Free Home to Roost by Tessa Hainsworth Page A

window.
    It’s shut, so I give an easy, friendly knock on the window. He looks up at me and shouts, ‘What?’
    I do a double take. I know this man. He’s Mr Landers, one of the second homers in our village. He’s had a house there for several years but no one calls him or his wife by anything other than their surnames; they made it clear they wanted no intimacy with us villagers as soon as they moved in. I’ve had a run-in with him before, when Marilyn’s pet goat, Gruff, was being stubborn and sitting down in the hardly used road near their house. Mr Landers came by – he had a different car then; I haven’t seen this one before – and instead of laughing about it as anyone else would, he had a mega hissy fit, shouting and hollering and threatening to report us.
    So I am not well pleased to see him now. He’s turning away from me again, as if I am too unimportant to take note of. I knock on the window again, this time a bit harder. He zizzes it down so hard it nearly takes my finger off. ‘What?’ he barks again. ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’
    I keep my voice sweet. Not because I’m such a goodie-goodie, but because I know it will annoy him. He wants me to shout back so he can yell even louder. ‘Yes, Mr Landers, I do see that, but you happen to be blocking me in. I need to get on with my postal round. The Royal Mail always gets through, you know.’ I give him a smile as I think,
except when blockheads like you stand in its way
.
    He says, ‘You’ll have to wait. This is important.’
    ‘So is the Royal Mail, sir,’ I reply. Oh, I love it when I’m on my best behaviour with rude types like him. After a time they begin to get suspicious, not knowing if you’re taking the mickey. It throws them, whereas shouting wouldn’t. They’re too used to shouting.
    He turns back to his phone while I wonder if I should just give up and get Guy out of Clara’s house to move his van. But why should I? Mr Landers is right there and for all I know Guy and Clara might just be on the brink of beginning that relationship Guy so wants. Who am I to thwart young love? Well, maybe not so young but never mind. I’m just about to ask him again to move when he cries into the phone, ‘Don’t you dare hang up on me you …’
    Whoever it was obviously does, for he slams the phone down on the passenger seat, letting out a couple of swear words. I figure he’ll go now so I jump back in the van, turn on the engine as he does the same. As I wait for him to reverse out – there is still nothing behind him – I’m jolted in my seat as he goes forward instead and rams into the van.
    We’re both out of our vehicles at the same time. I’m annoyed more than anything, as neither one seems damaged, maybe a few scratches that’s all. The idiot was in such a fury that he went into first gear instead of reverse. Thankfully the damage isn’t worse. I hope he’s feeling properly shame-faced and apologetic – but not a bit of it. I can hardly believe what he’s saying. He seems to be blaming me for the collision. ‘You ran right into me,’ he yells. ‘Too impatient to wait for me to move. I’m going to report you.’ He turns to look at the front of his car but there’s not much there to look at. That doesn’t stop him. ‘You’re going to damn well pay for this.’
    I’m too shocked to be angry. ‘Mr Landers, it was you who ran into me.’
    He’s right in my face, in my space, breathing down at me. He’s not that tall but taller than me, ordinary-looking, maybe in his early fifties. ‘It bloody wasn’t. You hit me straight on. I’d swear it in any court.’
    I’m so shaken by his bald-faced lie that I literally can’t speak. He’s going for his phone, looks at me with daggers in his eyes while he punches in directory inquires, asking to be put through to the main post office in Truro. He doesn’t seem to be getting through to anyone so he throws the phone down again, starts on at me again. ‘You’ve