In the Forest Read Online Free PDF

barbecue,’ just as in the garden of the ‘apportment’. People think I spoil him, carrying him everywhere, little hulk that he is, but the field to the road is a swamp. I bought a lorry load of chips to make a path and just stood there and watched them being swallowed into the mud as fast as they rolled out. The driver kept telling me I should have put big stones, rocks in there first - ‘Ah don’t let it get to you missus.’
    Denny’s pub is two miles away. He keeps a roaring fire no matter what the season. He did all the smithy work himself, the fire grate, the fire irons and the ornamental eagles on his piers. He has two wash basins that are a feature for tourists. The pedestal of one is a lady’s white porcelain legs moulded into black porcelain court shoes, and the other, in the gents, features a lady’s plastered protruding buttocks. He escorted me in to have a look at both. I wonder what they make of me. Anyhow they’re all smiles. Once he got a bit fresh and said that if I came at night I was to bring a change of underwear. Then to make amends he said he’d save me the sawn-off language some of them used.
    The townland is named after goats, except that there are only a few around. There is a herd of cattle and a reigning red bull. In the evening they all come to the fence and bawl and bawl and Maddie bawls back. He pretends to be thwacking them with his stick and shouts some important new word. He’s the cop and they are the robbers. The ‘apportment’ is a place we rented before getting in here. More scenic than here, a lake, reeds, water birds, and cruisers that docked in the evening. Two city slickers invited Cassandra and me over for cocktails. The one with designs on her wore a ridiculous T-shirt and mine took me on a tour of the inside, pointing to the amenities, the bunk beds, en suite, the cocktail cabinet and the Scandinavian shower. He suggested that he and I motor over to Dromineer for a bite. Cassandra was miffed at being left outside and came in and said how naff that he served Martinis from a plastic glass, then stormed off in her very high heels. She says it’s the Mars in her.
    Apple Tree House was waiting for me, or so Billy said. He had it on his books for nearly a year but kept it for someone special and that someone turned out to be me. He had to bring a slash hook to fight his way through the briars and the brambles across the field, the house itself and the chimneys smothered in ivy and different trees. He put a crowbar to the door and pushed it in, and as it heaved and creaked back, a startled bird flew out at us, a blackbird, a she. We’d scared it. It was then Billy said he would help me to find a loan and he did. Cassandra always says that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.
    The day we moved in Billy helped us, brought things in his van, and Maddie and me drove on ahead in my little daffodil-coloured Beetle, hooting to let the world know. We had to park the car where the three grassy roads meet and walk across, lugging stuff. Billy brought an old sofa, pink velvet, with the nap worn down. I had cups and saucers and cutlery in a bucket. Maddie carried a lump of bog oak that Cassandra found for us. As we came around the house, there was our visitor, a dog on its haunches, a grey coat, the grey of steel wool, and the most pitiful expression in its eyes. It as good as spoke to us. Its coat had been burnt in places. It isn’t a frisky dog, it’s a thinking dog, and its hind leg is buckled so that it hops like a kangaroo. It took to us, jumped on us, yelped to make us welcome and followed us up and down the lane while we got our bric-a-brac. Billy said it had been through fire so we called it Smokey. It goes off nights and isn’t often back until noon, but back it comes because it wants to be here, guarding us.
    We broke a bottle of red wine to launch our arrival. Billy only conked its neck and then strained it through a bit of muslin Brigit had left me to put over the