'Do you do that as well?'
'Sort of. Get it?'
'Super pun,' I agreed, stony-faced. She grinned and settled back. There's this shed in the middle of the village where the post comes.
'I was worried in case you had one of your birds in with you.'
'You're too young to know about such matters.'
'You're a hoot, Lovejoy, you really are.' I tell you, youngsters nowadays must learn it from the day they're born.
'What's funny?'
'The whole village can hear you making… er, contact with your lady visitors some nights. And some mornings.'
'They can?' That startled me.
'Of course.' She giggled. 'We're all terribly embarrassed, especially those of us who are still in our tender years and likely to be influenced by wicked designs of evil men.' A laugh.
'Well the village shouldn't be listening.'
'Face it, Lovejoy.' She began to look around. 'You've something of a reputation.'
'That's news to me.' And it was.
'Is it really?'
'Yes.' She turned to eye me. 'You're our most exotic resident.'
'Pretty dull place.'
'Pretty exotic character,' she countered.
'I can't be more exotic than our musician.' We have a man who makes an extraordinary musical instrument of a hitherto unknown pattern. Needless to add, it cannot be played—which for a musical instrument is some handicap.
'Compared with you he's a bore.'
'Then there's the preacher.' This is a chap who preaches somewhat spontaneously at odd hours of night and day. Very praiseworthy, you might say, to have deep religious convictions in this immoral world. Well, yes, but to preach to trees, fence-posts, and assorted bus stops is hardly the best way of setting a good example.
'Even the preacher.'
'What's special about me?' I was fascinated. Rose seemed surprised at my astonishment.
'You collecting old pots.'
'Thanks,' I said ironically. So much for years of study.
'And that crazy old car. It's hilarious!'
'Go on.'
'And your… lady visitors.'
'Well,' I said hesitantly, 'they've diminished of late, apart from the odd dealer. I was ill, in a way. I expect you noticed.'
'Yes.' She poured herself another cup and stirred sugar in. 'You had one special bird, didn't you?'
'Sheila.'
'Better than that blousy brunette with all those teeth.'
'Which was she?'
'About four months ago. You remember—she shared you with that unpleasant married lady with the nasty manners.'
'You keep my score?'
She grinned. 'Hard not to, when I'm coming here every day.'
'I suppose so.'
'Did she give you the sailor's farewell?' she asked sympathetically.
'Who?'
'Sheila.'
'No, love.' I drew slow breath. 'She… died, unfortunately.'
'Oh.'
'It's all right.'
'I'm so sorry. Was that why you… ?'
'Lost control, my grandma would have called it,' I said to help her out. 'Yes, it must have been.'
