I’m lonely. I never thought I’d say that. I’m not the lonely type. But, in London there were always people around, always someone calling up asking if you fancied the latest film or a quick drink in a bar, or popping over for coffee and a quick natter. This just doesn’t happen here. Yes, Jane is becoming a friend but she has her life, her children, her husband, her work, her ‘causes’. I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling up, it wouldn’t be fair. Also it goes against everything I am. I am not a helpless little girl. I am – or I like to think I am – a strong woman. At work I used to have a reputation as a bit of a tough cookie – if there was a tricky situation they’d send me in to deal with it.

I love bargaining. When Aidan and I went to Egypt he hated the game of haggling, got irritated, bombastic. Whereas I was right in there, sitting on a stool, thick dark coffee in one hand while the other one waved around, fingers flying, eloquent as words. OK, so the salesman had a family of ten to feed – I had a whole orphanage. I adored it.
We ended up with statues of Bast, supposed ancient amulets, papyri and heavy bead necklaces that we didn’t really need or particularly want, but it was the fun of it. It was a game.

But it’s funny that, when it comes to men, I am not a good game-player. Whereas, in my professional life or in the bazaars of Cairo, I can keep a poker-face, my cards clutched close, in my personal life I’m an open book, fair game. I fell for Aidan hook, line and sinker. I slept with him on the first date (easy as apple crumble). I told him I loved him on the third (but only after I’d snuck a look at his Blackberry and read the email where he told his sister that he had found ‘The One’). Love is precious to me. Maybe because my family were not warm, not in any way lovely or loveable.

I had a tough upbringing. As you know, we were farmer’s children, my brother and I – and, to be honest, I never felt more or less than another animal. I don’t know how I was conceived but it wouldn’t remotely surprise me if you told me it was by AI with a large syringe. We were fed enough to thrive but not to grow fat and, as soon as we could walk and understand a simple command, we were set to work. My brother Tim would inherit the farm, of course. I would do….whatever. Marry, work, who cared? Incredible really. Tim worked with the cattle and sheep. My area of duty was the chickens (I can’t look a chicken in the eye to this day), the ducks and pest control. The first time I was handed a shotgun I couldn’t even lift it to my shoulder. But I soon learned. I was paid by the tail – be it rats, moles, rabbits or squirrels, or by the beak – crows, magpies, rooks. I’m a good shot.
Anything that could be eaten was eaten (the blog about ‘tree squirrels’ reminded me all too unpleasantly of this). If we didn’t eat it, we went hungry. We ate everything.

I also learned to ride, almost before I could walk. My mother was not a natural mother but was a very natural horsewoman, born of centaurs, welded to a saddle. There was not a horse she could not ride, not a colt she could not tame. She hunted three days a week during the season and Tim and I were expected to join her, just as soon as we grew large enough to ride ponies long-legged enough to keep up with the field. I was blooded at seven, a year before my brother (which gave me inordinate satisfaction).

Fi and her family were my real refuge. They taught me kindness, they tutored me in love. Otherwise I think I would have become one of those feral children who can never bond. I craved kindness, sucked up intimacy like a sponge. So was it surprising that I saw in Aidan my chance for a new life? A man of my own, a family of my own. I think anyone who has had a childhood bereft of love craves children in a way no pampered, cosseted, adored child can imagine. It surprised my London friends. They were all too busy with their careers. But all I wanted – and still want – was to remake the world as it was meant to be. To give a child all the love in the world. To rewrite history and make it kind.

Sorry, this is a rant. I thought I could write this blog without emotion. But it’s impossible. The deal, I thought, was that we could move down here to start a family. But Aidan is never here. When I spoke to him last night he said that he had to stay in London over the weekend. It’s ridiculous. What is so urgent that it can’t be done over the phone or by conference call? He’s being secretive about it too, which really hacks me off. He was the one who wanted to move here. He was the one who talked about fresh starts, fresh air, fresh opportunities. So how come I’m the one stuck down here in a place that reminds me, all too clearly, of the most unhappy days of my life?