In the Company of Country Men

“They say there's a right wind up top,” said Rob, knocking mud from his boots on the cottage step.

Standing at the sink, Pippa thought of The City as he hitched up her skirt and entered her. “We can make our own life,” he'd said. “Start a commune, write your books.”. She'd thought of them, drunk and debating, stoned and shouting under bright skies. She had believed him.

At first, he laughed with her at the brawny wives and pink menfolk like big babies.

Then the darkness of their first winter came. She flinched at his proud smile when the locals called him by name, tried to ignore his beard and new country clothes. The drugs stopped first, then the friends from The City. The furthest they went was the village pub.

He talked of sheep and becks and floods as if his brain was overtaken by moss and heather, the local men nodding in approval. “They're our neighbours,” he slowly explained when she could stand it no longer.

“The lads were saying it's about time we had young 'uns,” he said one night with his new accent.

She wondered how long her Pill prescription could remain a village secret.