floor. She had the house to herself having despatched Ella, Ash and George on a further tour of the local countryside.
Bless her, Poll thought dreamily, Ella was such a lovely girl. She’d already fitted in so well, and George clearly adored her. Sad about the boyfriend, Mark, not wanting children though. That was a hugely insurmountable problem. Still, hopefully, he’d miss Ella so much during her time here at Hideaway that he’d be prepared to change his mind.
Anyway, right now, there were more important things to think about, because today her new family would be complete.
Poll, wearing a baggy, saggy skirt, a well-past-its-best shirt, her blissfully comfortable but falling apart espadrilles, and with her newly washed hair covered up with a pair of George’s pants clean from the laundry basket, beamed to herself.
Trixie would be here this afternoon, and before long, Billy Booker would be arriving…
Her heart gave a little skippety-skip of excitement.
Dust motes swirled and danced around her in the shafts of sunlight on the increasingly hot May morning, and Poll stopped sweeping for a moment and leaned on her broom to gaze at their twirling prettiness. They looked like tiny sparkly fairies, twinkling and darting in the sun. A sprinkling of Trixie’s fairy dust to bring magic into her life? No, she laughed to herself, that was far too fanciful – even for her – but she was so looking forward to seeing Billy Booker again.
Everything was, she thought, resuming her sweeping, going to be absolutely perfect for Billy’s arrival. There was very little left to do. Billy’s room was all ready, with fresh flowers, spare linen, tea, coffee and little packets of homemade biscuits, gung-ho books and blokey magazines – and everything else anyone could want. Poll was sure Billy, like all the disenfranchised newcomers, would be feeling very strange to start with, and wanted to make him completely at home.
And this time she’d be doing it without the welcoming committee as she’d rather cunningly, she thought, suggested that before today’s marathon cook-in, Ella and Ash would like to investigate the neighbourhood further, and if that involved finding somewhere for George to paddle and indulge in ice cream on this scorching morning, so much the better.
‘Fiddlesticks would be perfect,’ Poll had said artlessly. ‘It’s not far and a lovely fat shallow stream runs right across thevillage green there. Crystal clear, a little bridge where you can sit and dangle your feet in the water, and perfect for paddling. And the Weasel and Bucket on the green do superb ice cream sundaes. All the local children gravitate there on days like this. I wish I could join you, but I must wait for Billy.’
Shortly, Poll thought now, as soon as this last-minute sweeping was done, she’d be able to shower off the sweat and grime and turn herself into a proper neat-and-tidy hostess. She’d wear her best Indian print frock and her amber beads and her favourite flip-flops, the purple ones with the sequins, and she’d be ready to welcome Billy Booker into his new home.
And later Trixie would be here too and then her new family would be complete. It was going to be a lovely fresh start for all of them.
Ah… but, nooo, surely not? Poll dragged herself from her reverie – surely that wasn’t a car on Hideaway Lane, was it? Yes, it was, and it had stopped. Outside the farmhouse. Oh, Lordy, surely it couldn’t be Billy arriving, could it? He’d said late morning but – was it? Already? Poll had lost all sense of time.
Propping the broom in a corner, wiping her grubby hands on her skirt and blowing the dust from under her nose, Poll, accompanied by two of the dogs, hurried through the cool, sweet-scented house to find out.
Billy Booker’s car, standing rumbling outside Hideaway Farm’s front door, was an ancient rusting Austin Allegro in an unfortunate shade of cowpat.
Billy, early fifties, shortish, with plentiful fair hair, a
Bless her, Poll thought dreamily, Ella was such a lovely girl. She’d already fitted in so well, and George clearly adored her. Sad about the boyfriend, Mark, not wanting children though. That was a hugely insurmountable problem. Still, hopefully, he’d miss Ella so much during her time here at Hideaway that he’d be prepared to change his mind.
Anyway, right now, there were more important things to think about, because today her new family would be complete.
Poll, wearing a baggy, saggy skirt, a well-past-its-best shirt, her blissfully comfortable but falling apart espadrilles, and with her newly washed hair covered up with a pair of George’s pants clean from the laundry basket, beamed to herself.
Trixie would be here this afternoon, and before long, Billy Booker would be arriving…
Her heart gave a little skippety-skip of excitement.
Dust motes swirled and danced around her in the shafts of sunlight on the increasingly hot May morning, and Poll stopped sweeping for a moment and leaned on her broom to gaze at their twirling prettiness. They looked like tiny sparkly fairies, twinkling and darting in the sun. A sprinkling of Trixie’s fairy dust to bring magic into her life? No, she laughed to herself, that was far too fanciful – even for her – but she was so looking forward to seeing Billy Booker again.
Everything was, she thought, resuming her sweeping, going to be absolutely perfect for Billy’s arrival. There was very little left to do. Billy’s room was all ready, with fresh flowers, spare linen, tea, coffee and little packets of homemade biscuits, gung-ho books and blokey magazines – and everything else anyone could want. Poll was sure Billy, like all the disenfranchised newcomers, would be feeling very strange to start with, and wanted to make him completely at home.
And this time she’d be doing it without the welcoming committee as she’d rather cunningly, she thought, suggested that before today’s marathon cook-in, Ella and Ash would like to investigate the neighbourhood further, and if that involved finding somewhere for George to paddle and indulge in ice cream on this scorching morning, so much the better.
‘Fiddlesticks would be perfect,’ Poll had said artlessly. ‘It’s not far and a lovely fat shallow stream runs right across thevillage green there. Crystal clear, a little bridge where you can sit and dangle your feet in the water, and perfect for paddling. And the Weasel and Bucket on the green do superb ice cream sundaes. All the local children gravitate there on days like this. I wish I could join you, but I must wait for Billy.’
Shortly, Poll thought now, as soon as this last-minute sweeping was done, she’d be able to shower off the sweat and grime and turn herself into a proper neat-and-tidy hostess. She’d wear her best Indian print frock and her amber beads and her favourite flip-flops, the purple ones with the sequins, and she’d be ready to welcome Billy Booker into his new home.
And later Trixie would be here too and then her new family would be complete. It was going to be a lovely fresh start for all of them.
Ah… but, nooo, surely not? Poll dragged herself from her reverie – surely that wasn’t a car on Hideaway Lane, was it? Yes, it was, and it had stopped. Outside the farmhouse. Oh, Lordy, surely it couldn’t be Billy arriving, could it? He’d said late morning but – was it? Already? Poll had lost all sense of time.
Propping the broom in a corner, wiping her grubby hands on her skirt and blowing the dust from under her nose, Poll, accompanied by two of the dogs, hurried through the cool, sweet-scented house to find out.
Billy Booker’s car, standing rumbling outside Hideaway Farm’s front door, was an ancient rusting Austin Allegro in an unfortunate shade of cowpat.
Billy, early fifties, shortish, with plentiful fair hair, a
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