The Lost Guide to Life and Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

smothering the house and miles of moors in all directions, swallowing everything up. Despite the heating and the fire, I shivered. What was I doing?
    There was a sudden noise outside. I leapt back from the window, my heart racing. Then laughed at myself, a little shakily. A sheep. Of course it was a sheep—there were hundreds of them outside. I listened carefully and I could hear the sound they made as they tugged the grass up with their teeth and chomped away. Amazing what you can hear in the country. I closed the curtains again carefully, shutting out the mist and the moors, pretending they weren’t even there.
    On the deep stone windowsill was a curious collection of objects. A clay pipe, some small ridged blue bottles, a larger green one, two doughnut-shaped circles made of clay, I think, with holes in the middle, a brooch with no pin, a bone comb with no teeth, a Victorian penny…
    They were, I supposed, all things that had been found round and about. Small objects lost or thrown away hundreds, maybe even a thousand or more years ago, by people who had lived here. I thought of that huge grey misty emptiness. Hard to imagine that anyone had ever lived here, so remote from anywhere.
    Gently picking up the brooch, I wondered who’d worn it and when, who’d bought it for her and why? Who had used the comb or the liquids from the little bottles? They’d lived here, probably surrounded by mist and sheep too. And they’d been my ancestors. Down the years, I felt a small connection with them, whoever they had been. This had been their home. For now, at least, it was mine.
    My tummy rumbled. And I remembered that the little box of emergency supplies I’d packed for our supper—cold chicken, cheese, bread, butter, a bottle of wine, was still in the boot of Jake’s car. This definitely wasn’t the place where you could dial up a pizza. Even if the phone worked. I wondered idly where the nearest takeaway was and I remembered something from Mrs Alderson’s notes.
    ‘Ready meals in freezer. Price list on lid. Settle up at end of stay. Emergency cupboard in back porch. Anything used from this MUST be replaced as soon as possible. Very important. Thank you!’
    I looked in the freezer at a neat stack of obviously homemade dishes. Lamb casserole. Lamb stew. Lamb and capers. Lamb curry. I thought of the sheep whose bleat had made me jump. ‘Aha,’ I thought, ‘I know where you’ll end up.’
    There were also some pork, beef and chicken meals too. It seemed rude to eat lamb while the creatures were roaming round outside. So I opted for a chicken and herb casserole and bunged it in the microwave. While I was waiting for it to ping, I went to look at the Emergency cupboard in the back porch. Candles, Primus stove and gas cylinders,torches, a couple of lanterns, a tin marked ‘matches’, tins of beans, sardines, corned beef, tuna, soup, a selection of vacuum-packed ready meals, two pairs of wellies, a spade and a snow shovel. Thank goodness it was still only October.
    I found the wine in the fridge—thank you, Mrs Alderson—and what with that and the casserole—very good, proper chicken, with parsley and lemon and a touch of thyme, followed by some of the light, crumbly Wensleydale cheese—I had a very nice supper in front of the fire. Being independent, I found, makes you quite hungry. Yes, of course, I still felt a bit nervous, but I was warm and cosy and had already got used to the sound of the sheep.
    I thought about Jake. Had I been a bit too hasty? It would be much nicer if he were here with me, beside me on the squashy sofa, watching the flames in the fire…Except we probably wouldn’t be, would we? He’d be working or watching what he wanted on television. I cradled the phone in my hand and looked at Jake’s picture on the screen. Did I really love him? Did I miss him? Had I ever loved him?
    The last few weeks had been tricky. Jake had been moody, distracted. When I was talking to him he had hardly been