Chapter 1

A new life! At forty-eight years of age, I was sitting, enjoying a bit of sun, in my new garden, outside my new cottage, in a completely new part of England for me, pondering the recent changes to my life. I say new cottage, the original part of the building was almost two hundred years old, so what I really mean, is new to me. The garden was mainly lawn, with well maintained borders; maintained, I hasten to add, by the previous owner.

A few months ago, I was a typical divorced bloke, living at the northern end of the English Midlands, in the city of Stoke-on-Trent. Situated about halfway between Birmingham and Manchester, The Potteries, as it’s commonly known as, was a unique area. Midlanders called us Northern and Northerners called us Southern. The local dialect, once one of the hardest to understand in the country, was almost lost now, gone along with all the pottery and mining jobs the area had once supported. Like most northern accents, it had developed amid the noise of industry, but as we had no near neighbours, it gradually became unique. There is some small cross over from Liverpool and the Black Country, but not much.

I considered myself at the top end of working class, living as I did in a large detached house and running my own company. Many said that this made me middle class but I always pointed out that I had worked all my life, as had my parents, and that my business employed just one person; me. I always told them to catch me leaving work, covered in sawdust or reeking of varnish, then tell me I’m not working class.

Nine years ago I’d discovered that my wife of seventeen years was having an affair. They say that love and hate are actually very close and I was one of those that crossed that line. The divorce was messy as she tried to claim cruelty, both physical and mental, but fortunately the judge believed me, probably helped when my our children testified on my behalf and my wife’s venomous outrage at each of them as they gave evidence. My wife’s father was a very successful businessman and we first met when he purchased a boat from my then employer, David Piper. The end arrived, not that unexpectedly, because I was happy working as a one man band. Sophia want me to expand to build fleets of boats, rather than ones or twos. She also wanted me to be a manager whilst other did the work. Neither was ever going to happen, so the rows got louder and more frequent. She eventually got fed up and pursued an affair with her best friend’s husband. The two friends had always had a competitive nature and I think Sophia just wanted to prove that she could beat her friend. James the man in question, I felt sorry for. His wife was acerbic, petty and forever putting him down. It wasn’t a huge surprise that he eventually had had enough. I hoped for his sake that he didn’t end up with my wife permanently.

It took three years before I was able to trust a woman again and guess what, it turned out that she was keeping three other men on the go as well as me. After that short episode, I withdrew even further. I still dated occasionally, as I loved the company of women, but I never let it get remotely serious. Many of these ‘relationships’ ended acrimoniously when I wouldn’t commit, even after I had made my intentions clear from the off.

A sudden shrill sound brought me back to the present. A bird of some kind was singing in the tree at the end of the garden. This was something I was not used to. Living in the city, wildlife consisted of pigeons and the occasional urban fox. Here, I was surrounded by nature, birds of all sizes and colours visited daily. I kept meaning to get a book and actually learn what they were, but hadn’t yet got around to it. The same goes for the various trees surrounding my garden. Rolling countryside was yards away, rather than miles, animal sounds more frequent than mechanical ones. It had taken a few weeks to get used to, but I now loved it.

Even Aggie, {https://1drv.ms/u/s!Al_8HgVUN9_pjRPa6uj-PbHo_6Pt?e=JHIppb} my border collie, had stopped chasing every bird that landed in HER garden. She was enjoying the change of scenery and pace even more than I was. Her walks were on grass and soil rather than concrete and asphalt and god knows how much better the smells were for her. I smiled as I watched her lying a few feet away, with her head on her paws guarding her new territory.

I’d bought her as a puppy on the day my divorce became final and she’d spent almost all of her time with me since. My business is as a boat builder or to be more precise, a narrowboat builder. I buy in a steel shell and convert it into a luxury boat, for touring our great inland waterways or, more frequently in the current economic climate, a boat to be lived on permanently. This meant that I had to do all the electrics, plumbing including gas, mechanics and of course a high level of carpentry, almost cabinet maker level. These skills, I knew, would come in handy in maintaining this old house. One of the big advantages of what I do was that I could work almost anywhere and, on occasion, had. Aggie thought it was a great job too, as she went with me from the first day. Her cute face combined with the fact that she was a complete softie, actually helped clinch a few deals for me.

As usual lately, my mind was straying. I had come out here to work out some kind of a schedule for the myriad little jobs that needed to be done. A new kitchen and bathroom were the only major jobs that were required when I moved in and the former was already completed. Of course it helped that because of my business, I already had all the right tools and skills.

This house move was a surprise, even to me, as it had been very much spur of the moment. Uncle Jim, my mother’s brother, had always been a favourite of mine. As a child I’d loved his bizarre sense of humour and his outlandish dress sense. It was only when I was in my teens that I realised that this was because he was gay, although he always refused to use that word. He always maintained that gay meant happy; for him growing up as a homosexual man in the forties and fifties was by no means a happy thing. He described himself as a queer or a queen, though most frequently ‘as bent as a nineteen bob note’. {a bob was a shilling or a twentieth of a pound, so it was like saying as odd as a 95cent note}

During my youth, I’d been in more than one fight because of what some schoolboy had said about him. They usually only ever said things once, at least in my hearing. I’d never seen him with another man and I used to spend quite a lot of my free time in his company, nor did he once make any untoward move to me or my friends. Fifteen years ago, he’d moved to the warmer climes of Dorset and bought this beautiful cottage. As often happens when marriage and kids come along, I’d neglected him since, and had only been to visit twice in those fifteen years, albeit the last time had been just after I’d kicked my adulterous wife out and I’d stayed down here just over a month.

Jim had died six months previously, and to my surprise, I was his only heir. The house and all its contents, along with a modest sum, all came my way. When I realised all this, I also acknowledged that my life in Stoke was in the Doldrums. All my kids had left, not only home but, the area as well, my eldest son ending up in New Zealand. My other son was in the Big Smoke (London) prostituting himself as an investment banker, whilst my daughter and her husband had moved to Cornwall.

Almost on a whim I put my big empty house on the market and planned the move to Dorset. I finished the boat I was working on and told both of the other customers that had already ordered about the move. Neither were at all bothered, as they were both from the South of England anyway.

So here I was, mortgage free and with Uncle Jim’s bequest and the proceeds from the sale of my house, reasonably well off. One decision I had made was to halve the boats I was prepared to build each year from four to two. That, and an agreement with one of the local farmers about renting some land and outbuildings, was about as far as I’d got regarding plans. The next shell was due there in ten days.

‘Come on girl,’ I said to Aggie, ‘time for your walk.’

Aggie wasn’t the brightest thing on four legs, but she recognised that word and was bouncing around me before I could even get out of my chair. I looked down at her and noticed how long the grass was already. Was it me or did it actually grow quicker down here?

As usual I picked up my Nikon D300, as well as Aggie’s lead. She didn’t really need it and for most of our walks never had it on even once. On the off chance of meeting other dogs or sheep, I always took it anyway. The camera was for the fabulous landscapes that surrounded this bit of Dorset.

Forty minutes later we were one hundred feet or more above the valley where my new home was, walking along the ridge that looked over the village. The well worn path and well oiled gates was a sign of its popularity amongst locals. The surrounding verdant scenery, with the occasional field of golden rapeseed, was just stupendous {https://1drv.ms/u/s!Al_8HgVUN9_pjRQBGHg7HSnvLX46?e=WHzgts}. No doubt this would change throughout the seasons, but I anticipated equal splendour.

As normal, Aggie covered ten miles to my one. She was here and there, checking out new scents and any movement. In the distant I spotted a solitary figure walking towards me. I called Aggie to heel and got the lead ready. Sure enough a few moments later a chocolate Labrador appeared and ran to the walker. Aggie is usually fine with other dogs and I knew that Labs are usually passive too but I still put her lead on, just in case.

As we neared each other I could tell that it was a young woman or even just a girl.

‘Is she nasty then?’ The youngster, having seen me put the leash on, asked as we reached it other.

‘No, she’s fine. I just don’t like taking chances.’ I explained.

‘Well let her go then. It is a her isn’t it?’

I nodded as I bent down to unfasten Aggie, who promptly ran off to the Lab for the compulsive sniff of each other. That done they both bounded off together.

‘Haven’t seen you around before, are you just visiting the area?’ The girl, whose age I put at about eighteen to twenty, asked politely.