Page 43 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
It was pleasant to while away the afternoon sitting in the sunshine as the fat bumblebees hummed gently in the long grass under the trees and the runs clicked up on the scoreboard.
Tom was third in to bat. He had a good eye, swiping the ball away with ease, running between the stumps with a long, athletic stride. He stayed in for nine overs until one fierce strike too many got him caught out, to groans from the home team and wild cheers from the opposition.
He waved genially to the players who had dispatched him, and strolled back to the pavilion. Vicky refused to let herself watch him go.
Arthur had dozed off and was snoring gently. The match ended in a draw. She couldn’t work out how that had happened — another of the incomprehensible rules of the game that Jeremy could probably have explained to her at length.
The two teams had gathered beside the pavilion to toast each other with cool beers as the spectators picked up their deckchairs and brought them over to be stored until the next match.
A couple of people were helping Debbie stack the remains of the buffet in boxes and carry them back to her van; the trestle table had been dismantled and put away in the pavilion.
Tom was helping his wife take down the hanging number plates from the scoreboard, their son eagerly helping them by placing them in their storage box. Vicky turned away from them as Arthur roused himself.
“Well, that was an excellent match,” he declared. “Best I’ve seen in a long time.”
Vicky smiled to herself — she didn’t bother pointing out that he had missed most of the second innings. “Time to go home.” She offered him her arm and together they walked back up the path to Church Road.
A short distance past the convenience store they came to a short lane, trees on one side, the other lined with a row of narrow terraced houses. Arthur stopped by the gate of the second one. “Well, here we are.” He fumbled in his pocket for his door key.
Vicky glanced along the row. The other houses all had gravel front gardens and UPVC front doors — what in her former life she would have called ‘easy maintenance’. And they all looked empty. Second homes.
Arthur’s stood out like a bad tooth.
“Is there anything you need?” she asked, opening the gate for him.
“No, no, my dear. I’m absolutely fine. You go on home — your husband will be waiting for his tea.”
“I don’t...” But no, there was no need to correct him — he’d probably forget anyway. Instead she gave him a little wave. “Goodbye then.”
“Goodbye.”
She hesitated, watching as he opened the door and stepped safely inside, then she turned back up the hill.
* * *
It was nice to have the cottage to herself again. Vicky brewed herself a cup of coffee and took it into the sitting room, settling down on the sofa to phone her mother.
“Hi, Mum — how’s everything?”
“Oh, it would be fine if this rain would just stop. Honestly, it’s supposed to be coming on for summer, but it’s been pouring down all week.”
“Really? It’s glorious down here.”
“Oh, yes — Jayde said it had been nice.”
Vicky drew in a breath between her teeth. “Did she?”
“Jeremy just dropped her off. I thought you’d be coming home with them.”
Oh? Eight hours for a journey that should take around four — five at the most? They must have taken quite a detour. Or maybe stopped for a long lunch?
“Uh, no, Mum.” Vicky kept her voice as casual as she could. “I won’t be home till the weekend. There’s a few things I need to sort out about the cottage.”
“Oh. But what about work?”
“I’ve another week’s leave.”
“Oh, right. By the way, you remember Mrs Simmonds at number twenty-three? Her Alison is getting married again. That’ll be her third time! Can you believe it? Mind you, apparently this one’s got a good steady job, so at least she’s being a bit sensible this time.”
