When Alice Met Danny. T A Williams

as muck in the Welsh valleys, I’m afraid. So what about you, Alice? What brings you to Woodcombe?’

      ‘I’m going for a fresh start.’ She soon found herself talking quite openly to the vicar about her life to date, her sacking and her decision to restart her life. She even told her about the house full of poo. The vicar wrinkled up her nose.

      ‘Well, at least by the sounds of it, that particular problem has now been eliminated. When are you going to take a look round the house?’

      ‘I thought I might go this afternoon. So, if you don’t see me again, you’ll know that the shock killed me.’

      ‘No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, Alice. And, although you don’t need me to tell you, I think you are doing just the right thing. Not many of us get offered a chance to start over again. I quite envy you.’ She glanced around the room before returning her eyes to Alice, a smile on her face. ‘There are some winter mornings when I rather wish I had gone for marriage to Richard Branson. I’m sure I could learn to like the beard. I can just see myself on a Caribbean island.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Anyway, welcome to the village. I live right beside the church. The one with the blue door. If you ever want a cup of tea and a chat, you know where to find me.’ She gave her another smile. ‘Or come in the evening for a glass of wine.’

      She left just as Alice’s crab sandwich appeared.

Chapter 12

      Alice pulled up outside number 23 with considerable trepidation. The first thing she noticed was the lack of rubbish in the front garden. All that was left was a muddy puddle. She took that to be a very good sign. As she approached the front door, she saw that the windows were slightly open. As she opened the door and tentatively slid her nose around it, she was relieved and delighted to smell fresh air. All right, she had to admit to herself as she walked into the hall, not quite the sort of fresh air you might get on Beauchamp seafront, but an enormous improvement on what had been there before. She left the front door wide open behind her to aid the ventilation and started her voyage of discovery.

      The air, as she penetrated into the house, had a chemical smell to it. The explanation was right in front of her in the lounge, where she found a printed card on the mantelpiece. Underneath the name of the cleaning firm, it read: No toxic chemicals have been used in this property. With good ventilation any residual odour should dissipate within a few days.

      That sounded hopeful, which was more than could be said for the room. A huge patch of plaster had dropped off the ceiling, leaving bare wooden laths. A good quarter of the floorboards beneath this had completely disappeared, exposing the earth below. A sinister-looking grey fungus grew up the walls and into the window frame. The whole underfloor area was soaking wet. Maybe the presence of water meant that it wasn’t dry rot after all. Whatever it was, it did not look good. She retreated in the direction of the door.

      The dining room and kitchen appeared almost normal at first sight, until you looked up. In both cases, the ceilings were bulging downwards, presumably in a similar state to the lounge. When she climbed the stairs and investigated in the bedrooms, she began to realise what had caused the plaster to drop off. In spite of the open windows and a lingering chemical odour, there was no disguising the underlying smell of urine. The stained floor boards told a sorry, sordid story. She hastily completed her tour of inspection and made a run for the front door. After taking a few lungfuls of clean air, she plucked up the courage to run back upstairs and force the windows further open front and back. Hopefully this would create more of a through draught. Mission accomplished, she headed back onto the street.

      She was sitting on the wall, collecting her thoughts, when a noise attracted her attention. It was Vicky from next door, tapping on her lounge window. She beckoned Alice to come in.

      ‘Come to inspect the results of the big clean-up?’ She led the way through to the kitchen. This time there was no sign of the baby. ‘Tea?’

      Alice nodded gratefully.

      ‘You should have seen what came out of next door.’ Vicky’s voice was awe-struck. ‘They were all dressed up like spacemen, complete with masks and gloves. They must have filled their truck four or five times.’ She turned back from the kettle, her eyes wide. ‘Do you know, they told me they removed no fewer than two thousand bottles of pee?’

      Now it was Alice’s turn to look aghast.

      ‘And I don’t mean beer bottles. These were five-litre plastic containers.’

      Alice’s face turned green.

      ‘And buckets and buckets of what they called “solids”.’

      ‘Oh, dear God.’ Alice pulled out a tissue and blew her nose in distaste. In the distance she heard a plaintive wail.

      ‘There’s Danny. He’s had his after-lunch sleep and he’s woken up. He probably heard your voice and wants to say hello.’ Vicky went off and returned with the little boy in her arms. He was red in the face and a bit cranky. She handed him over to Alice, who took him readily.

      ‘Hello Danny, I was thinking about you the other day.’ She smiled down at him, while reaching into her bag with her other hand. She looked across at Vicky. ‘I saw this in a shop in London the other day and couldn’t resist it. Here.’ She passed the little package across. Inside was a tiny sweat shirt with a big D on front and back. ‘It’s a little thank you for the life-saving cup of tea last week.’ She looked back at the little boy who decided to give her a big smile. In an instant she forgot her woes and burrowed her face into his tummy. He chortled.

      ‘Thank you, it’s sweet, but you shouldn’t have.’ Vicky placed a mug of tea in front of her and a packet of biscuits. As they chatted, Alice took one and nibbled it. She was tickled to see that the baby’s eyes followed her hand each time she raised it to her mouth, just like the Labrador. These two very different Dannys had that in common. She wondered for a moment if the two grown-up Dannys held strong views on biscuits. This thought, too, helped to raise her morale.

      ‘So what do you do, Vicky?’ Alice asked, and noted a cloud cross the younger woman’s face for a moment.

      ‘You’re looking at him. This little chap is keeping me fully occupied at present.’ There was a soft note to her voice, but there was something more underneath. She looked up at Alice. ‘And I love him to bits. But, to be honest, as soon as I can, I’d like to go back to university.’

      Alice gave her a smile. ‘That’s a coincidence. I had exactly the same thought. What would you want to study?’

      Vicky looked happier now. ‘A teaching qualification. I think I’d enjoy teaching. I did a languages degree here at Exeter a few years back. I’d really like to try teaching French and German.’ The cloud crossed her face again. ‘And I’m probably going to need the money. What about you?’

      Alice noted her discomfort, but made no comment. ‘I’m thinking of history. Maybe try to get in to do an MA.’ She swallowed the last piece of her biscuit and reached for her tea.

      The little boy, obviously tired of watching people eat and drink, extended his hands towards his mother and let out a squeal. Vicky gave him a tender smile. ‘You’ve only just had lunch, you know?’ She glanced up at Alice, a wistful look in her eye. ‘Just like his dad. Always eating.’

Chapter 13

      Over the weekend, Alice settled down to research the First World War. She pulled out her laptop and set it up on the little table in her bedroom, looking out onto the garden. Since her last visit, the sunny weather had brought out more and more leaves and flowers. The garden looked fuller, the hedges thicker. She gazed out at the scene from time to time as she tried to take in the facts she read. Apart from ordering a couple of books on the war, she read her way through a number of websites dedicated to it. They made for sobering reading. The casualties were of epic proportions: sixteen million dead and twenty million wounded. For the