Jane was a breath of fresh air. I phoned her back and she suggested I come over to hers for lunch. She couldn’t believe it when I said I didn’t drive (and Aidan, no great surprise, has buggered off back to London – you saw that one coming, didn’t you?). So, bless her, she drove over and took me back to her house. She lives in a barn conversion, but a nice one, tucked away and with a gorgeous walled garden. You walk in and the sense of light and space and comfort hits you in the face. It’s a warm house, in all sense of the word. Jane and her husband Charlie run a website design company and work from home in a fabulous open-plan office attached to the main house. They’ve got two young children, both at the village school, and about nineteen pets (big dozy Labrador, neat perky Patterdale terrier, three cats and divers hamsters/rabbits/guinea pigs/whatevers).
They moved from London about fifteen years ago and came to this village about three years back. She seems pretty embedded in the local community – governor at the school; giving free ‘get on the web’ sessions at the pub; on the quiz team; doing yoga; going on regular ‘sociable’ rambles. And the knitting of course. Charlie poked his nose round as she prepared lunch and said hello. He seems totally decent too. A teddy bear of a man: tall and broad, tussled light brown hair, broad smile, bit overweight but attractive, like a big comfy sofa. He said he’d ‘leave us to have a gossip’ and whistled the dogs out for a walk.

I have to admit that I splurged a bit. Told her about London and how I hated being stuck down here. She totally understood.
‘I lived in London right through my twenties and I loved it, every minute of it. I partied so hard that I really got it out of my system,’ she said. ‘By the time we moved, I was so ready to get out. I needed the sleep! But it was still a culture shock. It probably took me about two years before I didn’t think of everything in terms of London. But now I wouldn’t move back for the world.’ She gave me hope really. She and Charlie had tried for years upon years before she got pregnant with Toby. Then Seren had come along pretty soon afterwards. They had moved here, and found – as she put it – their niche. I felt like I’d known her for years – isn’t it funny how some people are like that?

After lunch we went for a walk round the village and I have to say it is far nicer than ‘my’ village. It’s not that it’s a particularly pretty place, in fact quite the opposite. It’s really rather workmanlike, plain, down-to-earth, no-nonsense. But incredibly friendly and full of a pleasant bustle. We dropped into the pub for a quick snifter and it is SO different from our gloom-pit. Sunlight streaming through big clean windows. Sofas by the fire. Mismatched tables and chairs with little jam-jars of daffodils. A pool table in one corner and a small huddle of men playing darts. A big noticeboard with local tradesmen and upcoming events. Seems they host a folk night from time to time; they do the usual quizzes and darts matches; they even have a hairdresser who’ll cut your hair once a month (think I’ll still try to get to London but the situation is getting a bit dire).

There was a short robust menu chalked on a blackboard – pea and ham soup; local sausages and garlic mash; shepherd’s pie; veggie lasagne and great big baguettes. ‘All local producers,’ said Jane. ‘They do a fabulous Sunday lunch. You and Aidan should come down and join us. Meet the kids too.’
It’s funny but I’m not sure I want Aidan to meet them. I sort of want to keep them to myself. Maybe I’m worried that, if they become friends with Aidan, they won’t be ‘my’ friends anymore, they’ll become ‘our’ friends or Aidan will take them over. He has a habit of doing that – half my London friends ended up being purloined.
We sat by the fire with brandy (for me) and a malt (for her) and shared a slab of chocolate brownie. I asked her about our village and she wrinkled her nose.
‘Don’t really like it. Sorry.’
‘Oh Lord, don’t apologise. I can’t stand it. But tell me why.’
She said it felt different, had a totally different atmosphere. Maybe because it’s down in a valley it makes it more enclosed, more inward-looking.
‘I find it depressing,’ she said. ‘It’s like a dead place. Full of oldies and saddoes – present company excepted. It’s pretty enough, and got some lovely properties but I wouldn’t live there if you paid me. Apart from anything else, there wouldn’t be anyone for Toby and Seren to play with. No children. It’s mainly doddery ancients or the active retired.’

We finished off with a coffee and then she drove me back. We went the back route, past Farm, and I mentioned Hazel. Jane gave a sort of snort of derision. ‘Unbelievable. Stuck in the bloody Middle Ages. Silly cow. I did offer to teach her IT – get her out of here.’
‘That’s a bit harsh. Maybe she likes farming.’
Jane just rolled her eyes. I bit my lip. OK, so being married to foul old Badger and spending life on a quad bike rounding up ridiculous sheep isn’t my idea of fun. But she seemed reasonably happy with her lot and I thought Jane was being a bit judgmental.
‘I quite liked her,’ I said.
‘Can’t stand her,’ replied Jane.
We both laughed. ‘Can’t agree on everything,’ she said as we rolled bumpily into our yard.
Ben was there, obviously hoping to measure up. Bending over the bonnet of his Landrover giving us a fine view of a very pert bum.
Jane looked at me. ‘But there’s something we can both agree on. That’s one neat arse.’