Page 24

It was my half-day at the teashop, and I was on my way home.

It was a warm, but breezy, August day, and I was looking forward to an afternoon in the garden.

I had a load of washing to put on but that was okay; the clothes would dry beautifully on the line in this weather.

Christie and Scott had invited Dad and me to dinner at their house tonight, so I didn’t even have to think about cooking.

Dad had decided his bedroom needed redecorating and had caught the bus to Harling’s Halt then treated himself to a ride on the steam train to Much Melton.

He’d texted me on his ancient Nokia phone at ten that morning to tell me he was having a wander round the shops and would have lunch in a cafe before returning home – hopefully with some wallpaper and paint samples.

He told me not to worry; he’d definitely be home by five when Christie had said Scott would be picking us up.

So I basically had the afternoon to myself, which was a rare thing, and at that moment as I crossed the footbridge over the river and headed along Faran Lane towards home, I felt there was no one luckier than me in the entire world.

Passing The Quicken Tree, I smiled to myself, remembering the pub quiz last Thursday, when our team had come third.

It had been won by the Bright Sparks – the staff from the Swinging Sixties street – with the Mill Crew coming in second.

To our amazement, and, it had to be said, amusement, the Rowan Brainiacs had come in last. And with three postgrads among them!

As we’d left the pub, laughing and teasing each other, I’d caught Max’s eye and had felt myself go all funny when he smiled warmly at me and raised a hand in both a greeting and a farewell.

I’d awkwardly waved back and smiled before I’d been nudged along by the crowd leaving the pub. With Pippa at my side, I hadn’t dared hang back to talk to him. I wouldn’t want my daughter to get the wrong idea, after all.

Starling Cottage wasn’t particularly big, but it always felt huge when Dad wasn’t at home.

As I put down my bag on the kitchen counter and flicked the kettle on to boil, I tried to imagine it as it had been in Aunt Polly’s day, with her mum and dad and two younger brothers living here.

It always gave me a warm feeling, knowing this house had once been home to my great-grandparents, my grandad Norman, and great-uncle Ray, as well as Polly, of course.

When my great-grandad, Raymond had passed away, Grandad Norman had taken over the tenancy of Starling Cottage, and then my dad had taken it over from him. I wondered if, one day, I’d take it over from my dad. I supposed it was inevitable. Where else would I want to go?

And after me? I couldn’t imagine Christie and Scott moving here.

They were happy in Kingsford Wold and the girls were settled there.

I wondered if Pippa would one day settle down with someone and have a family.

Would she be happy to live in Rowan Vale?

If not, it would mean the end of the Deakins at Starling Cottage.

I shook my head, wondering where all these maudlin thoughts had come from suddenly. I busied myself putting on the wash and made myself a cup of coffee, which I carried into the back garden, along with a book I was halfway through.

It was a rare treat not to have to think about cooking, and I was determined to enjoy my afternoon of leisure in the sunshine.

I’d just pegged the first wash load onto the line and was adding a capsule to the second load when I heard the knock on the door.

Slamming the washing machine door shut, I quickly set the programme and headed into the hallway, wondering if Dad had come home early and forgotten his keys, or if Amelia had decided to pop by as she sometimes did on my afternoon off.

I’m almost sure my mouth dropped open in a deeply unattractive fashion when I saw Max standing on the step, holding, of all things, a bunch of pink roses.

He cleared his throat and handed them to me. ‘Good afternoon, Shona. I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, but I thought I’d take Jimmy up on his kind offer and pay him a visit. I really enjoyed our chat at the teashop the other week.’

I looked down at the blush-pink roses and felt my face flushing to match them.

‘Er, you’d better come in,’ I said, thinking who on earth these days brought roses for someone they barely knew, merely out of politeness?

He was like some old-fashioned Regency gentleman, the sort I’d just been reading about in my romance novel.

‘I’m sorry,’ I told him as I closed the front door behind him and led him into the kitchen, ‘I’m afraid Dad’s not home.

He’s gone into Much Melton for some wallpaper and paint samples.

He’s got it into his head that his bedroom needs decorating.

It doesn’t,’ I added, ‘but he gets these fancies now and then.’

Max kindly ignored my flustered ramblings and smiled. ‘I see. Ah well. Perhaps another time. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘You haven’t disturbed me!’ I said quickly, rummaging in the cupboard under the sink for a vase. ‘It’s my afternoon off and I’m just sitting out in the garden. I was about to make myself another coffee, actually. Would you like one?’

Max hesitated then shrugged. ‘Why not? If you’re sure it’s no trouble?’

‘No trouble at all,’ I assured him, although my shaking hands as I filled the kettle with water told another story. ‘Why don’t you sit yourself down outside and I’ll bring the coffee out to you.’

‘Thank you.’

He headed into the garden, and I puffed out my cheeks, trying to calm myself. As the kettle boiled, I arranged the roses in the vase, thinking how beautiful they were and how lovely he was to have given them to me.

What was it with this man? Why did he have such a peculiar effect on me? Honestly, no man except Luke had made me feel this way, which wasn’t reassuring. Look how me and Luke had turned out!

Not that there seemed much danger of me and Max going the same way. There was no me and Max for a start, and he’d probably run a mile if he suspected for a moment that part of me really wished there would be one day.

‘Your garden is lovely,’ he told me as I carried two mugs of coffee outside and set them down on our patio table. ‘You’re obviously a keen gardener.’

I laughed at that. ‘Me? Not at all. It’s Dad who looks after the garden.

It’s his pride and joy. After Mum died, he threw himself into making it beautiful in her memory.

I think it helped him, you know? Helped him to cope with her loss somehow, making something so lovely to counteract the sadness within him.

’ I remembered, too late, about his wife and groaned inwardly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—’

‘But you’re right,’ he assured me. ‘It’s good that he found a way to deal with his grief.’

‘And have you found a way to deal with yours?’ I asked him gently, while wondering at the same time why on earth I thought I had the right to question him about something so personal.

He didn’t seem offended, though. ‘Grief is a very strange thing,’ he confessed.

‘It comes in waves. Sometimes, it’s manageable, like tiny waves lapping on a shore, and one can almost forget the loss one has suffered.

Almost. But at other times, it’s a savage onslaught.

Like a tidal wave, crashing down upon you and wiping out everything else, so all you can think about is how to survive.

Sometimes, in the darkest moments of early grief, you wonder if it’s worth the struggle. ’

I put my hand to my mouth as tears welled up in my eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmured.

‘Please.’ Max held up his hand. ‘There’s no need to be sorry. Death is part of life, and we must all find our own way after the loss of loved ones. I have far more days of gentle waves than tidal waves now. Today is a good day and I’m grateful for that.’

I sipped my coffee, not sure what to say to his words without sounding trite. I wondered what he’d say if I told him that this village was full of ghosts, and death wasn’t quite as straightforward as he imagined.

‘The pub quiz was fun,’ he said, breaking our silence, much to my relief.

I grinned, glad to have something else to talk about. ‘Even though your team came last?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘The humiliation! Although it must be said, the questions weren’t what I was expecting. How am I supposed to know how many top ten hits some band has had when I’ve never even heard of the band?’

‘How can you not have heard of Status Quo?’ I demanded. ‘Everyone knows who they are!’

‘Not everyone, clearly,’ he said, his hazel eyes twinkling. ‘I’m only half-convinced they ever existed. I think maybe the lady doing the quiz made them up to confuse us.’

I laughed. ‘Penny, cheat? Never! I can promise you they’re a real band, and really good. I have some of their albums somewhere.’

‘Hmm. If you say so. Rissa says they are for old people, so maybe I would enjoy them.’

My eyes widened in indignation. ‘Do you mind? I’m only fifty-two!’

He held up his hands, laughing. ‘They were not my words! They were Rissa’s. I am older than you by a couple of years, so believe me, I am not insulting you. Anyway,’ he added, dropping his hands and eyeing me thoughtfully, ‘you don’t look fifty-two. You must stay out of the sunshine.’

I felt quite flustered by his offhand compliment. ‘Oh, people always say that. I tell them, it’s the fat plumping up the wrinkles.’

Oh no! Why had I said that ? Fancy drawing attention to my size-eighteen body!

Although, it had never bothered me before, so why should I start worrying now?

Honestly, this is what men did to you. Made you all self-critical and timid.

Luke had a way of doing that – of sapping my self-confidence and making me feel worthless.

I wasn’t going to let anyone else do that to me, no matter how good-looking he was.