This Is Your Life by Susie Martyn Page A

he whispered girlishly to Lizzie.
    ‘Oh, we simply love parties, darling.  We’ll just have to have one,’ gushed Angel.  ‘And we just thought that in the summer, what better place?’  He stood there proudly, surveying the bedlam.

Chapter 8
     
     
    Caving in to the invisible forces at work, Lizzie arranged to view the empty cottage. Just out of curiosity. There was no harm in looking, was there?  She’d quizzed Antonia about it that evening, as they shared yet another bottle of wine.
    ‘Good God Lizzie.  You’re full of surprises!  You can help at the horse show if you’re staying – I need another pair of hands.  With all those super competitive mothers and their ghastly brats, it’ll be chaos…  Talking of which, William had his sheep out earlier.  Bloody brilliant it was!  When he eventually got the last one into the field and shut the gate, you should have heard those drivers!  William stood there glaring at them and didn’t say a single rude word, which was bloody astonishing for him.  Think he rather enjoyed himself.  Next lots due to move at 8am precisely!  Awfully good sport, don’t you think?’
    And at 8am the next morning all hell was indeed let loose, as it wasn’t only William who dutifully moved his flock three hundred yards back up the lane to the field they’d come from the previous evening, but at the other end of the village, his wristwatch perfectly synchronised, Mr Woodleigh’s cows meandered unhurriedly in the opposite direction.  Clearly this morning the traffic had built up both ways, with furious drivers yelling and hooting and it just so happened to culminate in the mother of all pile ups outside the Star.
    Lizzie hid in her room and watched with amusement as the Hooray Henry’s and Yummy Mummy’s waved fists and yelled in plummy voices about this being an absolute bloody disgrace before accelerating sharply up the lane and splattering their immaculate vehicles with cow pats.  Ten minutes later all was quiet again, and Lizzie walked up the road to look at the cottage.
     
    Like most cottages in the village, Rose Cottage was part of the Littleton estate, but had been empty for quite a while, so old Bert, the estate manager told her when he showed her round.  Bin in the Woodleigh family for generations, or so he told Lizzie.
    ‘ You prob’ly seen him earlier out with them cows.  Nice family,’ he said. ‘But all them houses are the same.  A bit basic, like. Not to everyone’s liking.’ He’d chuckled.  ‘But bit of a clean up and a lick of paint, it’ll look alright’
    Th ere was a whiff of damp as Lizzie stepped into the kitchen.  She wanted to throw open the windows and let the sunshine in so this poor, neglected little house could breathe.  Then wash down the woodwork down and paint its walls… turn it into a home again.
    ‘Still, it keeps the rents down,’ he added.  ‘You want it, you can move in whenever you like. Think you’d be right at home.’
    ‘ Don’t you want references?  Credit checks?’ she asked. ‘What do you need?’
    The old man shrugged.  ‘Always gone on gut feeling meself.  Never worked against me in the past.  No, don’t you worry about that Miss, you’ll be fine.’
    All her objections were floating away.  As she walked through the small rooms, the thick walls felt as inpenetrable as the towering oaks outside.  And as the cottage drew her gently to its heart, it propelled up the stairs, waiting with bated breath for her to discover the view that lay in store.  As she gazed at the fields that stretched for miles, an image of a beach flashed into her head.
    ‘Can I just think about it ? Only for a day or two, but it’s just, well, I want to be sure…’
    He chuckled. ‘You take your time. I won’t let anyone else round till I hear from you, you have my word on that. You know, I’ve a feeling it would be right perfect for you...’ 
    Unbelievably it really was that simple.  If she decided she did want