The track to the house was long and unmade. A tombola of gravel churned against the underside of the car as we bumped along. The estate agent had told us to take a look ourselves – it was so far out of town that she couldn’t be bothered to attend the viewing.
We had only got halfway down the track when I knew I wanted to live there. By the time the house itself came into view, I was phoning to make an offer. It was a futile gesture as that part of the world has never had, and will never have, mobile reception. In fact, in that part of the world it’s widely believed that electricity comes in buckets from the Magic Well.
The ridge of the slate roof undulated like a wave and the guttering below clung to it for dear life. Inside it stank of damp, the staircase was rotten and most of the downstairs had been pine clad then painted in a deep-orange stain. No matter. I loved it. It wormed its way into my heart and it has never left. As the conveyancing rumbled on, I sat at my desk in London and made plans. Kate would paint, and I would … I would … well, I’d have a vegetable garden and keep chickens. I could make artisanal chutney! Bespoke jams! Unusual pestos!
It was going to be heaven.
The day we arrived the entire neighbourhood came to say hello, including several artists, a semi-professional water diviner and a white witch. I’m a fan of white witches. After telling me my aura was pink, she winked and said, ‘You’re in the right place. The South West is like a Christmas stocking – all the nuts end up at the bottom.’ And with those words of wisdom, she turned on her ruby slippers and left.
That afternoon, as a spectacular sea mist rolled in, we headed to the local shop to get firelighters. On returning we found a brace of partridge nailed to the front door, with a long trail of blood dripping down the paintwork. I remain unclear as to whether it was a neighbour’s way of saying hello or the Cornish mafia’s version of the horse’s head in the bed.
I had imagined heaven, and indeed it was. It was heaven for exactly four days. Because the week I moved there the work phone started ringing again.