Page 14 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘It’s in good condition,’ Pen observed, tipping it this way and that. ‘Not a chip in sight.’

‘I don’t think you’re meant to cook chips in it,’ Harriet said, deadpan.

‘Very funny.’ Pen gave it back to her. ‘See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? How much did you pay for it?’

‘One-fifty.’

‘You’ve got a bargain.’

‘I thought so, too.’

‘Don’t forget to give it a wash before you use it,’ Pen teased, and Harriet rolled her eyes.

Still, if Pen thought she had made a decent purchase, then she must have done. Maybe there was something in this not-buying-new challenge after all…

Not wanting to fire up the wood burner just to heat some water, Owen decided to make do with a cold shower, so he filled his portable water bag from the standpipe near the gate and hung it up in the tiny shower cubicle. On sunny days, and if he had enough time, he would hang the bag up outside to allow the heat of the sun to warm the water naturally, but that took a good few hours and he wanted a wash now.

Owen stripped off, gasping as the icy water cascaded over his skin, and he hastily reached for the soap. Weren’t cold showers supposed to be good for you? Something to do with boosting the immune system? After the number of freezing showers he had taken over the years, he should be as healthy as a horse. To be fair, he was rarely ill, and he put it down to living a simple and mostly outdoor life. However, since he’d turned forty, he had noticed the odd twinge in his back, and his right knee sometimes played up first thing in the morning, and it could take as long as an hour for the aches and pains to settle down. His dad maintained that those kinds of things were an inevitable result of ageing, but Owen refused to believe it, despite having a sneaking suspicion that his father might be right.

Maybe he just needed to replace his mattress? In this instance, he would buy new, but only because a used mattress usually tended to be nearing the end of its life and he would only end up having to buy another one in a couple of years. Owen had certainly had his money’s worth out of this one, though, having had it for eighteen years, so he couldn’t complain. The current advice was to change a mattress every seven years, but Owen was convinced that the ‘advice’ was a marketing ploy on behalf of mattress manufacturers everywhere.

Shower over, Owen hastily towelled himself dry, then rooted around for some clean jeans and a T-shirt. He’d throw a hoodie over the top because the morning was a little fresh, which was only to be expected considering it was nearly October, although it was forecast to be a nice day, and perfect for getting out and about exploring the local area.

Hungry again (he had already eaten rolled oats with syrup and sliced banana at six a.m.), he decided he’d have a second breakfast at the cafe. If he ate something substantial now, it would set him up for the rest of the day until supper.

Feeling content with his lot, he locked the van, then sauntered down the lane towards the village, in no hurry. He had nothing in particular to do and nowhere in particular to go, and he relished the freedom. Who wanted to be tied down to a nine-to-five job and a house that was mortgaged to the hilt, when you could work when the mood took you, pitch up where you fancied and be answerable to no one? Not him!

The hillsides and mountains around Foxmore were inviting, but Owen decided he would check those out another day. Right now, he wanted to explore the village itself, then take a walk by the river.

He loved running water, the sound of it, the smell, the way it trickled along the shallows and ran darkly in deeper parts. And he loved wild swimming, although he would probably give that a miss for now. He’d had his fill of icy water today.

He would do some foraging, though, because there was nothing nicer than eating what you grew or found, and considering he didn’t have a garden to grow veggies and fruit in, he would have to make do with what he could forage. There should still be some blackberries around, and the hawthorn berries and rosehips were usually abundant in the hedgerows at this time of the year. If he was lucky, he might find a few late-fruiting wild strawberries, and when he ventured to the hills above the village, he would make sure to take a basket with him to collect the last of this season’s blueberries. He would keep an eye out for hazelnuts and sweet chestnuts along the riverbank, too.

In a very short time Owen had left the houses behind and was walking along a dirt track towards the river.

He smelt it and heard it before he saw it, and he stopped to listen to the burble of running water as he breathed deeply, enjoying the clean, fresh air.

The trees were getting ready for winter. They were turning colour and a steady patter of dry leaves drifted down from the branches overhead like oversized confetti. They crunched under his feet as he walked, and he scuffed his way through them, kicking them into the air, feeling like a big kid.

He had his rucksack with him, and when he found a patch of brambles resplendent with juicy black fruit, he picked enough to fill a Tupperware box, but made sure he left plenty for the birds and other animals to feast on. His mouth watered when he thought about mixing them with yoghurt for a healthy dessert. He might even have enough to make a small pot of jam.

Owen picked a handful to eat now, and perched on a fallen log to devour his snack, letting the sights and sounds of nature fill his heart and soul.

The residents of Foxmore were lucky to have such a beautiful unspoilt river on their doorsteps and, combined with the hills and moorlands above, he had to admit this was a darned nice spot to live in. If ever he thought about settling down, Foxmore would be the sort of place he’d consider.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but when his stomach growled, he decided to head back to the village and pop into Pen’s Pantry – ostensibly to have a bite to eat, but in reality to see if Harriet was there and, if she was, whether she was serious about taking him up on his challenge.

He had a feeling she would back out. He’d heard her say that her daughter wanted a new dress for a party, and he guessed she would probably give in to the girl’s demands.

He could feel a grin spreading across his face when he spied Harriet through the window as he approached the cafe. She had her back to the door, but she soon turned around when Pen nudged her as he stepped inside.

‘Owen!’ Pen called. ‘How was the field?’

‘Good, thanks.’

‘Take a seat. Harriet will be over to take your order in a minute.’

Owen did as he was told, choosing a table on the opposite side to the counter and sitting with his back to the wall so he had an uninterrupted view of the room. And Harriet.

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