Chapter Two (early draft)

Waking up to the bombast of the 'Fidelio' overture by Ludwig Van Beethoven, George knew that Dan had finally “arrived" as he always played music when he was feeling good about life. And even though she wasn't personally the biggest fan of classical music she also felt surprisingly inspired by it right now, too. Lying amidst the disparate collection of bedding on the living room floor, the rousing Teutonic music seemed to perfectly compliment the bright sunshine streaming across the rustic oak floorboards as a few dust particles danced in the air before her. George was actually surprised at just how little dust there was in the house. The cleaners must have nearly beaten every last particle out of the atmosphere before they arrived, she thought to herself as she imagined a couple of bosomy older woman smacking antique carpet beaters against old rugs. There was also a beautiful scent of aged tapestries, faded lavender and open wood fires from times past permeating the space, creating an evocative sense of place for George as she zoned out in a trance, greatly enjoying the random, blended bouquet. She had always had a very astute sense of smell, once referring to her sensitive nostrils as 'memory sensors', as she could remember so much by the aromas she came into contact with. Wild garlic was one especially vivid smell that brought back memories of her childhood, visiting relatives on their woodland estate in Wiltshire. The sweet aroma of cedar also made her quite heady when she went exploring on her own back then. Was this current move to the country then an opportunity to rediscover something she'd lost since childhood? That sense of authentic joy and wonder at things, nature especially. She hoped so.

Meanwhile, banging pots and pans in the kitchen, it was clear Dan was thwarting any possibility of a surprise breakfast if that was indeed his intention, which she assumed it was. She smiled to herself, feeling re-assured that Dan failed to be mysterious or subtle about things. He was as solid as the Anselm Kiefer-like table in their kitchen and just as dependable.

“Oh. You’re awake!”

“You thought maybe the Beethoven and the pot banging wouldn't disturb my deep repose?”

“Something like that. Here, I picked up some biodynamic cinnamon rolls that weigh an absolute tonne. You’ll probably crack a tooth on them. They’re rock hard.”

He presented George with a small tray piled high with the physical looking rolls glittering with tiny crystals of brown sugar and a blue and white striped mug of steaming hot coffee.

“The coffee is ethically sourced, you’ll be pleased to hear. Your conscience can remain unperturbed.”

“I do hate unethical coffee.”

George then proceeded to hold one of the rolls in her hand as if she were weighing a small baby and took a bite out of it, proving Dan’s warning about their dense solidity to be true.

"Ow!"

“Told you! Best wash it down with some coffee quick!”

Dan talked on while she drank her coffee. “Had a look round the town. Quite a jamboree down there. Like a cross between the Wicker Man meets The Darling Buds of May.”

“Throw in a couple of hobbits and job’s a good un, I’ll bet!” George said with a generic comic accent that could be attributed to several regions of South West England in no particular order.

“No sign of hobbits yet, unless you count crusty looking hippies lining their pockets with excessive profits from bespoke marmalades.”

Almost forgetting her indignation at Dan forgetting to invite her along for his morning survey of the town and its street markets, she then reprimanded her husband for his oversight.

“Hey, I thought we were going to go into town together. First morning of our new life together and all that.”

“You were out for the count and I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast instead.”

George tried to maintain her mock pout before she held the remainder of the cinnamon roll to her face and laughed behind it.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Your idea of a surprise is like that of a circus clown attempting to play hide and seek.”

Dan made a faux angry face and grabbed George’s mug of coffee, taking one giant gulp before projectile spraying it across the bedding.

“Oh for God’s sake!”

“It tastes like dirt.”

“It probably is dirt. And now look at the bedding. That’s going to take a day to wash and dry that.”

“Well then, it starts,” Dan said contentedly.

“What does?”

“Domestic bliss.”

At which point, George threw a cushion directly at Dan’s head, which he managed to swerve with a swift turn of his head. He took a mere fraction of a second to answer his wife’s provocation with a reciprocal gesture, from which a full on pillow skirmish ensued.

Goose feathers now danced all around them like an animated scene from a Disney cartoon as George's hopes of resuming her long lost childhood already appeared to becoming partly fufilled.

Surprisingly exhausted from their pillow combat, George headed for her first shower in the new house as Dan began to plan the logistics of the furniture arranging for later that afternoon when the removal company men arrived. George had already given some of her own strict instructions as to where she wanted certain pieces placed but was happy to permit some “creative” improvisation from Dan. They both shared a devout belief in Feng shui, or what Dan often referred to as “simply putting things in their right place”. They shared moments of mutual epiphany when they’d hang an art work on a certain wall or put a chair in a particular place.

Then, after her refreshing shower in the en suite bathroom of their empty and expansive bedroom, George decided it was now her own turn to head into the town for a look around.

She was about to tell Dan her plans but then noticed him through the kitchen window peacefully sunbathing in the mid-summer sunshine on the grassy bank by their garden lake where much of the water was concealed by the large, frog-green lily pads covering the surface. He looked to her like something out of an E.M. Forster novel, she thought as she admired for a moment his stationary form just lying there like a relaxed sculpture.

On the blue tiled kitchen top next to the kettle George left a note for her husband to discover when he eventually returned inside.

“Off to look for Hobbits! Don't forget to hang the sheets out.”

With his problematic back supported by the dry, patchy ground, Dan could feel the energy of the earth beneath him renewing his physical well being; he was already feeling truly at one with his new environment and wondering why they hadn't made the move sooner. Returning to the simplest pleasures seemed to be the perfect antidote to the stress and chaos of their torrid years living in the city. From a social point of view they would miss the many memorable sociable ocassions with their considerable circle of London friends and would no doubt find it hard to replicate that aspect of their former lives in the country to the same extent, but as a journalist he also knew that if you scratched beneath the surface of any place you'd invariably find some treasure. Social beachcombing wasn't just reserved for cities. It was also a pastime that could no doubt also be enjoyed in the fields and woods, valleys and vales of Greenbury.