Linn Halton B.

A Cottage in the Country: Escape to the cosiest little cottage in the country


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meet you. Glad you were able to find it. We have back-to-back viewings this afternoon, but the next couple has phoned in to say they're lost and are running late, so it's not a problem. Have you come far?"

      "Only thirty miles, but I've been in the car for well over an hour. I managed to get held up by a flock of sheep," I laugh.

      "Ah, country living. It's a different pace of life the minute you get away from the city. If you're looking for peace and tranquility this is it."

      As I follow Sarah along the winding footpath that takes us from the road down to the cottage, I can't take my eyes off the view. The valley unfolds gently in front of us, belying any true sense of height or distance. The lower level of the cottage nestles back against an outcrop of rust-coloured rock, with a canopy of leafy-green forest high above it, creating a perfect backdrop. Every window in this property faces out onto the panoramic view. It sweeps down to what looks like a stream in the distance and then across to the other side of the valley. It is, quite simply, breathtaking.

      The entrance is via a glazed door into a large conservatory, which runs the entire length of the cottage. As we step inside a mixture of joy, apprehension and knowing, hit me. I've found my new home and it's going to be the perfect place to begin my new life.

      "Of course, it's a bit unloved at the moment and requires some work. It's a probate case; the owner, Aggie, died about a year ago." Sarah casts her eyes over my face to see whether I register any concern. "The bank is handling the estate as there are eight beneficiaries. All are distant relatives and tracking them down hasn't been easy. I'm afraid there's no room for negotiation on the price. We've been instructed to market it at five thousand pounds below the current valuation in order to achieve a quick sale. It's sold as seen."

      I have no idea what that means, but her words fall on deaf ears. I'm too caught up in the moment to process what I'm being told.

      "I'll take it." The words echo around the large conservatory, which looks like the only room in the cottage that can be even loosely described as anything other than bijou.

      "The kitchen is small, but very quaint," Sarah throws in, as if reading my mind. My eyes are everywhere, imagining how it will look once it's renovated. Much of the conversation is one-sided. Sarah's voice continues to float over my head, as if I'm surrounded by a force field.

      I'm picturing myself at a Belfast sink, gazing out of the window at the sweeping vista below as I wash the dishes. I notice a dovecote on the other side of the valley in the garden of a rather large farmhouse. A flight of doves circle and swoop, diving in formation and landing elegantly on a nearby roof, as if they've been lovingly choreographed. After a few minutes they take to the air again, the stark contrast of their white feathers against the cornflower-blue sky creating a magical moment.

      "You don't mind the main bathroom being off the kitchen?" Sarah asks, bringing me back into the moment.

      "Sorry? Oh, no. I like quirky. There is a shower room upstairs, isn't there?" I'm sure I saw that on the details.

      "Yes, but the only bath is in here." She pushes open a rather narrow door and I'm delighted to see a surprisingly spacious room beyond. The suite is tired and needs replacing, but the proportions of the room are totally unexpected. In the centre of the vaulted ceiling is a large Velux window. It's a window that has nothing to obscure it, filled only with clouds and blue sky, as if it were a framed picture.

      "Imagine lying in the bath and looking up at the stars," I murmur, thinking out loud.

      Sarah laughs. "Well, that's one way of looking at it, I suppose. You really have fallen in love with Ash Cottage, haven't you?"

      "I'm serious about the offer. I'm a cash buyer and I'd like to move things along as quickly as possible. I'm desperately in need of a home."

      I see a slight frown cross her brow as her business head kicks in.

      "Nothing dodgy," I quickly add. "It's a cash settlement from my ex-husband following our divorce. Ironically, we'd spent many years turning a rundown Victorian house into the perfect family home. I always dreamt of owning a little cottage like this some day, but I always thought it would be somewhere to spend leisurely weekends together."

      "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." Her voice softens and I kick myself, thinking that this was too much information. My emotions are still raw. I find myself constantly struggling to avoid bursting into tears or letting slip details people simply don't want to hear, particularly strangers. When you're hurtling towards fifty and your whole life is suddenly hanging around you in shreds, it's as if you don't know who you are any more. Sometimes I'm not even aware I'm saying my thoughts out aloud.

      "Sorry, and it's fine, really. I just wanted to reassure you that I'm in a good position. I'm in rented accommodation and the cash is sitting in the bank. Please don't sell Ash Cottage to anyone else."

      I'm mortified when my eyes begin to fill with tears and Sarah is clearly embarrassed. Damn it! I have to stop making a fool of myself and I utter a silent prayer of thanks that I've finally found a place that feels right. Now, at last, the first step towards the rest of my life is within reach.

      We exchange glances that soften into polite smiles and Sarah holds up her mobile.

      "Right, I…um, well, I'll ring in your full asking-price offer while you take a look at the bedrooms. If you're sure, that is?"

      "I'm sure. Every box on my list is already ticked, it couldn't be more perfect. I have one condition – that they take it off the market immediately. I'm not sure I could face another disappointment at this point in my life."

      Something akin to an awkward grimace flashes over her face as she turns to exit; her finger is already on the dial button.

      I know it's not perfect at the moment, but the point is, it will be. Our second house was a wreck, literally. So, I know what can be achieved if you are prepared to roll up your sleeves, get a little dirty and make endless cups of coffee for plumbers, electricians and carpenters.

      The bank is happy to recommend my offer to the beneficiaries, together with my proviso.

      "You won't sell it to anyone else in the meantime, Sarah, will you? I mean, I've heard about gazumping and I can't really afford to increase my offer."

      "Don't worry, there's no reason at all why the beneficiaries would say no. The sale price is fair and it's just a formality. Ash Cottage is yours."

      True to her word, Sarah rang to confirm just that the very next day and it was a major boost to my confidence. This middle-aged, recently divorced woman felt as if she had finally taken back control of her life.

       CHAPTER 2

      I had assumed I'd be moving in within a few weeks. Perfect timing, as that would give me a couple of months before winter set in. After all, this was the shortest chain you could possibly have for a house purchase. It felt as though the storm clouds were retreating and the sun had finally decided to come out and shine once more. Life had a master plan for me and I hadn't been simply cast adrift and left to flounder, unloved and forgotten.

      Pull yourself together, Maddie, you're made of strong stuff and you can do this, really you can. I feared there was an implied strength of resolve and determination in my thoughts that didn't quite match my actions at the moment. But pride alone wouldn't allow me to sink into depression. Even when your heart is smashed to pieces, you still wake up each morning to face another day. Crawling into a hole and hiding away might sound comforting, but it's never a real option, is it?

      The radio flashes, indicating an incoming call and I turn up the volume.

      "Guess who is back from his vacation sporting a tan and looking good?"

      Ryan's velvety tones seem to fill the car. Bluetooth loves him, for some inexplicable reason. I can't ever recall losing signal whenever he's on the line, which is rather weird because it breaks up all the time when I'm running around town. Is charisma like some sort of invisible power source that coerces