Page 42 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“Your sister didn’t want to come down to watch the game?”
She took a pause to ensure that her voice would be ice-cool. “She’s gone home.”
“Ah...” A brief hesitation. “Hi there, Arthur. How are you keeping?”
Arthur’s pale eyes lit with mischief. “All the better for having this pretty young thing to take care of me.”
Tom laughed. “Enjoying the game?”
“I will if you win. That was a lucky catch.”
“Lucky?” Tom feigned indignation.
“Lucky. Ah, thank you, my dear,” he added as Tom’s wife brought their lunch order.
“Enjoy.” Her smile suddenly thinned into discomfort, and she eased her hands down her back.
Debbie was there immediately. “Now then, Mrs Cullen,” she scolded, bringing a wooden chair. “You know you shouldn’t be on your feet for so long. Come along, plop yourself down on this.”
“Stop fussing,” Tom’s wife protested, laughing merrily. “I’m not an invalid — I’m just pregnant.”
“Do as you’re told.” Tom’s voice was warm with affection. “Make the most of it — you’ll be dying for a sit-down once the baby comes.”
“Okay, okay — I’ll be a good girl.” She eased her bulky frame onto the chair. “There — you can all stop nagging me now.”
Vicky had stepped back, watching. It seemed that Tom was fond of his wife, even while trying to set up something on the side.
And she seemed to be a really nice person.Damn.
“Here you are, Vicky — you can use this for a tray.” Debbie had brought the lid of a cardboard box and set their paper plates and cups on it.
“Thanks.” She managed a smile, glad to get away while she still had a little sanity left.
Arthur tottered along beside her as she carried their lunch over to their deckchairs and set it on the ground beside them while she helped him to sit down. He grinned up at her, mischief dancing in his pale eyes.
“Ah — it’s been a long time since I’ve had lunch with a pretty girl.”
Vicky laughed. “I bet there were plenty of them in your day.”
“Oh, ah — that there were. But not a one of them could hold a candle to my Betty.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes, God rest her. Near on sixty-five years we were wed.” He lapsed into a moment of melancholy silence.
“How did you meet her?” Vicky prompted, handing him his sausage rolls and a paper napkin.
He smiled in fond reminiscence. “We were childhood sweethearts. She used to help me with my sums in school — I always had trouble with ’em. And we used to go bird-watching up on the moors — we’d walk for miles. Not like your youngsters today, with their noses always glued to their phones.”
“You must have been very happy.”
“Oh, happy... yes, we were — very happy. Mind, we quarrelled often enough — she could certainly say her piece, could Betty. But we always made up — we never went to sleep in bad blood.”
“That’s a very wise policy.” She took a sip of her tea. “Did you have any children?”
“Just the one boy — our Simon. We’d have liked more, but it never happened. He lives in Canada now. Works in television — produces one of those quiz shows. It’s very popular.” There was a note of pride in his voice. “I don’t see him that often. Well, he’s very busy with his work, and then there’s the kids and the grandkids. But he rings me every weekend.”
“That’s nice.” It seemed that she wasn’t the only one who was neglectful of their older relatives. And she had less of an excuse than Arthur’s son.
