The Undomestic Goddess

Or … become even worse. They’re suing me. They’re prosecuting me. There’s some obscure piece of negligence law I don’t know about.…

I’m gripping my phone more and more tightly. I have to know. Good or bad. I flip open the phone and find the text. It’s from a number I don’t even recognize.

Who? Who on earth is texting me?

Feeling a little sick, I press ok to read.

hi samantha, nathaniel here.

Nathaniel?

Nathaniel?

My relief is so huge, I laugh out loud. Of course! I gave him my mobile number yesterday for his mother. I scroll down to read the rest of the message.

if you’re interested, mum could start cooking lessons today. nat

Cooking lessons. I feel a spark of delight. What a perfect way to fill the day! I press reply and quickly text:

would love to. thanks. sam

I send it with a little smile. This is fun. A minute or two later, the phone bleeps again.

what time? is 11 too early? nat

I look at my watch. Eleven o’clock is still two and a half hours away.

Two and a half hours with nothing to do except avoid Trish and Eddie. I press reply.

shall we make it 10? sam

At five to ten I’m ready in the hall. Nathaniel’s mother’s house is nearby but apparently tricky to find, so the plan is to meet here and he’ll walk me over. I check my reflection in the hall mirror and wince. The streak of bleach in my hair is as obvious as ever. Am I really going out in public like this? I push my hair backward and forward a few times—but I can’t hide it. Maybe I could walk along with my hand carelessly positioned at my head, as if I’m thinking hard. I attempt a few casual, pensive poses in the mirror.

“Is your head all right?”

I swivel round in shock to see Nathaniel at the open door, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans.

“Er … fine,” I say, my hand still glued to my head. “I was just …”

Oh, there’s no point. I bring my hand down from my hair and Nathaniel regards the streak for a moment.

“It looks nice,” he says. “Like a badger.”

“A badger?” I say, affronted. “I don’t look like a badger.”

“Badgers are beautiful creatures,” says Nathaniel with a shrug. “I’d rather look like a badger than a stoat.”

Hang on. Since when was my choice between badger and stoat? How did we get onto this subject, anyway?

“Perhaps we should go,” I say with dignity, then pick up my bag and give one last glance in the mirror.

OK. Maybe I look a little bit like a badger.

The summer air is already warming up outside, and as we walk down the gravel drive I sniff appreciatively. There’s some sort of nice flowery smell that I definitely recognize.…

“Honeysuckle and jasmine!” I exclaim in sudden recognition. I have the Jo Malone bath oil at home.

“Honeysuckle on the wall.” Nathaniel points to a tangle of tiny pale-yellow flowers on the old stone wall bordering the drive. “Put it in a year ago.”

I peer up at the delicate flowers with interest. That’s what real honeysuckle looks like?

“There’s no jasmine around here, though,” he says, curiously. “Can you smell it?”

“Er …” I spread my hands vaguely. “Maybe not.”

I don’t think I’ll mention my Jo Malone bath oil at this point. Or, in fact, at any point.

As we turn out of the drive I realize this is the first time I’ve been out of the Geigers’ grounds since I arrived here—apart from the shopping trip with Trish, when we turned in the opposite direction. And anyway, I was too busy scrabbling for her Celine Dion CD to notice my surroundings. Nathaniel has turned left and is striding easily along the road—but I can’t move. I’m gazing at the sight in front of me, my jaw wide open. This village is absolutely stunning.

I had no idea.

I look around, taking in the old, honey-colored stone walls, the rows of ancient cottages with steeply pitched roofs, the little river lined with willow trees. Up ahead is the pub I noticed on the first night, decorated with hanging baskets. I can hear the distant clip-clop of horses’ hooves. Nothing jars. Everything is soft and mellow and feels like it’s been here for hundreds of years.

“Samantha?”

Nathaniel has finally noticed I’m pinned to the spot.

“I’m sorry.” I hurry to join him. “It’s just such a beautiful place!”

“It’s nice.” I can hear a note of pride in his voice. “Gets too many tourists, but …”

“I had no idea!” We continue to walk along the street, but I can’t stop looking around, wide-eyed. “Look at the river! Look at the little church!”