‘You don’t want to be doing that barefoot,’ I said. ‘Easy way to lose a few toes.’
‘See, Freddie? I told you, didn’t I?’ the woman in the hat said.
Freddie scowled and set up for another swing. He inched his feet back. This time he got the log square-on and the blade sunk in without splitting it. He rocked the axe back and forth but it was firmly stuck.
I joined him.
‘Got any steel-capped boots?’ I asked.
‘Must have left them in London,’ he said.
It was a miracle he hadn’t taken his foot off. I took the axe from him and pulled it out of the log. He had a respectable pile of split wood to one side.
‘You did all that?’ I asked.
‘I was doing fine,’ he said.
‘That’s the thing with equipment like this,’ I said. ‘When it works, you can get a lot done. But you’ve got to be ready for the time it doesn’t work.’ I placed my foot next to his and showed him a split in the leather on the side.
‘I was doing the same thing once,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t concentrating and the axe bounced off. Went through my boot like butter.’
‘Did it hurt?’
‘No, but I felt pretty stupid when I had to go in and tell Mum.’
I handed him the axe.
‘What size are you?’
‘Eleven.’
‘I’ve got an old pair of boots that would do the trick,’
I said. ‘Drop by sometime and you can pick them up. Home Farm, on the way to Uckfield.’
The blousy woman, Constance, poured tea. She’d brought out a plate of bread and jam, with apologies for not having biscuits or cakes.
‘How long have you been here?’ Margaret asked.
‘A few weeks,’ Constance said. ‘Right, Kay?’
Kay, the other artist, shook her head.
‘Four weeks tomorrow.’
‘We’re so grateful to Vaughn. It’s amazing what he’s doing. Everyone thinks so.’
I must have looked quizzical. Constance answered.
‘The artists’ colony. Such a perfect idea, especially now.’
‘Where were you before?’ I asked.
‘We have a small house in Bloomsbury,’ Kay said.
‘It’s getting unbearable in town,’ Freddie said. ‘Blackouts, air-raid sirens. You can’t hear yourself think.’
‘Freddie’s sensitive,’ Kay said. ‘He needs peace and quiet for his work.’
