Eight
Sally waited until the young girl with the fabulous auburn pixie cut came out of the bookshop before walking in herself. She’d parked up in the small car park at the bottom of the village green and had wandered around, getting a feel for the place, before making her way back to the bookshop and tearoom she’d visited with Karen yesterday.
She slowly walked around, looking along the bookshelves, hoping to find something that covered the local history of the village and surrounding areas but all she was seeing was romance novels. Not that she had a problem with those but they weren’t what she was after right now.
‘Can I help you? Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?’
She turned to walk over to the counter and the lady with the nice, smiling face.
‘Hi, I’m erm… I’m looking for a book, or books, about the local area. Something which covers the history perhaps.’
‘I see. Well, my primary stock is romance novels and thrillers but I do hold a small selection of local history pamphlets. They’re just over there by the door, on that stand.’
Sally followed the pointing finger and saw a small wooden stand that she’d walked right past when she came in. It held leaflets for various activities in the surrounding areas along with some a bit further afield. Nestled in among them were some pamphlets, not more than half-a-dozen pages thick.
She pulled two out and had a flick through them – there didn’t seem to be much substance to either one and she couldn’t see anything about the farm.
‘Is this all there is?’ she asked, walking back towards the counter.
‘I’m afraid so. If you’re looking for something more in-depth, you may need to head into Oxford and look at the libraries there but I suspect if there was anything of note, our local authors,’ she nodded at the pamphlets, ‘would have included it.’
‘I suppose…’
Sally took her purse out of her handbag.
‘I’ll take these anyway, I might find a mention of what I’m looking for.’
‘May I ask what your point of interest is?’
‘Bramblebush Farm.’
‘Hmm, I can’t say I know of it. Mind you, I’ve only lived here four years, there’s probably quite a few outlying farmers I’ve yet to meet. I could ask around for you, if you like?’
‘Thank you, that’s a very kind offer but there’s no need. It was just more of a passing curiosity.’
‘Well, tell you what, take our card and if you change your mind, give me a call. I’m Jenny. Jenny Rowland.’
‘That’s a kind offer, Jenny, thank you. I’m Sally. Now, I’ll just pay for these and get out of your way.’
‘Ah, there’s no charge for those. They’re just little freebies for any tourists who are interested.’
‘Oh, right, thank you.’
Sally put the items in her bag, picked up the business card Jenny had passed to her and with a smile and a wave, said goodbye.
The sun blinded her for a moment when she stepped back outside and while her eyes adjusted, she heard the gentle thwack of leather on willow, alerting her to a cricket match taking place at the top end of the village green. She thought of the date and realised it wasn’t long now till the first game of the season. She wasn’t a huge cricket fan but Steve had been. She turned to see the players, not yet in their whites which suggested this was a practise session, and the sight of them made her smile. There was something so quintessentially English about cricket on the village green that she loved. It lent a lovely, soothing ambience to the village and the added attraction of the duck pond only served to enhance it.
As she walked back to the car, Sally let the feel of the village soak in and she knew then that this was a place where she wanted to live.
It was Monday morning and Sally felt like a cat on a hot tin roof. She couldn’t sit still and kept fidgeting at her cash desk.
‘Girl, did you mix up your talcum powder with itching powder this morning? You ain’t sat at peace since you got here.’
‘I’m sorry, Joyce. Just got a few things going around my head.’
‘Going around your head? Honey, they is going around your ass, the way you’re wriggling on it.’
She laughed as Joyce turned back to serve the customer walking towards her. Despite being Midlands born and bred, Joyce liked to deliver everything with an American twang and it certainly added colour to their conversations.
Sally wasn’t joking when she said she had a few things on her mind. She did, in fact, have a lot of things on her mind! Since returning from Oxfordshire on Saturday, she’d trawled the internet, written out lists, trawled the internet some more and written out more lists.
She’d done everything from checking out how many B&Bs were in the area (seven but none within a ten-mile radius), builders (four potentials and one who was actually based in the village which was handy), qualifications for the B&B (no legal requirements but several licences would need to be applied for) and a million other things besides.
There was so much to be considered. What age was the farmhouse and was it listed? Would she be allowed to make alterations to it? How much work would it need? How many rooms did it have? She’d been more than a little pissed off when she’d gone onto the estate agent’s website only to find the farm wasn’t listed anywhere. How could she be expected to draw up plans if she didn’t have all the information she required?
Everything would be moot, however, if she couldn’t purchase the farm. And by now, her heart was firmly set on it. She’d phoned the estate agent in her break to arrange a viewing this afternoon and to say the woman she’d spoken with had been surprised by her request was an understatement!
‘I’m sorry, did you say you wanted a viewing of Bramblebush Farm?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Bramblebush Farm?’
‘Yes, that’s correct. This afternoon if possible.’
‘Oh! Erm… one minute please…’
The minute had grown into five by the time Sally was taken off hold.
‘I apologise for the delay. The file had been misplaced. Would you like the details over the phone?’
‘Could you email them to me, please. I only have a fifteen-minute break.’
‘Of course, I’m happy to do that. Once you’ve looked them over, you can call back if you would still like a viewing.’
‘I’ve already told you I want to view the property this afternoon if you can fit that in.’
‘What? You don’t want to read the property details first?’
‘Well, I could have done that if it had been listed on your website but since it’s not, I’m going to have to go in blind as it were! Now, can you arrange a viewing for later today or not?’
‘Err, yes… yes, I can. Would 3pm be suitable?’
‘Perfect. Thank you. My name is Sally Edwards.’
After providing the agent with her email address and mobile number, she hung up and gave a little squeal of delight which echoed around the empty staff canteen.
Her shift finished at twelve noon. Just under two-and-a-half hours until she was out of here and on her way. A frisson of excitement ran through her and for the first time since she’d taken this job, she really wished she wasn’t there.