‘Those familiar dulcet squawks. I knew it must be you!’ David plants a sweaty kiss on her cheek. ‘Thanks for coming. How did you find us?’
‘It was brilliant fun, I really loved it. What a band!’ She is genuinely enthusiastic. ‘Simon got your letter today. You said you had a gig tonight and as I was at a loose end, I came along.’
The next band is already trooping on to the stage. Five lads in big boots and short hair, accompanied by catcalls and shouts as their fans swamp the floor by the stage. They lower the average age of the audience by many years.
‘These guys are special, you should stay and listen,’ David whispers as an ear-splitting roar of electric guitars crashes over their heads.
He pulls her to one side as more young people flood in from the bar, bringing smells of beer and sweat. Fast and furious, the band thunders through its set, the drunken lead singer continuing to carouse even when he topples into the drum kit. He is dragged to his feet by another musician. Raw energy out of control.
‘This is fabulous!’ Amy shouts as the packed crowd of fans leap on each other’s shoulders, trying to spring higher than the next, shouting out the lyrics they know and making up those they don’t. Worries about Chloe, confusion about Seymour, concerns about the cottage. Everything is forgotten. More fun than she’s had in ages.
A bouncing fan pushes her into David together. Like a light switch, her body tingles to the feel and the smell of her first love. Reluctantly, she disentangles herself. He straightens his jacket and catches her eye. She finds she is gliding towards him.
‘Hi,’ a woman hisses down her ear. ‘We haven’t met. I’m Amber, David’s girlfriend.’
Amy just makes the last train. The taxi drops her home and lets herself into the house. Only then does the relief flood through her. It was stupid to flirt with David. Thank goodness it went no further.
Just about to go to upstairs with a glass of water and two headache pills, Amy notices the answer machine light flashing. Miriam’s calm voice explains that Simon has tripped and smashed his knee, has been to A&E and will be discharged from the local hospital in the morning. Is Amy able to drive down to collect him? Or should Miriam do it?
35
Seymour settled down with a cup of coffee in the garden. Mid-April and with a blanket on his knees, Miriam was right: it was warm enough to enjoy the sun. Seymour had always been a sun-worshipper. And loved good, strong coffee. Every two weeks a packet from Fortnum’s arrived at the farm with that special blend of coffee beans and his favourite madeleines.
Seymour licked the sugar off a second biscuit. Where was Garfield? Had the postman retired? This generation of postal workers only deigned to leave their vans to shove the mail through letterboxes. Not the proper ‘delivery’ that Garfield had once provided, walking across the valley carrying the post in his bag.
Seymour flicked through a weekly political magazine. Before Miriam left this morning with Julian to buy sandals for Peter, she had settled him with a pot of coffee, a rug and his post. The garden could not be called beautiful for the flower beds hosted weeds and the hedges were unruly. But it was certainly pleasant.
‘Ah, Mrs Morle. This is a surprise.’
It amazed him that at 81 years of age, Mrs Morle still worked for him. But not on a Saturday. So why was she heading towards him? Clasped to her chest was a letter. A dramatic gesture he did not associate with her stolid temperament. Letters were the only way the woman kept in touch with the outside world. She refused to have a phone despite Seymour offering to pay for the installation.
‘Lynn’s letter has come!’
‘Really? My goodness! This is unexpected. Sit down, Mrs Morle, you look exhausted.’
‘Water. I need water.’
‘Yes, of course.’
He slid over the glass of water that Miriam had left to wash down his pills. His tablets winked accusingly at him. ‘What does Lynn say?’
Mrs Morle’s eyes were glued to the letter as though the words might fly away.
‘She’s fine, she’s married – married! And she had a baby last year. A little girl, Daisy Lily. Oh, that’s such a pretty name. I can’t believe it, Mr Stratton, not after all these years, her getting in touch. I hoped she would one day but…’
‘So you’re a grandmother? Congratulations Mrs Morle, that’s wonderful.’
Taking Peter in his arms at only a few days old had made him swell with pride. It was a feeling Seymour had not anticipated.
‘Daisy’s got pretty eyes and lovely hair – see this photo! I can’t wait to show Harry.’
Mrs Morle sometimes talked as though her husband was still alive. ‘She’s beautiful, Mrs Morle, takes after her grandmother, naturally. Does Lynn talk….about visiting?’
‘She does. She wants to bring Daisy to meet me.’
‘A reconciliation after all these years. You can plan a little party, a celebration. Mrs Morle, is everything alright? ’
‘There’s something I must tell you, Mr Stratton. Something that happened to my Lynn all those years ago.’
‘Really? Alright, if you feel you must.’
Mrs Morle patted her hair, slightly turned away. ‘It’s the reason we fell out, Mr Stratton.
‘We fell out?’
‘Me and Lynn, I mean. You see, Lynn got herself pregnant when she was just a girl, no more than 18 years old. It was a shock. The day she told me, I didn’t know what to do, I was beside meself. Wouldn’t tell me who the boy was that done it, neither.’
She was breathing in short, sharp breaths. ‘Have a drink, Mrs Morle, please. You’ll faint.’
‘I was terrified about people finding out. What would they think of her – or me? So before the baby
