Page 33 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
‘What’s the craziest kind of person you could go on a date with? What kind of job would they have?’
‘Ah … a poet?’
Aunt Gert rolled her eyes. ‘Be realistic, dear. That’s not a job.’
‘Well … how about a farmer. I wouldn’t go out with one in a million years.’
‘There you go. Find a young farmer and go out with them. What about Jimmy Donbury up in the farm shop? He’s a nice lad.’
‘No! I used to get on at the same bus stop.’
Aunt Gert grinned. ‘Go on, ask him out for a drink. You might find you like him.’
‘I thought we were talking about secrets?’
Aunt Gert grinned. ‘Throw a rock into the cave a couple of times and see what comes out.’
17
Night Out
Still quite unsure how asking Aunt Gert to suggest an interesting secret had turned into being coerced into asking Jimmy Donbury out for a drink, Lily duly made her attempt to kick the beehive after she finished work at three o’clock, heading up to the farm shop where she found Jimmy weighing potatoes and sealing them into bags.
‘Alright?’
‘Hey, Jimmy.’
‘What’re you after, Lily?’
‘Ah….’ Her skin began to tingle. ‘I was just wondering what you were up to this evening. Fancy a pint in The Crown?’
There, it was said. Far easier than she had expected, the words had moved slowly off her tongue in a wedding—or perhaps funeral—procession.
‘Be nice to catch up, eh,’ Jimmy said, showing none of the nerves that would suggest he understood the severity of her request. ‘Been a while, hasn’t it?’
‘Seven?’
‘Got to bring some heifers in then, so what about eight?’
‘Sure.’
‘You want a bag of spuds? Two for one.’
‘Uh … why not?’
On the way home, lugging two five-kilogram bags of potatoes she hoped her mum would have a use for, Lily stopped in to see Mary—hoping to get a prediction for tonight’s date—but Mary had gone off to pick her kids up from school, and the person on duty in the café was an old woman Lily didn’t recognise. She ordered a coffee and sat for a while, thinking things over, then gave the surprised old woman a bag of potatoes on the way out before heading for home. It was only five o’clock, but she needed to decide which pair of Wellington boots would be best for her date.
Her dad was in the garage, working on a sun mural made out of plastic bottle tops, a glue gun in one hand, a large plastic container slung around his neck, filled to the brim with bottle tops of all colours.
‘Where’d you get those?’ Lily asked.
Pete grinned. ‘The supermarket recycle bins,’ he said. ‘They were only too pleased to offload them. Said I could have as many as I want.’
The sun reminded her of one of those weird dream sequences in Watership Down when the sun god talked to Hazel, and she had to admit, her dad was quite the artist. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring into the blend of colours when Pete nudged her arm.
‘Ah, love, your eyes’ll go funny. Nice to know it’ll have an impact. It’s for the sustainable development exposition at Brentwell Art Gallery. Off out tonight? You look nice. I’d change out of those boots, though.’
Lily gave her head a little shake, then turned to her dad.
