Читать книгу A Cottage in the Country: Escape to the cosiest little cottage in the country - Linn Halton B. - Страница 20

"Mum, it's me. How's the move going?"

It's lovely to hear Matt's voice, but I thought it was the estate agent and my stomach does a backwards flip. Tick-tock. It's nearly two o'clock and my back is beginning to ache from sitting in the same position for the longest few hours of my life. Even my damp clothes are now almost dry, but I've had to keep the window open a little because of the condensation.

"Fine. Lovely to hear your voice, darling, but it's rather difficult to talk right now as I'm expecting a call to pick up the keys at any moment. I'll ring you in a day or two when I'm sorted. Promise! Love to you both."

I feel awful cutting him off like that, but if I stay on the line I'm likely to burst into tears. As I put the mobile phone down on the passenger seat, it immediately kicks into life again.

"Ms Brooks?" It's a voice I don't know. "We have key release on Ash Cottage. If you'd like to call in whenever it's convenient…"

"I'll be there in three minutes."

Jubilant is an understatement. Ecstatic doesn't really do it justice, either. As I hurtle back through the windy lanes to Ash Cottage, the windscreen wipers are barely coping with the downpour. Until the car begins the downhill cruise into Bybrooke, any mention of flooding is still the very last thing on my mind. And then I hit it. As I round the last bend before the first of the cottages on the outskirts of Bybrooke come into view, I see the sandbags. Water is literally spewing out of what looks like a hole in the ground and as it runs down the side of the road it doesn't have to travel very far to be consumed by a lake of grey, muddy water. Part of the grassy bank to the right-hand side of me has been washed away and traces of the rich, red soil run in swathes, mixing with the general pool of murky water. I slam on the brakes, the car slewing to a halt just in time. In front of me are at least a dozen vehicles blocking the road. I pull the woolly hat down over my ears and step out of the car with determination.

"How deep's the water? Is it possible to get through?" I level the question at a group of guys with shovels, all busily filling sandbags from a trailer.

"It's passable at the moment and you'll be fine, as your four-by-four isn't too low to the ground. It's only about two feet deep in the middle, but it's rising fast. The culvert is blocked again, but this time we think it might have totally collapsed."

A couple of heads turn in my direction, giving curt nods and I feel sorry for them. Despite wearing heavy waterproofs, this sort of rain seems to find ways in and I seriously doubt they are cosy and dry beneath their gear.

"Best get through while you can." One of them chips in.

"Is there another way into the village? I live up there – Forge Hill. I'm moving in today, actually, and I have deliveries booked."

Several of them stop shovelling and give me a look of pity that starts alarm bells ringing in my head.

"There is access from the top road, but the lanes are quite narrow and I'm not sure a twenty-six-tonne delivery lorry would be prepared to use that route. The smaller ones could get through. This is the main road and, unless we can keep that water level down, the possibility of another closure seems inevitable. You chose the wrong day to move in, Miss, that's really bad luck."

He gives me a grimace, shaking his head to disperse the rivulets of water running off his cap and down his face.

"Thanks, and sorry to have held you up. Are you local?”

He indicates with a nod in the direction of the first cottage on the slope down into the village.

"Lived here nearly ten years. We thought last year's flood was a one-off. Seems we were wrong."

Glancing across, I can see that the sandbags were too late to save the water flooding into the ground floor of the property. It's a quaint cottage, quite modest and obviously his pride and joy. My heart goes out to him.

"I'm so sorry. I really hope the rain lets up soon."

He gives me a smile and a nod, appreciating my acknowledgement of his dire situation.

"It's in the hands of the gods." His response is sobering. "Take it steady driving through, use a low gear and you'll be fine."

It seems wrong to wave as I drive past the men. All eyes are on my vehicle, checking the water level doesn't come up above the door line. I put up my hand in a stiff acknowledgement and they all raise theirs in return.