Di suddenly reaches for the remote and clicks the TV off, just as one of the main protagonists is about to start seducing another intern in the hope of using her to dig up some dirt on one of his rivals.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she says, earnestly. ‘Do you like living in the country?’
I take my time before answering. It’s a big question, and I’m not sure my head is in any fit state to do it justice at the moment.
‘I did when I first moved down there. It’s a different pace of life and you’re instantly absorbed into the community, even though they still describe people who have lived there for over twenty years as ‘incomers’. Everybody knows everybody and that’s nice. It’s the little things, like being greeted by your name when you go to the shop, or just exchanging hellos in the street. You can’t pass anyone without at least saying hello to them; they’ll think you’re rude if you ignore them. I’ve even started going to church, did I tell you?’
‘Really? I thought you were a dyed-in-the-wool atheist!’
‘Oh, I haven’t suddenly become a card-carrying Christian or anything like that, don’t worry. I’d say I’m an agnostic at the moment.’
‘So why are you going to church?’
‘I don’t know, really. It started off as something to do, I think. James is supposed to have Sundays off, but that never happens in reality. There’s not much else happening on a Sunday, so I trundled along one week and I’ve kind of stayed. I’m on all sorts of rotas now: coffee, flower-arranging and so on, and it’s another little community for me to belong to. Does that make sense?’
‘Honestly? Not really.’
‘I’ve joined the WI too and, as soon as the village fête organiser heard about my previous job, I was drafted on to that committee as well. The downside of living in the country is that there’s so little for me to do that I’d go out of my mind with boredom if I didn’t have these distractions. I can’t work because there isn’t much call for event organisers in the middle of nowhere, and James is usually out all day. Of course, I was supposed to have children to keep me busy, but that obviously hasn’t happened.’
‘Poor you,’ Di empathises. ‘It sounds like you’re lonely, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I think I probably am,’ I reply, after I’ve considered for a few moments. ‘Everything and everyone on the farm has a purpose, except me. I didn’t notice it to begin with. I was in love, and the country is a lovely place to be in the summer. In summer I can go for long walks and just enjoy the smells, the sense of space, and the fresh air. But then winter sets in, everything turns to mud – and mud gets everywhere, let me tell you. I can’t remember the last time I wore a pair of heels; I seem to live my life in wellies these days.’
‘What about your mother-in-law?’
‘Also busy, even though she doesn’t have any purpose on the farm either. Even if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to spend time with her. I’ve always been civil to her, but I’ve never felt close to her or that I completely trusted her.’
‘Well, your instincts were right on that one, weren’t they? What does she do all day?’
‘She plays a lot of golf, and I think she’s a member of a bridge club as well as the WI. She has lived there for much longer than me, so she’s got quite a wide circle of friends.’
‘I thought you said there wasn’t any money?’ Di looks puzzled.
‘There isn’t.’
‘So how can she afford to play golf? It’s ruinously expensive. I’ve forbidden Richard from discussing green fees with me because, every time he does, I start thinking of all the things I could have spent the money on instead.’
‘Welcome to one of the great mysteries of my life. There’s no money to fix my Aga, but she can afford golf, a weekly cleaner, and Ocado deliveries.’
‘Hmm. I think I’d want to know a bit more about that, if it were me,’ she observes.
‘You’re right,’ I agree. ‘I haven’t said anything before, because I know James is under a lot of pressure and I’ve been trying to be supportive, but I think there are a lot of questions I need answers to before I can decide what I’m going to do next.’
‘I have to say, you’ve rather put me off the idea of moving to the country,’ Di laughs. ‘I’ve always quite fancied the idea of getting away from the city and living somewhere where I could look out of my window and see the sheep gambolling in the fields.’ She sighs wistfully.
‘Don’t start me on bloody sheep!’ I exclaim. ‘I used to think they were lovely, until I realised that they just exist to piss you off. They appear completely unable to give birth without help, and they always seem to do it in the middle of the night rather than any kind of civilised hour, so nobody gets any sleep during lambing. Then, from the moment they’re born, it’s like they’re trying to find ways to die. If there’s a ditch they can fall into and get stuck, they’ll fall into it. Or they’ll get flystrike or some other revolting disease. And, my god, they’re thick. If you think pheasants are dim, they’re bloody Einsteins compared to sheep. And then…’
‘Okay, I can see I’ve hit a nerve,’ she jokes. ‘I’ll scrap the sheep from my rural idyll. How about cows, can I have those in the field?’
‘Yes, I’ll let you have cows. Much better.’
‘Changing the subject,’ she continues, ‘have you decided whether you’d like to stay a bit longer or not?’
‘I’d love to, Di, I really would. But I think I would just be putting off the inevitable, don’t you? I’ve got to go back and deal with him at some point, and it might as well be now. Also, my train ticket isn’t flexible, so I’d have to buy another one.’
‘If it’s just a question of the train fare, I can help with that.’
‘You’re very kind, but I’d feel guilty taking your money, particularly when you’ve already paid for everything this weekend. No, I think I’m ready to face him.’