‘I must say I do find this very strange,’ went on her father shaking his head. ‘You had the chance of a well-paid and professional career ahead of you, and you throw it all away just to travel?’
‘Oh, Father, please!’ Joy burst out suddenly. ‘Leave Tom alone! He is our guest here after all. Please don’t cross-examine him. He has his reasons. You should respect that.’
Tom was surprised by the look of passion in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. It was the first time he had ever seen her angry, and despite his embarrassment, a warm feeling crept over him at the strength of her defence.
‘Joy! Please don’t speak to me like that. I apologise if I was rude. I had no intention to be in the slightest.’
Again there was an uncomfortable silence. All that could be heard was the sound of cutlery on china and enthusiastic chewing. But gradually the children resumed their chatter, as if the incident had never occurred.
Later, when the meal was over and Tom had said his goodbyes to the children and thanked Joy’s parents for their hospitality, Joy came out to the car with him.
As he got into the driver’s seat, he said, ‘I’m sorry that your father doesn’t approve of me, Joy.’
‘Oh, you mustn’t mind him. He can be a bit abrupt at times. He has rather fixed views about some things, I’m afraid. But he has a heart of gold really.’
‘He obviously thinks I’m a bit of a waster, throwing up my career to come out here. I’m sorry I let you down, Joy.’
She gripped his hand and looked him in the eyes. ‘Please don’t say that, or even think it. You didn’t let me down. You’ve never let me down.’
She leaned in through the car window and kissed him.
That night, when Tom was asleep in bed, Joy returned to him in his dreams. They were back on the beach, running in the waves, hand in hand, leaping over the tiny breakers, laughing and splashing. Joy tripped and fell over in the water. She was still holding his hand, and she tugged at it, looking up at him, wordlessly urging him down beside her. He looked into her eyes, and he saw that they were deep pools of infinite promise. She was drawing him closer and closer. She kissed him, and he felt her hot, salty lips on his. It was a kiss of pure love. An overwhelming feeling of happiness spread through his whole being.
Then she was drawing him down on top of her, still holding his gaze. He covered her neck and shoulders with kisses and took deep breaths of the sweet heady scent of her skin. Then with gentle hands he began to explore the curves of her body, firm and soft, wet and slippery from the water that lapped around them. Then he felt her hands slip around his waist and the pressure of them on his back, hot against his skin. She pulled him down, further and further, deeper and deeper, until they melted together, moving as one in the shallow waves until there was no going back.
He awoke with a jolt, sweating and breathing heavily. The dream had been so vivid that he was disappointed when he turned to find that Joy wasn’t beside him. He thought back over the events of the day and realised that they had cemented his feelings for Joy. He had not felt this way before, about any other woman. He knew it wasn’t simply that he longed for her physically. He loved her. He loved her for her simple generous nature, her sweet smile and the way she filled him with an all-consuming feeling of happiness and peace. And he knew now, from the way she had kissed him today, and the way she had behaved towards during supper, that she felt the same way about him.
12
It rained the day they buried him. Abney Park Cemetery was shrouded in a soft mist. As a child, Laura had been afraid to even walk past the gates, but as a teenager she’d overcome her fears and ventured into the derelict church to smoke with her friends. It was a forlorn place. The ornate graves and elaborate tombs built by wealthy Victorians, neglected for years, were now crumbling. Tombstones had toppled over and graves had caved in, stones tumbling into the void.
Dad hadn’t been a religious man, but Marge had insisted on a church service.
‘You need to give your poor old dad a proper send-off. Your mum would have wanted it, and he certainly deserves it,’ Marge had said, lips pursed obstinately. Laura had gone along with it, too numb with grief to object.
The service was over now, and the mourners stood around the freshly dug grave while the priest conducted the burial service. Laura stared straight ahead, dry eyed, her shoulder touching Luke’s. She looked around at the assembled faces. So many people. People who’d worked with Dad over the years at the law centre. People he’d helped in various ways, had represented in court and helped fight the authorities to solve their immigration problems. There was the Chaudhry family with their six children, all immaculately dressed; they had lived on the top floor of the house until they were able to afford a home of their own. There were friends and neighbours. There were people from Highbury Social Club, where her father had played darts. There was Ken, standing alone, sober for once, and there was Marge, flanked by her two grown-up sons.
Laura’s eyes wandered to the other side of the cemetery. With a start she noticed someone standing there, away from the crowd. It was the man she’d seen watching the house the day she had came home from Paris. Now, as then, the old man was sheltering under a tree. This one was an old oak beside a derelict grave. He held a
