It was a huge relief when the pilot announced they’d be landing at London Heathrow in twenty minutes, just after five in the morning. The cabin staff began a rapid clear-up and passengers got in their way as they gathered their personal possessions together.
Simone felt nervous but told herself not to be stupid. She muttered what had rapidly become her mantra: I can do this.
After the plane had landed, the disembarkation went smoothly and as her British passport got her through customs quickly, her anxiety began to ease. Neither this passport nor its predecessors had ever been used until this trip. She’d only kept a current one at her parents’ insistence that it could be very useful to have when you 54were travelling outside Australia, which she might want to do one day.
She never had until now, though, still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing.
Thank goodness someone was meeting her – and thank goodness for the large signs telling you where to go in airports.
As she walked out into the terminal pushing her luggage trolley she breathed a sigh of relief that she had got through it all smoothly and looked round for Bob and Linda Ditton. She’d seen what they looked like, easy to remember with long, curly grey hair for Linda, a bald head and spectacles for Bob.
Only they were definitely not there, either singly or as a couple.
She went past the people waiting to meet visitors and hung about nearby, watching others enjoy their reunions. She envied them. Being met by strangers wouldn’t be the same as being greeted by loved ones. Still, at least she was being met.
Only, the minutes ticked past and there was still no sign of the Dittons. She kept glancing at the clock or her watch – or trying not to when she found only two or three minutes had passed. They must have been caught up in traffic.
When more than half an hour had passed and a whole new set of people had arrived to wait for the next group of arrivals, she began to wonder if the Dittons had got the date or time wrong, or even had an accident on the way here.
Harriet had given her their mobile number, so after fiddling around for a little longer, she pulled out her phone 55with its new sim card – Thank you, Libby! – and dialled it.
‘Hello!’ a woman’s voice said.
‘Is that Linda?’
‘Yes.’
‘Simone here. I’m at Heathrow. Um, I was told you’d be meeting me.’
‘Oh, no! We thought it was this evening not this morning. Oh dear, I’m so sorry! Just a minute.’
Simone heard her yell for her husband then explain the situation to him.
‘Are you still there, Simone? Look, it’ll take us just under two hours to get to Heathrow. We’ll set off straight away. I can’t apologise enough for the mix-up.’
‘No, no! Wait. I’ll catch a taxi.’ Whatever it cost, she couldn’t bear the thought of hanging around the terminal for hours longer.
‘You don’t need to do that. We’re happy to come and get you.’
‘I’d rather find a taxi. I’m not fond of airports.’ Especially after seventeen hours on a plane.
‘Neither am I. Oh dear, I feel so guilty. What a dreadful welcome for you!’
‘Look, I have your address. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll go and find a taxi straight away.’
When she’d disconnected, Simone stood for a few moments coming to terms with the situation, telling herself not to panic. I can do it! I can!
She took a few deep breaths and kept repeating those words in her mind for the sheer comfort of them and gradually calmed down. Of course she could do it. Catching taxis wasn’t rocket science, even in a foreign country.56
Should she have waited for the Dittons? No, she didn’t want to stay in this crowded airport for one second longer than she had to. She was desperate for fresh air and daylight, instead of hurrying people and what seemed like miles of garish artificial lighting.
As a loudspeaker made an echoing and utterly incomprehensible announcement, she looked round at the various signs informing travellers of their choices and found one saying simply ‘Taxis’ so set off with her trolley in the direction it indicated.
There. She’d found the taxi rank.
The driver of the first car in the line said he was too near the end of his shift to take her on a long trip into the country. He studied her, eyes narrowed, and added, ‘Get a fixed price for your journey, love. It’ll be cheaper.’ He even told her roughly how much she should pay.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’
‘Well, you look like a tired, lost soul to me, and surely that’s an Aussie accent?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘I like Aussies.’
She didn’t like his description of her, though. Did she really look like a lost soul in need of pity? Squaring her shoulders, she moved to the next taxi, trying to look more confident. ‘I need to go to Wiltshire. Can you take me, and how much would it cost? I’d like a fixed price.’
He named an amount and it was close to what the first driver had suggested, so she accepted and let him load her luggage into the boot.
A guy in a uniform came and grabbed the trolley, whisking it away. A mother snatched a small child out 57of his way and gave it a warning shake. A young woman stopped dead and began arguing with a guy in some incomprehensible foreign language.
All Simone wanted to do was get away from this noisy chaos. Hopefully she’d be able to go for a walk this evening. She loved being out in the open air, hadn’t enjoyed being shut up in a plane.
‘Want to sit in the front?’ the driver asked as he closed the boot on her luggage. ‘You’ll see more of the scenery that way.’
‘Thank you. That’d be nice.’ She fastened her seat belt, relief running through her as she leant back. He closed his door on the noisy world and the car slid away from the kerb and began to thread its way through traffic.
After they’d exchanged a few remarks, he too asked, ‘Is that an Aussie accent?’
‘Yes.’
‘First time here?’
‘Not exactly. I was born here but my parents emigrated when I was six so I don’t remember much.’
‘It’ll all have changed way beyond recognition since then.’
How the hell old did she look? she wondered, feeling a bit miffed.
‘I hope you have a good holiday. Mind if I put some music on? It’ll take just over an hour and a half to get there, depending on traffic.’
‘Go ahead. I don’t mind at all.’ She’d prefer not to talk, wanted to study her temporary country of residence. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t feel like someone starting a holiday. She felt numb more than anything, slightly disoriented and nervous. Definitely nervous.58
What have I done? Why ever have I come here?
There were several lanes of traffic meeting and separating as they left the airport, with vehicles changing from one lane to another like demented ants everywhere she looked. It reminded her of her visit to Sydney. But the lane discipline of these drivers seemed better, well, mostly better, and the signage was excellent.
She could cope with driving here, too, she told herself firmly. But not today. Today she was too tired.
Soon they were away from the worst of the traffic, though the M4 freeway they were driving along was still busy. No, they were called motorways here, weren’t they, not freeways, she reminded herself.
Gradually the traffic thinned and they began driving intermittently through pretty countryside alternating with industrial areas. Some of the trees on the motorway verges had delicate young foliage though none seemed fully in leaf. It still looked lush and green after the dryness of a West Australian autumn following a hot summer. Well, it was spring here, wasn’t it?
What did Blake’s poem call it? ‘England’s green and pleasant land’. That definitely fitted the countryside round here.
They passed turn-off roads every few miles and she watched the names of towns she’d only heard mentioned before flash by. Then at last she saw the sign for Swindon, which she knew was the nearest big town to the smaller one where she’d be living. But the driver didn’t take that turn-off as she’d expected and her heart did an anxious skip.
‘Um, wasn’t that the way to Swindon?’59
‘That first turn-off leads to the east side of the city. We take the second one, because your destination is at the western side.’
And there the sign was soon afterwards with the name of her new town on it: Royal Wootton Bassett. She relaxed again.
‘Not far now,’ he told her cheerfully.
They went quickly through the small town, which didn’t seem to have woken up properly yet. Well, it wasn’t quite eight o’clock in the morning. She’d set her watch to the right time on the plane.
They turned off after the town, passing through another small place called Marlbury then twisting along some narrow country roads, before coming to a sign saying ‘Penny Lake Leisure Village’. They were here. Oh, thank goodness!
Following his satnav’s instructions, he drove slowly through an entrance with gorgeous hanging baskets of flowers on either side, past a car park and hotel, then across to a group of houses and a few more being built. People in yellow high-vis jackets were just starting their morning’s work on the new houses at the far end of the street as he came to a stop in a drive partway along.
‘Here you are, love. Nice place, isn’t it? Is this where you’re staying, or are you just starting off here?’
‘I’m staying here for a few months. I did a house swap.’
‘Lucky you. There’s a golf course right on site.’
‘I don’t play, I’m afraid.’
‘I’d be out on it every day I could if I lived here.’
As Simone fumbled for her credit card, the front door of the house opened and a man hurried out. ‘Simone? Oh, 60good. I’m Bob and I’ll get this.’ He pushed away the card she was holding out and handed the driver his own. ‘It was our mistake entirely, so you shouldn’t have to pay. You go inside and I’ll bring your luggage.’
She told him how much had been agreed for the fare and got out, thanking the driver, before pausing to take a quick look at the house. It was a detached residence built of wood which was painted the same colour as the other houses on the street, even though they were all of different styles. The whole place looked very attractive.
Her temporary home was a two-storey house with large windows on either side of the front door. It had a nicely balanced appearance with a traditional roof shape and that pleased her. She didn’t like ultra-modern houses with bits of roof sticking out at odd angles as if they’d been put on wrongly.
She realised there was a woman standing patiently at the door and she was keeping her waiting, so moved across to join her. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d coped with a small crisis perfectly well today. She smiled at the thought, feeling as if she’d grown taller, somehow.
‘I’m Linda.’
‘Simone.’
‘You must be exhausted.’
‘Not too bad. I managed to get some sleep on the plane.’
‘Come in. Welcome to your new home.’
Taking a deep breath Simone walked steadily forward into her new life.
I can do it.61
Russ heard a car draw up outside and went to look out and check that it wasn’t for him. No, it was a taxi and had stopped in front of the house next door. Bob rushed out to it, waving what looked like a credit card.
The woman who got out was taller than Bob, probably nearer to Russ’s height, and she had a tan she couldn’t have got in an English winter, so she must be the Australian they were swapping houses with.
Duh! Obvious. Well done, Sherlock Holmes! he thought mockingly.
He couldn’t help thinking what a lovely figure she had. Curvaceous. He wasn’t into scraggy women like his half-sister.
The stranger went inside with Linda while Bob unloaded her luggage from the taxi and carted it into the house.
Russ smiled as he went back to sorting things out and making lists of stuff to buy. He was turning into a peeping Tom. Well, he enjoyed watching people even if he didn’t always want to chat to them. He’d had a surfeit of people in the hospital, always poking and prodding at him.
He carried on, saving the best task until later in the afternoon. He’d dumped his photography equipment in the so-called formal living room, which he intended to set up as a studio, a proper, dedicated studio for the first time in his life. Well, he’d make a start on setting it up. He’d have to buy some new furniture, supplies, stationery, all sorts of things to equip it properly.
He was really looking forward to doing that because there hadn’t been room to set up his equipment at his aunt’s house or at the cupboard-sized flat. He went to stand by 62the rear window and stare happily at the lake, which he could see one part of from here.
He’d promised himself that this studio was going to be the best he could make it. Buying and selling houses was a pain, so this one was to be permanent. What did older people call their final houses? Death nests. He grinned at the thought. He’d cheated death for the time being, thank you very much. And the physio said another couple of months should see him back to normal.
He looked round the studio with a proprietary eye. Perfect. He’d had an extra window built into the blank side wall and light was streaming in. He was going to use the garage for a darkroom, so that the studio would stay spacious and tranquil. His car wouldn’t notice whether it was raining or even snowing.
He picked up his notebook and began to go through his provisional list: two desks, new desktop computer, easel, big cupboard for his cameras and supplies, filing cabinet. He intended to get back into all aspects of his work from now on. He’d missed the photography itself most of all and soon he’d be going on real trips out into the countryside.
He didn’t have any firm contracts at the moment, due to the accident, though he had a few ideas to broach to his agent. He had just finished the television series when he had the accident and she’d said it was selling well. She’d be happy to pitch any ideas to them again once he’d recovered. He’d contact her tomorrow to say he’d moved in.
He took his grandfather’s old camera out of its bubble wrap and cradled it against his chest. He didn’t rely only 63on modern digital equipment, though that was wonderfully versatile. Sometimes an old-fashioned camera like this one could produce subtleties for stills which, in his opinion, digital’s sharper focus could erase or miss.
He had a lot of photos of Australia to download from the time before the accident. He had only vague memories of the days after it. Most of his work had been stored online and had survived.
He put his camcorders into the cupboard. He’d be needing them again soon with all the wildlife round the lake tempting him to go out and invade their privacy – just a little.
He loved what he did for a living, was lucky to earn a decent amount from his various artistic passions – and even luckier that years ago his brother had persuaded him to take out income guarantee insurance as well as house insurance after his marriage broke up. He’d hate to have had to break into his retirement savings to get through the past year.
A robin landed outside on the back patio and began singing, making an amazing amount of noise for such a tiny creature, and flittering about in delicate little hops. He grabbed a camera and moved cautiously closer to the French window, managing to ease it quietly open to capture the robin’s joyful movements before it flew away.
That seemed a brilliant omen.
Abruptly he became aware that his body was aching and a sense of weariness was making him long to sit down. His stomach rumbled and he glanced at his watch. Past six in the evening. Where had the day gone? No wonder he was feeling ravenous.64
He walked across to the kitchen area, stopping on the way to admire the flowers, now properly arranged in a vase he’d forgotten he owned until he unpacked it.
He’d overdone it today – and had enjoyed every blessed minute of it, aches and all.
Should he go up to the hotel for a meal? No, he couldn’t be bothered. A bowl of cereal would have to do. Or baked beans on toast? With a banana for dessert.
Yes, he could just about summon up the energy to make that.