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I shift my focus from the trees to Doug. When he’s got my attention he goes on. ‘That van, ’tis sent by your new neighbours. The ones moving here from London. Mebbe you know each other, eh? Being as how you’re from the same place.’

This isn’t the first time that Doug has assumed I know everyone who lives in London. I guess it’s because he knows absolutely everyone who lives not only in Treverny, but in half of Cornwall, or so he makes out. I say, ‘I’ve met them once, when they bought the house. Kate and Leon Winterson.’

Doug puts on his best sombre look, purses his lips, nods knowingly. ‘Nice is as nice does,’ he announces enigmatically. Since he’s always making enigmatic pronouncements, no one takes much notice of this.

Daphne, who is stamping her feet with the cold by now, says, ‘Are you saying, Doug, that the van is going to Treetops?’

‘Exactly that, my lover,’ Doug replies. ‘Treetops, that empty house right next door to Tessa here. That’s why he be havin’ such trouble; ’tis such a narrow road, and the drive to the house is near impossible to get up, it be that rutted and slidey. It be stuck right where it is now. Ain’t making them car drivers happy, let me tell you.’

That fact is pretty obvious. Several of the car drivers are out and talking with the driver. They’re mostly locals on their way home from picking up children from school, or from shopping, or work. They’re used to country ways, waiting around patiently for a tractor to go up a hill, or sheep and cattle to be moved from field to field, but this monster of a removal van is a bit much, you can tell by the looks on their faces.

From further up the road behind the van, behind the six or seven cars stuck there waiting to get by, I see a sleek black Land Rover pull up. That’s not a local farmer, I know; the vehicle is too new, too trendy. This Land Rover looks far too posh to get Cornish mud or dung or straw all over it. The doors open and two people get out. I recognise them as our new neighbours, Kate and Leon Winterson.

While Leon goes to talk to the driver of the van, his wife Kate comes running up to me. ‘Oh, you’re our new neighbour, uh, Teresa isn’t it?’

‘Tessa. Welcome to Treverny.’

‘Yes, welcome,’ Daphne says. The others standing around nod once or twice. They are a wonderful lot, the villagers, but it takes them time to get to know and trust the people who move into their village from Up Country. You can’t blame them; in the past, they’ve seen so many people come and go as Cornwall has become more and more desirable over the years, as a summer holiday destination, as a place for a second home, and for some, a dream, an idyllic paradise in which to start a new life. The locals have been witnessing this for years, so they will wait, watch, bide their time, and judge the new couple, as they do all the incomers, by their actions over the months or even years, until they make up their minds. I know from experience: the first year we were here, I didn’t feel accepted for months and months. It wasn’t until Ben got ill and the villagers all rallied around that I realised we were at last welcomed wholeheartedly into the life and soul of the community.

And so it will take the Wintersons some time, but I hope it will turn out well for them. I’m sure it will; when Ben and I met them, they both seemed delighted to be here, and eager to start settling in. Right now, though, they are not off to a good start.

‘Oh Tessa, I’m so relieved to see you,’ Kate says. ‘We just got here; we were following the van but had to stop for petrol, said we’d meet the removal men at the house. It seems a terrible muddle! What’s the matter with the driver? Can’t he drive properly?’

Doug, who is enjoying all this immensely, says, ‘Well now, maid, I reckon the problem be not with the driver, but the fact of that big vehicle you got there. Far too big for these roads. You should of thought of that before you hired ’im, my handsome.’

Poor Kate is so flustered by these words that she doesn’t know what to say. By now a cold wind has come up and with it, an icy rain, so the villagers reluctantly start to disperse, back to their warm homes. Daphne says goodbye and goes off as well, leaving me, Doug, and Kate standing there shivering. Kate looks lost and frozen. She’s an attractive woman but right now her face is twisted with anxiety. She’s so wound up she can hardly stand still, but keeps tapping one foot then the other. I can’t help noticing her gorgeous knee high boots which look elegant but not snow and rain proof. Her thin wool trousers, tucked inside the boots, are far too fine to withstand the wind now whipping around the village. ‘C’mon, Kate,’ I say. ‘Come on into my house, have a warm drink. Let the men sort it out.’

Doug snorts. ‘Hah, there be only that lot from Up Country, they be no use.’ He points to Leon Winterson talking heatedly to the two removal men. ‘I’d best go give’em a bit of advice.’ He swaggers up to them. Oh dear, I think, well-intentioned as he is, he’ll only make it worse. Doug always does, somehow.

Luckily, at that point Ben comes out of the house where he’d been at the computer, juggling our finances, trying to make ends meet as we’ve done ever since coming to Cornwall – it’s been a constant struggle, but a small price to pay for living the life we’ve chosen. ‘What’s going on?’ Ben asks while Jake leaps about in excitement, hoping Ben’s arrival signals another walk today. He’s already had one, straight after I got home from my morning postie round. We went to Penwarren Beach, not far from the village. The breeze was getting up and the sea choppy, but it was still fantastic. We had the beach to ourselves so we ran together as if we were trying to outrun the wind. Well, OK, I exaggerate; I’m not exactly a runner, but all that ozone gave me so much energy I ran for a few minutes anyway.

After Ben and Kate greet each other briefly, Ben takes over. He orders us into the house to warm up – Kate is turning blue with cold in her flimsy winter coat, long and sylish, but with only two large buttons to keep out the cold. That’s no good for a Cornish winter, not even the short kind of mild ones we usually have in this part of Cornwall. She says, ‘I can’t go in and leave poor Leon.’ She looks along the road at the van. Leon and Doug, the removal men, and several of the car drivers are all talking and pointing and getting hot under the collar, or so it seems from here.

Ben says, ‘I’ll see what I can do to help. I’m sure we can manoeuvre the cars around to get them past, and somehow get the van at least a bit closer to the house.’

Kate looks so relieved that for a mad minute I think she’s going to throw her arms around Ben and give him a big hug and kiss. But he’s run up to the other men and I take her into the house to put the kettle on. Jake, following me, gives me his hangdog look, designed to pull on my heartstrings. But I stare him down. ‘You had an extra long walk on the beach this morning,’ I tell him sternly as I bring out mugs and milk for the tea. ‘So don’t try giving me a guilt trip.’

Kate is looking at me strangely. ‘D’you always talk to your dog?’ she asks.

The question surprises me; I hadn’t thought about it before. ‘I guess I do. Why, don’t you?’

‘We’ve never had a dog. Oh, but we can have one now. Since I was a child, living in the city, I’ve always wanted pets. A rabbit, and a guinea pig, and maybe a hen, or even a goat …’ She looks rapturous and I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s not as easy as all that, having tried some of these things. But she’ll learn, just like I did.

Much later, Ben comes in with Leon. It’s dark by then and I’ve got a chicken casserole in the oven. Will and Amy are home from school and lounging about watching a favourite half hour of television. I ask Kate and Leon to stay for a meal, and they accept gratefully. Luckily there is plenty there for everyone after I’ve thrown in some more veg and taken some homemade bread rolls out of the freezer and popped them into the oven as well. Ben and some of the locals have managed to clear the traffic jam, get the van driver to steer down a helpful neighbour’s wider drive to get closer to Treetops, and all the furniture has at last been unloaded. Though the removal men did the bulk of the work, of course, Ben and some of the other villagers helped with the smaller items until finally it was all done. ‘I can’t believe they did that,’ Leon says as he settles down at our kitchen table. ‘It would never happen in London. All those men, who don’t know me at all, have never seen me before, pitching in and giving a hand.’

He and Kate shake their heads in amazement. Ben says, ‘That’s one of the best things about village life in Cornwall. People always seem to give a hand if you’re in trouble.’

Leon nods. ‘Well, we were certainly in a mess. No one seemed to know what to do until you came along, Ben. Thanks for that. Now how about sharing this with us?’ He holds up the bottle of champagne he brought in from his car. I nearly yelp. It’s a very fine champagne, and extraordinarily expensive. Kate says, ‘We were going to have a romantic evening in our new Cornish home, but this is much better, meeting our new neighbours properly.’

Though we protest, they insist on sharing not only that bottle but a second one, and we end up having a very merry evening. Luckily I’ve got a day off tomorrow so don’t need to set my alarm for four in the morning. We talk for ages, have some good laughs, and Ben and I listen as Kate and Leon talk of their dream of living in Cornwall coming true. ‘We’re sick of the city, of the rat race. Always work, trying to get ahead, or someone else will get your job. No time for each other, or for more children. But that will all change now. We want the good life, the simple life.’

They sound so much like Ben and me talking when we were discussing our move to Cornwall that we smile at each other. Leon sees our fleeting smiles and says, ‘You two look so happy here. You’re living the dream we want to live now.’

He looks so hopeful, and so full of confidence, that Ben and I raise our glasses to him and wish him luck. He nods in acknowledgement. He’s a nice-looking man, dark-haired, dark-eyed. Like Kate, he’s obviously straight from the city with his expensive new casual clothes, his haircut which certainly wasn’t styled by a rural barber. His ankle boots are more suited for city streets than our lanes and footpaths, that’s for sure, but the couple have only just arrived; no doubt we looked quite citified when we got here, too. It’ll be fun watching them change, become countrified, just as we did.

When we go to the front door to see them off, I give Kate an impulsive hug, saying, ‘It’s so good to have you next door. Treetops has been a rental cottage for so long that it’s a real joy to know you’re here permanently.’

Outside, to our surprise, a light snow has fallen; the ground is white, sparkling in the moonlight for the clouds have cleared. The trees in front of the house creak as their bare branches rub together in the wind. Their silhouettes are starkly beautiful. Across the road the old stone church keeps vigil over this village as it has done for centuries. On its sloping porch roof, glistening snowflakes settle and ice over. The bell tower gleams in the moonlight. I decide I love Cornwall just as much in winter as I do in the other seasons.

Kate and Leon, arms around each other, thank us again for dinner. Kate says, ‘And now to our new home to face the cold. Luckily we’ve brought some electric radiators down with us for tonight. I can’t wait to get our central heating in.’

I nearly said that they wouldn’t need central heating, with that huge new wood burner they had installed when they bought the house. It’ll heat the water and at least a couple of other rooms with the back boiler, so what else do they need? But I’ve learned not to give advice unless it’s asked for. When I first came here I sometimes tried to organise people and events too much, for that was my job in London, and I prided myself on doing it well. But I learned that in the country, people quite rightly like to do things their own way, and changes have to come slowly, grow organically.

Ben and I, arms wrapped around each other, watch them walk down our path and along the road towards their own house, slipping and sliding on the ice in their city boots. But they’re giggling and clutching each other. ‘Goodness, they seem so young,’ I say.

‘Younger than us by about ten years, maybe a bit more. But not so young that they don’t know what they’re doing.’

‘I’m not so sure.’ We close the door and go back into the warmth of the house. ‘We didn’t know what we were doing did we, looking back. When we first came here.’

‘Maybe not. But we learned quickly enough, like they will, too. C’mon, let’s go to bed, it’s late. You might not have to get up early but I do; I’ve got an early call.’ Ben is an actor, and though it’s been a struggle for him to find acting jobs in Cornwall, he’s managed to get some voice-over work here and there, which is what he’s doing tomorrow. He’s just been offered another small part in a
Doc Martin
series that’s filming in Port Isaac, but that won’t start till spring. It’s great when he gets acting jobs for, like me, he’s had to turn his hand to all sorts of work since moving down here. Most of us do. We struggle with several part-time jobs as full-time employment is hard to find, with too many qualified people for each job.

I’m still thinking of the Wintersons as I get ready for bed. ‘You know,’ I say to Ben, ‘I think we’re still learning. About Cornwall. About this life. I think we’ll be learning new things about the countryside for ever.’

But Ben’s asleep. Before I join him, I’m wondering what other new and wonderful things I’ll learn as this year develops. Whatever they’ll be, I know for sure they will be interesting. Life here has certainly always been that.

CHAPTER TWO

A Slippery Slope