Page 28 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“You just like to watch?”
“Sometimes.” Slightly dismissive, then she smiled brightly. “But I know loads of footballers.”
“Oh?” This conversation could be hard work. “Was that how you met Paul?”
“Oh, yes. We were at a party at Ayo Chukwu’s house.” Happy face. “It was a great party — everyone was there.”
“Ayo . . . ?”
Chanelle’s eyes widened, evidently surprised that Cassie hadn’t a clue who she was talking about. “You know. He plays for . . . some team up north.” She proceeded to name drop a lot of people Cassie had never heard of but was apparently supposed to know.
Cassie sipped her drink, unable to shake the reflection that Chanelle appeared less interested in a real-life footballer than in featuring onFootballers’ Wives. Ah well, that was Paul’s business.
She took another sip of her drink, trying not to let her mind wander . . .
Liam. She had dreamed about him again last night. There had been many dreams about him over the years. Recurring dreams, that always left her waking to an aching sense of loss.
They would be strolling on a beach, or sometimes they would be riding their horses along the bridleway. He would be there, and then when she turned around he would be gone.
* * *
“Dammit. You’d have thought it might have had the decency to rain so the match would be called off,” Helen Channing muttered as she gazed out at the glorious blue sky.
“No chance.” Cassie laughed. “It never rains when you want it to.”
Ollie had reluctantly approved Nanna’s outing. “Let her have her way. It’ll do her good to be out in the fresh air, and she always loved the cricket.”
It was only a short drive to the cricket ground — down the hill and along the Esplanade, and up Church Road. Cassie’s dad drove, and she and Ollie went in the car with Nanna while the rest of the family walked, enjoying the bright sunshine.
The ground was down a narrow lane beside the church. Richard Channing parked close to the hedge and climbed out to unload the wheelchair from the boot, then he and Ollie helped Nanna into it.
It was a bit tricky to manoeuvre the chair over the rough path. But Ollie had had plenty of practice at it and cheerfully ignored Nanna’s complaints at every bump and jolt.
Inside the wooden gate, the wide green oval of the pitch was surrounded by leafy beech and ash, and one magnificent old oak tree at the far end. Beneath their shade bright wildflowers bloomed in the long grass — cornflowers and rose bay willowherb and vivid red campion. Butterflies and bumblebees hovered, and birds pecked at the ground for insects.
“Ah, there’s Arthur. Do you want to sit by him?”
“Might as well,” the old lady grumped. “Though he’ll probably jaw my ear off all through the match, the silly old duffer.”
Cassie rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. That would make two of them. She had brought a garden chair from the car and set it up next to Arthur’s deckchair, and Ollie helped Nanna into it, settling her comfortably with a blanket over her knees.
“There you go. That’ll be better than sitting in that wheelchair all afternoon.”
Arthur chuckled with laughter. “That’s right. A bit hard on your bum, that.”
“Don’t you say bum to me, Arthur Crocombe,” Nanna objected fiercely — not that she had ever minded raw language.
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with wicked humour. “Bum bum bum. Don’t tell me you’re turning prissy in your old age, Edie Channing.”
“And you’re turning into a rude old man. But then you always were rude.”
Richard Channing smiled. “Ah, they’ll be happy bickering with each other for the rest of the afternoon.”
He was the umpire for the match, as he had been for years, and Cassie laughed as he pulled his wide-brimmed cotton sun hat out of his pocket. “Is that the same old hat you’ve always had?”
“What, this one?” He grinned, ramming it onto his head. “Of course it is.”
The Sunday cricket match was always a popular event. There was a league among the local villages, with plenty of friendly rivalry. It looked as if half the population of Sturcombe had turned out to support their team today, settling themselves on picnic blankets and deckchairs beneath the trees that ringed the boundary as they waited for the game to start.
