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resentment, jealousy. We come out here, buy their falling down houses, do them up, and make a living at the same time. The locals don’t want these old places, they all seem to want a nice new bungalow in the village.’ Keith seemed to be getting a little steamed up about the topic.
    ‘Are pigs a good line then?’ Mike changed the subject, and lit up another cigarette
    ‘So far they’ve paid well and it’s a quicker turnover than with the beef cattle. It would be worth you having a think about it. That big old barn of yours would be ideal for them, and I know where you can get a sow to start with-let me know-give me a ring. But I don’t sell to Josh and his group any more, we get better prices selling direct ourselves. Mind you he didn’t like it when we opted out, he got quite angry about it. I wouldn’t get involved with him I were you, Mike.’
    ‘Right, Keith, I’ll let you know, though there’s no phone here, as yet.’
    ‘You’ll have to wait a while for that, everything takes so long, this area is still living in the fifties - twenty years behind the times. Mind you that can be a good thing, a nice steady pace and all that, but a bit of a bugger when you want something done –or a bag of cement. That’s why all the hippies and Flower Power mob are coming out here, hardly ever see the village cop so they can grow their ‘wacky baccy’ in peace.’
    The chat continued and explanations given about the newspaper article, brief family histories, children and all the usual stuff, and of course what ‘wacky baccy’ was. A huge revelation to Mike and Jan and it explained Zac’s behaviour. And the coincidence that they had a neighbour named Keith back in Barey had been another surprise. They had two girls, Alison twelve and Jane who was ten years. In fact Keith and Chris were only five years older than Mike and Jan. All of which gave the proceedings an added air of commonality and friendliness. Added to this was the news that there was a local Amateur Dramatics, outfit. Affectionately known by those involved as Am Dram. In fact there were two, an English group and a Welsh one, both based in a small local theatre some six miles away. This obviously interested Jan greatly as she had been very active with it back in town, but hadn’t thought there would be such opportunities out here in the wilds. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to become involved with all that again but couldn’t resist agreeing to go along at the next meeting.
    What are you doing for milk, Jan,’ Chris asked, ‘you can’t get milk delivered to the door out here. I remember when we moved here, the kids were always moaning that there wasn’t any milk in the house.’
    ‘I hadn’t thought of that, I’ve been buying it in the village shop until I could find someone to deliver.’
    ‘Well that doesn’t happen out here. Most people have their own milk, if they’re into dairy farming, or a house cow. Have you thought about getting one? A nice little Jersey would be good. And you could make butter and clotted cream.’
    ‘I like the sound of that,’ Mike said, ‘I love clotted cream. And I know how to milk, as a kid I used to visit a mate from school that lived on a farm. And I used to do quite a bit of milking back then.’
    Mike took a mouthful of booze and smiled amiable at Chris. She smiled back, convincing Mike, once again, that she fancied him.
    ‘This wine is strong stuff,’ Jan said with a giggle, not accustomed to afternoon drinking sessions. Mike too was feeling the effects of the alcohol and was feeling a little bit randy-small amounts did that to him, although larger amounts usually had the opposite effect. It had a similar stimulating effect on Jan and on such rare occasions it would be a time when Mike would be more likely to get his evil way with her. Which was why she seldom drank. She didn’t want to create any patterns of behaviour which would lead Mike to expect more than she wanted to give. Of course the reason