Page 13 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘He was my hero, you know?’ Her voice caught, and Damon pulled a face. Was he being selfish in wanting to unburden himself, when she had just buried her brother? ‘I really looked up to him,’ she added with a sob.

‘We all did. He was one of the best bass guitar players in the business.’

‘Better than me?’

‘Yeah, but not as pretty.’ The joke was a feeble one, but he heard her chuckle and guessed she was laughing and crying at the same time. ‘Is Luke with you?’ he asked.

‘He’s on a plane. Caught the first flight out of Heathrow he could. I thought about going with him, but Mum and Dad need me here.’

‘How are they bearing up?’

‘You know Dad – stoic to the last. Mum, though… As soon as we got home, she shut herself in Aiden’s old room and hasn’t come out since.’

‘What about you?’ he asked.

‘I had to get out of the house, so I went to the cinema with a couple of friends.’

Damon was surprised. ‘What film did you see?’

‘No idea. I felt so guilty being there, that I ate a whole tub of toffee popcorn by myself and cried all the way through it.’

‘I kissed someone tonight,’ Damon blurted.

There was silence on the other end, then Sadie said, ‘Gosh! Who?’

‘I met her in a field. She was dancing, so I kissed her.’

‘That’s random.’

‘It was wonderful, and now I feel guilty as hell.’

‘Don’t. Aiden would hate that.’

‘Is that what you told yourself when you felt guilty about going to the cinema?’ he countered gently.

‘You’ve got me,’ she said, then sighed. ‘Look, Damon, don’t beat yourself up over it. You kissed someone – so what? Aiden kissed more women than he could count.’

That’s not me,Damon wanted to say. That side of rock and roll had never really been his scene. He’d had his moments – he was only human – but he had been too interested in making music. Nothing could compare to the thrill of composing a piece, then singing it to hundreds, sometimes thousands, of people. Not even sex.

But the woman in the meadow had stirred something in him, and he wasn’t sure what.

What he did know, was that for the first time since that awful night, he felt like playing.

Reaching for his guitar, he began to pluck the strings…

As Ceri let herself into the cottage and dropped her bag on the armchair, she realised she hadn’t stopped to think when she had fled the field – she had simply run, pausing only to collect her little pouch bag from where she had left it on a table in the marquee. There had only been a few guests remaining; those die-hards who were wringing the last drop of jollity out of the evening, as well as the last drop of alcohol out of their glasses. Huw and Rowena had long gone. They were spending their first night as a married couple in Rowena’s house (Huw’s house now, too) before jetting off on their honeymoon tomorrow. The lucky things!

Right now though, Ceri’s thoughts weren’t on white sand beaches and swaying palm trees: they were firmly fixed on the man she had kissed.

Her heart still pounded, her pulse continued to race, and she could taste him on her lips. His scent lingered in her nostrils, making her head spin, and she could still feel the solid muscles of his back as her fingers dug into him. The impression his body had left on hers would take a while to fade.

That had been some kiss. The kind of kiss she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. The kind that made a woman go weak at the knees and left her wanting more…beggingfor more. Which was why she had beat a hasty retreat, before she did something silly, such as suggesting he came back to her house.

She didn’t do one-night stands. It simply wasn’t her style, despite Huw teasing her that she had a new boyfriend every other week. It was partially true. Admittedly, she’d had a few, but that was because she was picky. If, after a couple of dates, she didn’t connect with them, or they didn’t live up to her (possibly unrealistic) high standards, they were toast.

Huw kept warning her that she would end up an old maid if she kicked every potential boyfriend into the sidelines, but she had yet to find one who touched her heart.

Regretfully she knew there was little chance of seeing Damon again. She lived here in Foxmore and he lived in London, and she didn’t even know his last name, although she could probably find out if she asked around.

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