Writers Tricks of the Trade Vol. 6 Issue 1 | Page 14

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Life Stories (Cont’d)

He answered in a much softer voice. “Nah, not to worry. Just that’s it’s not a usual place for tourists.
That wee village doesn’t even have a steakhouse. Gotta go to Whyteleaf for a meal when the pub’s not
servin’, although it’s not too far, and there is the one pub in the town square.”
We thanked him for watching out for us and climbed into the taxi. During our ride to Upper
Warlingham we marveled at the rolling green hills, a shade so rich that it made California seem dull.
Brilliant fields ablaze with some sort of yellow flowers brightened the façades of centuries-old homes and
townhouses. Yellow has always represented happiness to me and these expansive fields of were nothing
short of amazing.
“Simon, they’re so beautiful. What kind of flowers are they?”
“Do ya know rapeseed?”
“Um, no, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it. What did you call it—rapeseed?”
“Ah, don’t know too much about it myself, but I can tell ya, it’s not only pretty to look at, it’s wha’
they get that new canola oil from. Bloom in the spring, they do, like a bleedin’ sunrise and it is indeed a
sight to behold.”
Sue added, “I thought the scenery in California was spectacular, but this is really impressive. I’ve
been to London, but never got into the countryside. By the way, I’ve noticed lots of homes we would call
a duplex, you know two units attached side-by-side, but each side was painted a different color. Is that
typical in England?”
“Aye. It is. Some even have one side with a different trimmin’ like stone on one side and the other
without. Do they make them matchin’ in the States, then?”
“Yes, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like these.”
The rest of the drive was spent just taking in the awesome pastoral s cenery.
We were really looking forward to what some might call a mid-life adventure, but we had no idea our
escapades during the next three weeks would far exceed anything our active imaginations might have
invented at that moment.
When we finally arrived in the village of Upper Warlingham, the taxi pulled up in front of a structure
nestled in high grass and weeds. It looked as foreboding as a haunted house. Where was the charming
country cottage both of us expected?
Even Simon seemed a bit taken aback. “Are ya sure ya gave me the right house number? Looks like
no one lives here.”
I pulled the paper from my purse and compared the numbers. “Yes, this is it, unfortunately. My
boyfriend loves to trade, and he traded for a three year lease on this, um, house. It sure didn’t look like
this in the photo we saw.”
The windows were covered in such a heavy layer of dust and dirt they appeared opaque. A few loose
shingles made flapping noises when lifted by a light breeze. Simon sounded quite concerned. “I’m not
sure I should be leavin’ you ladies here. Are ya sure you’ll be alright?”
Before I could say anything, Sue said, “Don’t worry. We’ll be just fine.” She handed him the fare. He
put it in his pocket, but still seemed reluctant to leave. “If ya don’t mind, I’ll just be waitin’ to make sure
you’re alright.”
Hey, smart, independent women don’t need a guardian angel, so with a little forced bravado, I said,
“That’s so kind, but there really is no need. We’ll be just fine. It’s okay

JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2016

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WRITERS’ TRICKS OF THE TRADE