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from Oklahoma before. He’s in his element here. This is his dream. Whereas it’s my living nightmare.
    Of course, his delicate condition now precludes him from doing anything too strenuous and he isn’t, therefore, involved in the messy end of cleaning. He’s taking on a more supervisory role.
    He’s moved on to South Pacific and the strains of ‘Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair’ come ever nearer. ‘Missed a bit.’ Will points out a dirty patch on the floor as he enters the kitchen. See what I mean?
    ‘You could do something useful,’ I suggest. ‘Go to Scarsby and buy us some food for tonight.’ Don’t suppose there’s a friendly take-away locally.
    ‘Right,’ Will says, in between refrains and he grabs the car keys and leaves.
    Sighing, I lean on my mop, just as our nanny gives a blood-curdling scream as the tail of a mouse pops out from underneath one of the cupboards. I close my eyes. This will all turn out fine. I won’t miss my job. I won’t miss wearing Jimmy Choos every day. I won’t miss sending out for a latte every five minutes. I won’t miss the respect or the power. I won’t miss hobnobbing it with celebrities from the sporting world. I won’t miss my big sister popping round a couple of times a week. All of this I can cope without, as long as this makes my husband happy and keeps him fit and healthy.What would be the point in staying in London if I constantly worried that William wouldn’t come home that night? So this is much, much better for us. Right?
    I burst into tears.
    ‘Don’t cry, Amy.’ Maya abandons her mop and puts her arms round me.
    ‘I’m not crying,’ I sob, and sniff louder.
    I really hoped that work would refuse to accept my resignation, that my boss would hurl himself to the floor and beg me to stay. But he didn’t. Gavin Morrison wished me well and waved a fond farewell without a squeak of protest. Even before I went, my assistant, Jocelyn, had been promoted. And, after years of loyal service, made it clear that she couldn’t wait to see the back of me so that she could try on my shoes for size.
    ‘We will all adapt,’ my nanny tells me firmly.
    ‘I’m sure we will.’ I search my pockets for a tissue. While I sniffle, I wonder what I would have been doing in my old life right now. ‘Yes.Yes. We’ll all adapt. We’ll become country bumpkins and love it. It will just take time.’
    And I have an eternity at Helmshill Grange stretching ahead of me.

Chapter Nine
     
     
     
    W hen William returns from Scarsby - several hours later - he’s bearing two carrier bags overflowing with shopping and there’s a definite spring in his step.
    ‘Let me,’ I say. ‘Should you be carrying that?’ His face is pale. Will still tires easily and that worries me. Shouldn’t he be on the mend by now if there was really nothing wrong with him? His work/life balance is definitely now more in favour of life - shouldn’t that be helping? We haven’t signed on with a local GP yet, and I vow to make it my priority. I’ve been meaning to do it since we got here. He should have someone to keep an eye on him, just to be sure. My husband says that I worry too much. He’s decided that he’s the picture of robust health now that we’ve moved to the country. Arteries that were once clogged have miraculously cleared themselves, cholesterol that was high has fallen through the floor of its own volition, apparently. His blood pressure is that of a nineteen year old. Or so he tells me. I’d like a slightly more professional assessment.
    ‘Light stuff,’ he assures me. ‘The rest is in the boot.’
    I take the carriers from him, risking a quick peek to check that he’s bought all that we might need. Sure enough there’s a couple of cartons of milk and a loaf of bread in there, so I can relax a bit. On the rare occasion that Will ever did the shopping in London, he could come home with absolutely nothing that was on the list but two kilos of wonderfully smelly