Amy’s husband has retained his boyish looks though he frets that his hair is thinning and his waist thickening. He is right on both accounts. ‘Surely we can t-t-talk about that l-l-later?’ he says and wonders how owning the cottage will affect their plans to buy property in France. ‘Don’t you think so, d-d-d-darling?’
‘Sure,’ Amy nods.
They file from the lawyer’s office into the hall where a male receptionist sits behind a desk typing.
‘Is there somewhere we can smoke?’ Julian asks.
The man struggles out from behind his desk, his rucked up cardigan exposing an overhang of flesh at the waistband. He unlocks a door. ‘Out there. In the yard. There’s a bin.’
The evidence that other smokers have calmed their nerves here pepper the ground. Surrounded by slumped buildings, the shadowy yard does not benefit from weak March sunshine.
‘Oh my God, can you believe it! Me, us, we own the cottage! I can remember every nook and cranny,’ Maggie says.
‘That’s because we repaired them with our bare hands. Mine took years to recover,’ jokes David.
She tugs a jacket round her shoulders. ‘Fancy Seymour remembering us in his will. I thought he was glad to see the back of us. It’s freezing out here. Merry, up!’ A little dog leaps on to her lap.
Simon says: ‘I’m so s-s-sorry about your dad, J-J-Julian. When d-d-did Seymour p-p-pass away?’
The air of ease and entitlement has disappeared. Dark shadows flicker across Julian’s face. ‘November. Horrible time of year, I’ve always loathed it.’ Julian replies. His grey hair is tied back in a ponytail and his beard is carefully clipped along his jaw. A ring dangles from one earlobe. He looks like his father, Amy remembers. Perhaps it’s the wizardly shape of his nose?
‘Cigarette anyone?’ Julian asks.
There is an awkward pause while Julian and Maggie smoke. The others rock from foot to foot and rub their hands, wondering what happens next.
‘I hope you don’t mind the cottage being given to us, Julian?’ Maggie voices what everyone is thinking.
‘’Course not,’ he replies quickly.
‘I didn’t know what to expect when the lawyer’s letter asked me to come,’ David says. ‘I’m blown away, Julian. Your father was wonderful to remember us. I’m so sorry about his passing.’
‘Perhaps he felt he owed you lot something? I don’t know, he never told me what was in his will. All I know is that I’ll miss him terribly.’ Julian sighs and flicks his cigarette stub into the corner, missing the bin. ‘Seymour could be difficult, as you well know. But we became close over the years. We lived at the farm and he cared for me there. I’m not sure if you heard but…I had a breakdown. Several admissions into hospital, actually, and …’
‘I always thought you were a bit loony,’ Maggie says.
One of the things about Maggie, Amy remembers, is that the part of her brain where the faculty of restraint should reside is blank. She always said exactly what wandered into her head. This clearly remains the case. ‘We were all rather wild at the time so it’s no wonder,’ Amy quickly says.
‘It’s all a bit of a blur, to be honest. I was doing a lot of drugs.’
‘We all were, Julian,’ says David.
Another pause follows. Then Simon says: ‘Seymour was always so g-g-generous. It’s th-th-thanks to him I have an interest in C-C-Claret and an appreciation for the f-f-finer things in l-l-life…’
‘…and he had impeccable taste and panache,’ says Amy.
‘I never thought I’d find knowing how to plaster a wall useful but I have to say it’s come in handy,’ adds Maggie.
Everyone laughs. Though it feels forced, they are grateful for levity.
‘Oh, it was a magical time. I honestly thought we’d change the world. Seems a bit naïve now, silly even, doesn’t it?’ Amy looks around but no one catches her eye. ‘It was a tough period for me, when I was living there, and I sometimes think it saved me. My mother dying and Dad getting married again. I don’t know, being there in the garden, with the plants and animals, with you all. Looking back I can see it helped me recover. Does that sound weird?’
‘Only a bit,’ Maggie touches Amy’s arm. ‘I’d forgotten how fucked up your life was then. So Julian, what actually did for Seymour in the end?’
Julian rolls another cigarette. ‘He was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago. Then last summer he got terribly ill. Miriam, that’s my wife, she looked after him with some help from the hospice nurses. He died in the farmhouse, it’s what he wanted. Might be hard to believe but Dad became more reclusive as he aged. Left London and started to work on different sorts of photography.’
He lights the cigarette. ‘Shall we carry on this conversation somewhere warmer? You’d probably like to see the cottage. Come back to Wyld Farm. I’ll call Miriam and tell her we’re on the way.’
‘Can someone give us a lift? Merry, David and I came by train,’ Maggie announces as though they should be impressed. ‘I always use public transport,’ she adds, getting into the Webster’s family estate.
‘I’ll ride with Julian,’ David calls from the dilapidated Jaguar. ‘He says to follow us if you’ve forgotten the way.’
And they do because they have.
The five of them had not met over the previous 25 years. Wyld Farm consumed (or destroyed) any interest they’d had for each other. Life took them in different directions. Their time together became a tale they might tell to amuse others, not something to be re-visited. Better left as a hippy dream, the more glorious perhaps for being ephemeral.
Chance brought Simon and Amy to the same party five years
