Pink Wellies and Flat Caps by Lynda Renham Page B

stopped me was the queue. I’d also passed a pub called The Heifer. I ask you, a name like that doesn’t encourage you to order an extra portion of chips does it? Then there was the village shop which also seemed to be the local gossip corner with a noticeboard outside which I had quickly studied with a promise to return to later. Then there was a charity shop that smelt musty and a greengrocer’s. Opposite the shops is the village green. By the third time I became quite dizzy but amazingly in all that time the only men I saw were the butcher in his lovely striped apron and hat, and the greengrocer in his green overall. Surely they and Edward aren’t the only men in the village. It isn’t like one of those films is it, where there are only women and the men are used just for sex? Good heavens, they’ll be fighting over me. The greengrocer will be in competition with Edward and the butcher as to who will get to me first. Although I have to say Edward isn’t trying that hard if fish and chips and Cornish pasty is his best tactic to get a woman into bed, and I could never sleep with a butcher. I watch too many movies that’s my problem. I’m beginning to sound like the nymphomaniac city girl who’s just ridden into town. Now I’m onto westerns. I should be a novelist. I’m wasted as a housekeeper.
    ‘I’m Lydia,’ she says, extending one hand which was supporting the bicycle.
    It wobbles and she straightens it with the other hand.
    ‘You must be the lady who has come to work at Trenowyth.’
    Blimey, word gets around fast. I take her hand, which is dry and calloused, and almost say I’m Alice, the famous nymphomaniac from the city, but fight the impulse and say instead,
    ‘Hello, I’m Alice. I thought I’d do a bit of food shopping …’
    She grabs my hand in a vice -like grip and turns it palm up so viciously that I almost yelp. She takes a step closer and almost stifles me.
    ‘Oh my, I’m getting so much from you,’ she cries.
    I’m getting far too much from you I think, including the garlic you ate for dinner last night. There’s nothing worse is there than those people who cross the imaginary line and then stand boldly in your personal space. If she gets any closer there won’t be any personal space left. This is becoming seriously uncomfortable. Maybe it is her that is the nymphomaniac.
    ‘Let me look at your palm.’
    Which I have to tell you is quite sweaty at this point.
    ‘Erm,’ is all I can mutter.
    ‘Oh my lovely, there is so much here.’
    She looks up at me with pitying eyes.
    ‘You’ve had heartbreak haven’t you my lovely, and not too long ago. Bastards they are, men, bastards .’
    Steady on.
    ‘I run an enlightenment group in the village. You must come to our meeting. I read palms, and yours is fascinating. I can see a new love …’ she drops my hand suddenly. ‘What am I doing, we’ve only just met. You must think me so rude. Here, let me give you a leaflet.’
    She fumbles in her oversized bag pulling out rea ms of paper.
    ‘Ah, here we are,’ she says, handing me a crumpled leaflet which smells of lavender and bergamot.
    ‘Buddhism on Mondays, you can’t beat mindfulness. Yoga on Tuesdays and on Wednesday I do my readings … Well it’s all in the leaflet. They see me as the weird and wonderful one in the village. All crystals and spirit raising you know the sort of thing? Still we can’t all live in the dark ages can we?’
    I find I’m nodding and shaking my head all at the same time. It wouldn’t surprise me if it fell off any minute and it would all be her doing. Some spell or other.
    ‘Thank you, I’m sure once I get settled I’ll pop along. I wonder could you direct me to the supermarket.’
    ‘Oh, it’s Lidl you’ll be wanting, that’s a mile and a half out of the village.’
    Did she say Lidl? I really don’t think I look a Lidl woman. Not that I have a clue what a Lidl shopper looks like of course. I mean, why would I? I don’t think I have ever