Beth’s nose.
‘Mind my manners, dear. Would you like some?’
‘Uh, no, thanks.’
The
