‘We’re in the living room with a roaring fire, there’s not a sound for miles, it’s wonderful,’ said the builder boyfriend, phoning from Ireland. I was lying on the bed of a budget hotel room in Surrey, watching TV and eating a packet of crisps. I leapt up. ‘Are the dogs OK?’ I asked, thrilled to hear his voice. ‘They’re curled up next to me…’
The line cut off. The phone reception at the Irish house is minimalist. There’s no wifi until we have a satellite installed.
That morning, when he phoned to say he was there safely, I had to make do with a quick blast of the spaniels barking with delight as they ran around the rambling house. I had waved them off from the hotel a day earlier, the BB at the wheel of the pick-up truck. I then began fretting over weather reports, having stayed behind to oversee the moving of the horses.
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