‘There’s nothing to it, Faith,’ he assured me. ‘You’ll enjoy it. And you’ll get so much out of it.’
Still I dithered until, late in the afternoon, as I was about to shut up shop, an elderly lady wandered into the tea room and sat down, giving me a cheery twinkle of her eye.
‘What can I get you?’ I asked breezily, sailing over my notepad.
‘Oh, a cup of tea would be lovely. Faith, is it?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Are you local?’
‘Well, you know, I am now. Came here 50 years ago, and nobody would speak to me much until I started courting a young man – young Evan’s great uncle. You know Evan, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, I do.’ I blushed. ‘So are you ... his great aunt?’
‘By marriage, yes. And a wonderful, long and happy marriage it’s been. I’m the luckiest woman alive ... but it wasn’t like that when I first moved here.’
‘No?’
‘Oh, no. Not until I agreed to do the villagers a favour. A very special favour. I think you’ll know what I’m talking about.’
The notebook flipped out of my fingers. I bent to pick it up but the visitor put a thin hand on my arm.
‘It will be the making of this place, Faith. You won’t regret it. Don’t worry about the tea – here’s a pound anyway.’
She left it on the table and shuffled off, leaving me speechless and intrigued.
It was hot again, tinderbox heat. The village children ran riot on the bouncy castles while Evan squired me here and there, from stall to sideshow, gathering a fine collection of handshakes and winks and good luck wishes. I felt bare before the villagers’ gaze, approving as it was, knowing that later they would all get a good eyeful of my bottom, but I maintained a civil façade, smiling and joining in the games and races. It was the toughest thing I had ever done, wanting to shrink from their knowing looks, forcing myself to hold up my head.
‘Three o’clock, Evan,’ said a man who was playing the accordion in the pub garden once we had drained our lemonades.
‘Thanks, Chas,’ he said, then he turned to me. ‘Work to be done, Faith. Come on.’
He took my arm and led me around the side of the church, along the dirt track that led out to the fields and the river and the woodland beyond the village.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To cut the rod. You have to do it yourself, and trim it too.’
We were barely past the graveyard when two men fell into step with us – members of Evan’s cricket team, I think.
‘Oi, Evan! Haven’t you forgotten something? You need witnesses for the cutting?’
‘I didn’t think you’d forget,’ he chaffed, winking at them. ‘Brought your measuring tape?’
‘O’ course.’
We walked on in silence, the mid-afternoon sun bearing down heavily on us, across fields of yellow and green, until we arrived alongside the river, its banks flanked with lush woodland.
The trees provided deliciously cool refuge from the June sultriness; we tramped on over the fallen twigs and branches until we arrived at a small clearing. Willow trees.
‘Here,’ said Evan, handing me a craft knife. ‘The rules are that it must be no more than three feet long and less than an inch thick. You might need to cut a few.’
I began sawing at the tender greenish saplings, watching the men watching me from the corner of my eye. Half-jokingly and half-seriously I hummed that song from The Wicker Man as I worked, wondering if perhaps I should have sold up and moved to another part of the country when Evan made his bizarre proposition. But I was here now, cutting off willow switches for my strapping boyfriend to whip me with on the village green at midnight. As you do.
‘Heigho, la la la,’ I sang, forgetting the words as I hacked, getting greenish sap all over my fingers in the process. Should have worn gloves. ‘Am I not young and fair?’
‘Lovely arse,’ said one of Evan’s cricketing buddies admiringly. ‘Made for those jeans.’
‘You can keep your hands off,’ said Evan gruffly.