Maisie was saying, ‘Isn’t it daft how you never notice something, but when you do you see them everywhere.’
Dulcie replied, ‘What do you mean? Another five minutes and I’ll serve up, so do you want to lay the table?’
‘Dalmatians,’ Maisie said, getting a handful of knives and forks out of a drawer. ‘I take it Otto’s not eating with us?’
‘Good lord, no! Do you think he’d let me cook if he was?’
‘True. As I was saying, I saw a Dalmatian dog in the high street the other day, and now I keep seeing them everywhere.’
‘Are you sure it’s not the same one?’
‘Don’t say that, because I could have sworn I saw Mum’s car in the village the other day too.’
‘It’s a well-known thing,’ Walter said. He’d read about it recently. When the farm was his, he’d barely had time to open a newspaper, but these days he scoured it from end to end. What else did he have to do with his time? He continued, ‘It’s called ‘the frequency illusion’ where you see something, like a particular breed of dog or model of car let’s say, or hear something like a name, and then you begin to notice it everywhere, so you think it’s more common than it is.’
‘You learn something new every day.’ Dulcie opened the oven door and a waft of fragrant steam billowed out.
Walter’s mouth watered. He was looking forward to this – good, simple, honest food, without any frills, just like his wife (God rest her soul) used to make. As so often happened when he thought of her, Walter was filled with sadness. She had died far too young, when Otto was a teenager. It was she who had nurtured Otto’s love of cooking.
‘I’ll put some of this pie aside for Adam to have later, shall I?’ Dulcie suggested, ladling out generous portions onto plates.
‘That would be lovely, thanks.’ Maisie gave her sister a one-armed hug.
It warmed Walter’s heart to see how well the sisters got on, because that hadn’t always been the case. Maisie had been drifting and rudderless when he’d first met her, flitting from job to job (Nikki used to call her Maisie Daydream), but the girl seemed to have settled down, helping Dulcie on the farm, as well as trying to get the old place on the hill up and running. She was a hard worker, he’d give her that, and so was Adam.
He envied the youngsters their enthusiasm, drive, and energy levels. Just thinking about it made him feel tired, but he supposed feeling tired was par for the course as one got older; and it hadn’t helped matters that he had been so unwell. Thankfully, he could feel his energy slowly returning, although he was aware it would never be the same as it was.
He should learn to celebrate the small things, the little wins, such as he and Amos making play equipment for the goats, and him walking to the top of the mountain and back – even though it had laid him up for a couple of days afterwards.
Walter was feeling fine again now though, so maybe it was time to make inroads on all those odd jobs that needed doing around the cottage. If he took it slow and didn’t over-exert himself, he was certain he could get them done without having to ask for help. It would give him something to do, and at the same time would prove to Otto and the rest that he wasn’t over the hill just yet.
Despite the house looking barer than Beth could ever remember it being, the move to Picklewick still didn’t seem real, even though she had given notice to her landlord, arranged for herpost to be redirected, informed all the necessary utilities, and had booked the removal company.
It had been difficult to decide what she would take with her and what had to be got rid of (the house in Picklewick was smaller than this one, so about half of her furniture had to go), but afterwards she had felt strangely cleansed. And it hadn’t taken as long as she’d anticipated to go through everything, and she was now left with the bare bones of her old home.
She had been quite ruthless and had probably thrown out stuff she could have used in her new place, but she wanted a fresh start; so this morning, with a week left until moving day, she intended to go shopping with Enka, who was probably her oldest friend. She had worked with her for almost twenty years until Enka had packed in her job to help look after her little grandson when his mum went back to work.
‘What are you looking for?’ Enka asked, as they walked towards the Bullring Shopping Centre, Enka dragging her shopping trolley behind her. Short and dumpy, Enka dressed like a Russian peasant from the nineteenth century and swore worse than a football hooligan. Beth adored her.
She was going to miss her badly, but they were seeing less and less of each other since both ladies had ceased work. Whereas Enka’s life was full of her children and her grandchildren, Beth’s life lacked both… Hopefully her move to Picklewick would rectify not seeing enough of her kids and Sammy.
Beth patted her handbag. ‘Curtains,’ she announced. ‘I’ve brought the measurements with me. There are curtains up at the windows already, but they’re not to my taste. And I thought I’d buy a couple of cushions to go with.’ She beamed. ‘I might even treat myself to some new tea towels.’
‘I think you should,’ Enka said. ‘You can never have enough tea towels. Or flannels.’
‘Shall we have a cuppa first?’ Beth suggested.
If she was honest, she was keener on having a good old chin wag than buying curtains, because she was all too aware that it might be a long time before she saw Enka again. Once Beth was settled in Picklewick, she suspected she would be unlikely to return to Birmingham any time soon.
Cuppas bought, they settled themselves in a corner booth of the retro diner and Beth brought out a packet of Fig Rolls and offered one to Enka.
‘I don’t think you’re allowed to eat your own food in here,’ Enka said, taking one, nevertheless.
‘I’m not paying those prices for a bit of cake,’ Beth said, biting into hers. Fruity sweetness exploded on her tongue. ‘Daylight robbery, that’s what it is.’
‘Will cake be any cheaper where you’re going?’ Enka asked.
‘Doubt it. Nothing is cheap anymore.’
