‘Digger?’ Jason echoed.

‘Ask anyone, they’ll know about the digger.’

Albert grumbled loudly behind him at the landlord. ‘Six generations of my family have farmed here, Lester. Cold Hill exists because of the big house. The Lord of the Manor. Now it’s a bloody housing estate, we’re going to have all these city folk coming along, thinking they’re living the bleedin’ rural idyll.’ He swivelled around and stared hard again at Jason and Emily. ‘That’s what you believe, isn’t it – that you’re living in the countryside, eh? But actually you are just living in suburbia. Bah. Good luck to you. You’ll never leave. No one ever has.’ He swivelled back to his beer.

A pleasant woman in a black polo shirt with the pub’s name on it came over, holding a clutch of menus, and told Jason and Emily their table was ready.

‘Nice to meet you!’ Jason said to both old men, as Emily turned away in disgust.

Neither acknowledged him.

23

Sunday 16 December

They followed the woman through the crowded saloon bar and into an equally rammed restaurant area, with more festive decorations on the walls, and were taken to a small four-seater table in a corner. Jason sat down beside his wife, with his back to the far wall, giving him a view of the room. He was pensive, wondering what the two old men had meant.

‘How horrible that man was – and creepy – not sure I want to rush back here again in a hurry,’ Emily said.

‘I agree – but the landlord seems really friendly,’ Jason replied. ‘Let’s see what the food’s like, anyway.’

‘Hmm,’ she replied, and glanced at the menus the waitress had put on the table – a standard one, a Christmas Fayre three-course special, and the wine list.

There was a roar of laughter from a raucous table of eight beside them.

‘Shall we ask for some ice to put in your wine?’

‘Good idea.’

They clinked glasses again. ‘Cheers, my darling,’ Jason said.

‘Cheers.’ She smiled and took the tiniest sip, screwing up her face. ‘Big year next year, eh?’

He nodded, still pensive, and took a gulp of his beer.

‘Our new home, your very important exhibition – and I think someone has a very big birthday.’ She gave him a quizzical look.

‘Don’t remind me!’

‘Come on. You once told me if someone hasn’t made it by forty, they’re never going to. Well, you have made it and you’re heading into the big league now.’

‘Maybe.’

His birthday was one week after his 8 February exhibition, on 15 February.

‘No maybe about it. We’ll be having a double celebration – your sell-out on the eighth and your birthday. We need to start thinking about it. Perhaps a supper party combined with our housewarming?’ With a twinkle in her eyes, she said, ‘And I do know quite a good local catering firm.’

‘Could I afford them?’

‘Oh, they come at a very special price!’

‘Oh God,’ he suddenly said, staring across the room.