Arian's Pool Ch. 01

Stood in the function room of the nearby pub cradling my god-daughter I felt the pang of desire for a child again. Now so much worse than before; previously it had been something for Jonathan and me to deal with. Now it was just me.

My revenge was sweet though,

"Come Jon-Jon," said Allan, the second he saw me stood anywhere near my ex, "We're going!"

"What?" said Jonathan who was chatting with an old Oxford alumni about some possible work projects.

"Yes, Jon-Jon, do as master tells you," I'd had a couple of glasses of wine by this stage, "Bark like a bitch Jon-Jon, bark like a bitch."

"Fuck you!" Spat Allan.

"Jonathan," I stood next to him an laid a gentle hand on his arm and pointed at the large mirror on the wall of the bar area, "look in the mirror." He did so. "I never realised that you had to wear a uniform to be gay."

"It's not a uniform, it's an expression of his emerging personality," minced Allan.

"Really," I said. "Jonathan, you look fucking ridiculous, and what's more I think you know you look fucking ridiculous." I pecked him on the cheek and squeezed his arm, "see you boys." As I turned I'm sure I saw a look of regret in Jonathan's made-up eye.

With the house sold, what was left of the money was a tidy sum but wasn't enough to even fund the purchase of a flat, not even a lease, not anywhere near where I wanted to live. My boxes went into short term storage and I moved in with my older sister Theresa and her husband John for a few weeks in their tiny loft room with a promise not to stay more than a month.

One laptop evening I gave up on London and was checking out houses for the amount of money I had and just clicked on the 'anywhere' box and they were spread across the country - then I saw my dream home.

In the heart of rural Wales was a tiny town between somewhere and somewhere else just off of the main road to absolutely nowhere.

There it was, 'two bedroomed, two up, two down cottage in excellent condition, recently decorated throughout with original fireplaces, log burner and full gas central heating throughout and double glazing.' It also had an acre of land behind and was on the market for £82,000 'for quick sale'.

I am a copy editor for a large publishing house (I'd done a series of crime novels hence my freedom with legal terms I'd thrown around with Jonathan and Allan) and effectively I could do my job anywhere that had a telephone and internet connection. The house had it fitted, I could even see the satellite dish on the side of the house for the TV. I was enchanted by the picture and that a river with fishing rights ran through the back large back garden - AND PADDOCK!

It still amazes me that I was so taken with the paddock; other than growing up in the West Country and with no idea or experience with horses I had no idea why a large piece of land at the back of my house should intrigue me so much. I guess it was because having been a dreamy eyed suburbanite for so long the concept of land at the back of a house blew my mind. Our garden at the house I'd shared was tiny and the addition of an 8 by 4 shed and some slabs to put our garden furniture and some pots on filled the thing up.

So with mind blown I did sums and if I added all of my assets I could scrape up about £70,000. I rang the estate agent the following morning and said that I'd like to come and take a look. I packed a bag, booked into a local guest house hotel and took the rest of that week off and headed to Wales for a well-earned long weekend break.

As I drove there I was thinking about my approach to the estate agent and what I should offer. I figured I should go in low and set a maximum. I could get the extra ten thousand by way of a mortgage and get shot of it in five or six years.

The people in the guest hotel were lovely and friendly, and had just the sweetest dog that pottered around the bar acting as the most effective greeter and canine Maître D' I've ever encountered. Mitch was a large sized black Labrador and I fell in love with his big brown eyes almost straight away.

I went for a walk after dinner and using my phone satnav was led to the property not a five minute walk from my hotel. It was close enough to the village centre and shops, and was a short drive to the railway station and a longer drive to the nearest town with all the amenities.

The house was empty with a large 'For Sale' sign. I walked around the front of the house and saw that there was drive big enough for my car and one other, a side alley which gave out to the rear of the property and the large field to the back.

It was a clear night and the whole place was bathed in moonlight. It was built out of red brick with squares of granite. The front door was an original feature with a small oval stained glass window with the number 7 set into it, the same number that my Nanny and Gramps used to have on her house when I was a kid.

I walked down the path and in the garden was a mangle, green paint peeling off of it, just like my Nanny's; it didn't work of course but then neither did my Nanny's. There was signs that the horse that lived in this paddock probably hadn't been gone long, the net hanging from a fence post with the remains of its last snack in, a block I was to discover was a 'salt lick' and that faint smell of manure.

There was a stable building that looked sizeable but was well secured and I peered through the windows and saw that it too had lots of room. There was a roofed lean to on the end nearest the house with straw bales, and what I could only assume was chopped fire wood. The whole thing had recently had a coat of preservative and smelled like Grampy's shed always had.

I had to have it.

I took some pictures and some video on my phone and walked back to my hotel.

I told the landlady about the house and she said that property values in the town were low because there wasn't a massive amount of work locally and the weekenders didn't really like their part of the world.

"How much are they asking lovie?" she said.

"Eighty two thousand," I said.

She laughed,

"Eighty two?" she squealed, "Don't go higher than seventy lovie, whoever set that was hoping for a sucker or someone that doesn't know the local housing market!"

I thanked her for her advice, had another drink at the bar and took my leave saying a fond farewell to the dog.

I was awake, up and showered before my alarm had gone off and went down for breakfast, which was a full English, or Welsh in this instance and I felt refreshed and ready to take on the world. I rang the estate agent on the dot of nine o'clock and said I was prepared to meet him on site in ten minutes. He said to make it half an hour and he'd see me there.

I was stood outside of the house waiting when he arrived in his Ford Focus. He got out of the car, glued on his 'Sales smile' and handed me the keys. I had a wonderful ten minute walk around the inside of the house I already knew I wanted. Everything was perfect and I tried desperately to get my body language not to scream my contentment from my every pore before I started negotiations.

The agent looked quite young and started his prepared speech. It included the closeness to the village centre, the railway, blah blah blah; it was recently rewired, including an excellent broadband and would make an ideal weekender.

I said that if I bought it, I'd be living there and held up my left hand to show a bare ring finger and pointed out I had no children. He was obviously not expecting that, and stopped speaking for a moment.

"I'll give you sixty eight thousand," I said with more confidence than I felt.

He took a deep breath, and I could see he was thinking about it.

"It's been recently rewired," he said, his mouth flapping just a bit.

"Yeah I know, that's why I'm not offering you sixty five."

His mouth flapped again as I continued to improvise tough London professional female,

"Sixty nine thousand," I said with a disappointed sigh, standing tall and favouring him with a cold stare I learned from any number of literary agents, and I was just about to stare at my watch just to increase the drama; the final nail was threatening to go down the road to the village I'd driven through the night before and get the one on the market there for sixty. I'd seen no such thing of course.

"Seventy?"

"Is that your best offer?" I said with some disappointment.

"Yes," he said, with a single false start. I thought about pushing my luck but figured that twelve grand off the original wasn't bad and if I kicked the arse out of it, he'd ring head office, get someone professional here and I'd lose the price. "Done," I said, and held out my hand. He took it and drove me back to his office where I started writing out the paperwork.

Three weeks later and my sister was helping me load my life into the back of a rental van and wishing me well, and telling me that I could always come 'home' if living on my own got too much for me. Considering that she had told me I couldn't stay long, I was intrigued as to where home was.

I couldn't complain of course, she had pretty much looked after me up from the passing of my Mum when I was seventeen, bullying me into University when I had talked of taking a year out, keeping me steady and on track as she was a mere two years ahead of me and about to graduate herself.

Instead of a mortgage, I'd gone for a short term loan over two years and the end was in sight. The charges were minor and I found out that the place was well insulated and I turned on the heating and with minutes the place felt warm and homely. In the cosy living room there was a log burner and I thought about cosy nights sat in front of that!

I carried in my boxes and filled my kitchen with the various items I'd brought from London and my washer dryer fitted perfectly. There was a wonderful old enamelled cooker, a New World, the self-same cooker my Nanny had in the kitchen from my childhood. I lit all four rings, the grill and the oven. Perfect.

The rooms were large and I figured that once the heating had done its magic I'd lose that damp feel that empty houses have about them, and it did precisely that.

The second bedroom became my office and the man from British Telecom came and ran fibre up to it and installed a new higher power wireless router. With my newly installed phone, I rang Sky and they came and installed a box in my living room, and for the first time in my life a TV in my bedroom, and I was off.

With my house arranged I then had fun exploring my acre of paddock and the grass had already started to regrow from the horse that must have lived here and was well protected by fencing on both sides and well fenced. The river was across my garden protecting the far end and was deep enough to stop the resident horse I guessed, and was about fifteen to twenty feet across at its widest point and I guessed about two or three feet deep. As I walked towards it I noticed a stack of huge stepping stones and was able to pace across it easily. My deeds said that my garden extended about one hundred and twenty yards from its opposite bank at which point it moved into a wonderful soft woodland, which seemed to extend for miles. I strolled through it completely lost to the world in my fairy tale landscape. As I headed into it a childish wanderlust hit me, and I felt just the strangest desire to grab and blanket, a flask and a torch and go explore!

I turned and headed back across my river, getting back before the sun went down and I got lost. But I did promised myself that as I got into the spring and then summer I'd explore more, and take a compass, some sandwiches and a flask and leave signs so I could find my way back.

I settled in and began my work. I made friends, most notably the couple that ran the guest house, the staff of the local supermarket, the owners of the Fish and Chip shop - my regular Friday night dinner, the Doctors surgery and settled into village life. With the benefit of Skype I was still able to stay in touch with my sister and brother in law and their children and my Dad via the phone.

Yes, I was lonely. Of course I was; my castaway lifestyle was wonderful except for a few quiet moments before I went to sleep and would lay there listening to the wind in the trees, the occasional rattle of the last couple of distant trains that would echo around our valley, which would stop altogether after eleven thirty. The screech of an owl, foxes but no voices from my quiet street, something you got used to in London, even if it was just the pissed students walking back to their halls in the next street from ours.

Nothing, not a peep. My house my a semi attached to a holiday let that wouldn't be open until the summer proper, and even then I doubted the place would get much use. There was nothing to do in the village except eat and sleep - but, on reflection it suited me most of the time.

My birthday arrived and I had two cards, one from sister and family, and Dad. Nothing from work colleagues who I technically still worked with - albeit on-line, even my ex had ignored it - I'd sent him a card on his birthday with my new address. I guessed it never got past Allan, who must have realised that Jonathan could only be bullied into submission for so long and might want to go visit his less complicated but barren ex.

It was probably my lowest point so I headed for the bar of my friends guest house and had a meal and a bottle of Prosecco. Proprietors Jess and her husband Dai (short for David) had weaned me off of vegetarianism through their brilliance with meat dishes, particularly steak, and I was working my way through a fillet steak with the most excellent mushroom and pepper sauce of Dai's own invention.

"Celebrating something Maggie?" said Jess.

I didn't want to make a fuss, and tried to fob it off but she insisted.

"It's my birthday," I said, "Not a big one, don't worry!"

"Why di'n't you tell us!" she howled, "we would have done you the full spread, got you a cake and everything! Dai!" she screamed off into the kitchen to her husband the chef, "Dai, it's only Maggie's birthday look!" I could hear her voice going off into the kitchen.

Her going behind the bar meant that Mitch was able to come tearing out from his usual spot and trot around the seating area to see his friends. Tonight though he was joined by his larger double, a taller and broader black Lab all muscle and with a look in his eye. Mitch sat by my seat and begged for any scraps of food on my plate as he normally did, tiny trails of drool appearing at the back of his mouth at each side. It was a little bit nasty and the only thing I didn't really like about him, but this new fellow sat and looked at me, his broad head slightly to one side as if he was trying to work me out.

He raised a paw and plonked it on my hand,

"Hi," I said taking it and giving it a shake, "I'm Maggie". The dog responded with a gentle 'huff' sound and wagged his tail.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Maggie...!" Jess and Dai, two of the bar staff and half a dozen locals joined in and I had a large cake with six candles laid on the table before me after the waiter made room, "Happy birthday to you!"

They all cheered and applauded, I nearly cried. The new dog noticed and put his big black paw back on my leg.

"Aww," said Jess, "I see you've met Benny," she said, pushing Mitch out the way to cut slices from the tall cake once I blew out the candles.

"Yes," I said, stroking my new friends head while Mitch was more interested in the cake.

"He's..." began Jess, "Oh Dai, do I have an idea boy." She beamed.

"Perfect," said Dai.

"Maggie," said Jess slowly and with a hand on the back of my chair, "Seein' as you live over the way there on your own like, would you like it if this big fella came and stayed with you? He's Mitch's brother and is... well he went to his new owner who trained him up and all, but the poor fella was killed in a car accident and we took him in so the poor love didn't have to go the kennels. We said we'd foster him until we found a new home for him."

They had chosen a carrot cake and it tasted just perfect. I took in what Jess had said, and looked down at the huge black Labrador before me. I passed a big lump of cake down to Benny and he gently took it from the fingertips, swallowed it whole and that was that. No drool, no whining like his smaller and less trained brother.

He walked home with me that night, me carrying his soft fluffy basket that now sits on the upstairs landing where he could guard me from the nightly noises and knew when I was feeling down and just when to come and bother me and bully me into taking him out into the paddock and our woods.

He's the perfect companion and still sees his brother Mitch at least once a week. He became my reason to get up, to sit down, and to go out walking him or shopping for us both. Brilliantly trained as a gun dog and will sit and stay, and watches the birds fly waiting for one to fall from the sky, but they never do. All the time I throw balls for he doesn't seem to mind.

As we entered our first spring at my new house, I finally got up the courage to go exploring our woods a bit deeper. I'm a city girl and following some chat with my neighbours I decided I needed to prepare a bit more than my original plan to just head off into the woods with a blanket, flask and sandwiches.

With advice from one of Jess and Dai's waiters I watched a whole mess of videos about survival on Youtube and worked out what I needed to take with me for emergencies. Most of them were by American Preppers and actually a bit scary but I watched the bush craft ones on how to make fire, create a shelter, skin rabbits and a whole host of things I had no possibility of ever doing for real.

After closely watching some 'how to' videos and a whole mess of reviews I hit Amazon and EBay and now had a small fold-up tent called a bothy, a silver foil emergency sleeping bag, a wonderful little gas cooker called 'the Pocket Rocket', a metal mug and water bottle, chocolate bars and a kit I could make fire with. Apparently.

Most importantly amongst the papers that came with the house was a quite old looking large scale map, the sort of thing you now get from the Ordnance Survey. I opened it up on my dining room table and scoured across the thing, falling with delight on my house and my patch of land. There were the woods behind us and several paths were shown, one of which led to a pool or pond or such like, it was marked in tiny printed letters 'Pwll Arianrhod'. The scale on the map was '500 something or other to the inch'. I could only guess it was feet or yards, not chains, cables, furlongs, acres or some other weird distance. I desperately hoped it was feet or yards and that following the path it looked to be about far enough to walk to and from in a few hours.

I had a Gortex jacket and rolled up some waterproof trousers and an extra jumper and hat in my old college rucksack and felt ready to go.

And so Benny and I headed down the garden path on the first really warm day of the spring, guided by the excellent weather forecast for that weekend. I tippy-toed across the stones and was in the woods. I made my first large arrow with sticks that pointed to the stepping stones. Using the tiny compass I'd connected to my rucksack I headed due north, stopping every five minutes or so to lay another stick arrow back the way I'd come. The paths on the map weren't that obvious and I guessed where ancient rights of way or carters tracks (another book I'd edited) but I came across a large glade sheltered from the sun at the base of a large rocky outcrop and Benny stopped and sat, hoping I was still heading in the right direction.

I took this as my cue and sat on a fallen log and unpacked my cooker and poured some water into the mug. Benny looked on with interest and I took out the small plastic bowl I'd brought for him and poured him some water. He lay before it and lapped gratefully.