The Magic Cottage by James Herbert Page B

eyes were not focused on the view outside, but on somewhere distant, not on this planet.
    ‘You’re getting weird, Midge,’ I warned.
    She laughed, instantly back in this time and space. ‘Weird, am I? Who used to lie down on railway tracks and make me swear undying love? Who eats hardboiled eggs with the shell still on? Who came home on New Year’s dawn wearing a policeman’s helmet and no trousers? Who—’
    I held up a hand. ‘The egg was for a bet. Anyway, that was in my youth.’
    ‘The helmet escapade was two years ago.’
    ‘See how I’ve aged? Come on, we’ve got work to do.’ My policy is to change the subject when on shaky ground. I rose from the table, the chair scraping against the floor tiles. Midge reached out and touched my arm.
    ‘You’ve worked hard all morning, so why don’t we take a break? There’s no great urgency to get everything finished at once.’
    ‘There’s a lot of scrubbing, painting . . .’
    ‘We haven’t explored yet. Let’s go for a walk, get some fresh air, find out just where we’re living.’
    ‘I don’t know . . .’ I said as if pondering.
    ‘You’re such a fakeout, d’you know that? You can’t wait to get out of all those chores.’
    I grinned. ‘You’re right. They’ll still be here tomorrow. Shall we drive somewhere?’
    ‘No.’ She disdainfully drew out the word. ‘I want to look at our surroundings. I want to go into the forest.’
    ‘That place? You mean it’s real? I thought it was just a set.’
    ‘Titter, titter,’ she said, shaking her head.
    Outside, warm air wafted over me as if I’d opened an oven door and I could feel its goodness seeping through to my bones. A bee droned by and hovered over flowers, spoilt for choice. A fluttering above our heads caused me to turn and look up; I saw there were birds nesting in the eaves of the roof.
    ‘So that was it,’ I said aloud.
    Midge regarded me curiously. ‘That was what?’ She followed my gaze.
    ‘I thought we had mice in the loft. I was just getting ready to take a look earlier when you called me. It must have been birds mooching around up there.’
    ‘Inside?’
    ‘I’m not sure. They could have got through the eaves. I’ll check it out later.’
    ‘My man,’ she sighed, and dodged my pinching fingers.
    We climbed the embankment on the straight side of the cottage rather than take the steps round the curve, me pulling Midge up behind, grasping a tree branch that leaned over from the top of the incline for support. We crossed the stretch of grass, scrub and single trees and, hand in hand, like babes, we went into the woods.
    That wasn’t quite as easy as it sounds, because first we had to find a way through the tangle of bracken and blackberry bushes which formed a dense barrier along the forest’s edge. There were several openings, but not all were obvious at first glance and some only led into a second line of defence. Still, we eventually found a way in and it wasn’t long before the cottage behind us was lost from view and the air had become gloomy damp. Our feet sank into what felt like a springy deep-pile carpet and Midge informed me that the topsoil was formed by dead leaves, plants and decomposing animals. The last part made me feel uncomfortable and it didn’t help when she further informed me that what we walked on was filled with living organisms that broke down and rotted the above-mentioned. That was how the forest thrived rather than becoming cluttered up with litter year after year – nothing was wasted, every dead thing, plant or animal, contributed to the life of something else. Interesting, I told her, and so it was.
    Enjoying herself, she pointed out trees and things, not in an attempt to broaden this city slicker’s education, but to get me interested and involved in my new environment. Oak, ash, sycamore, maple – I began to appreciate the different shapes and characteristics (not that I was quite as dumb as I pretended). She explained that there were