Chapter Five
The Smugglers Arms was on a corner on the Esplanade, a few doors along from the fish and chip shop.
Cassie had gone down with her brother and his latest girlfriend, a very attractive, long-legged blonde.
With the season at its height, the pub was crowded.
As Paul pushed the door open, the cacophony of voices and laughter, and the music from the jukebox, wafted out into the street.
The place hadn’t changed a bit in the past ten years.
The wooden floor was worn and uneven, the bar was of the same rich dark oak.
Oak beams crossed the ceiling, and one wall was rough stone, with a large inglenook fireplace.
In winter they would light a log fire there.
It was so cosy to sit in the circle of its warmth and listen to the waves thumping against the sea wall across the road.
But the crowd had changed.
There was almost no one she recognised, apart from Alice and Wes behind the bar.
Most of the people seemed to be holidaymakers — it was easy to tell from the clothes they wore, plus the peeling noses and lobster-red foreheads
She followed Paul as he eased his way to the bar.
The landlord grinned at him.
“Usual?” he enquired.
“Thanks. And what are you having, Cassie?”
Wes glanced at her, then looked back again sharply.
“Cassie? Well I never! Alice, come and see who’s here!”
The landlady finished serving a customer and came up the bar.
“Who? Well, Cassie Channing, as I live and breathe!” Her broad face was wreathed in smiles and she reached both hands over the counter to take Cassie’s.
“Welcome home, my luvver. When did you get back?”
Cassie smiled warmly.
“A couple of days ago.”
“And you’re staying?”
The same old question.
“For a while.”
“That’s good. What are you drinking?”
“I’ll have a white wine spritzer, please.”
“Coming right up.” A wide beam spread across her homely face.
“This one’s on the house.”
At the back of the room a couple of people were playing a casual game of darts, and a few more were gathered around the pool table.
“Fancy a game?” Paul suggested to Cassie.
“If you don’t mind getting beaten into the middle of next week.”
He laughed, confident, and Cassie smiled to herself.
He’d learn.
They took their drinks, eased through the throng, and laid their stakes on the side of the table.
She watched the play with interest as they waited their turn.
Tom Cullen — big, handsome Tom Cullen, one of Paul’s best mates since they were at school together.
He was playing against an older man whom Cassie recognised vaguely — she couldn’t remember his name.
Tom straightened from the table, grinning broadly as he recognised her.
“Cassie, hi.” He leaned over to drop a kiss on her cheek.
“I heard you were home. Lovely to see you.”
“You too!” She patted his wide chest.
“And I hear you’re getting married in a few weeks?”
“That’s right.” He looked like the cat who’d got the cream.
His Vicky was a lucky girl, Cassie reflected.
Tom turned back to the table, lined up his cue, and took his shot, bouncing his red off his opponent’s yellow.
It trickled neatly into the side pocket, leaving the yellow in an awkward position against the cushion, and the white perfectly placed for his next shot.
There was a murmur of approval around the table.
“Nice shot.”
He pocketed his next shot, but the ball after that teetered frustratingly at the edge of the pocket.
His opponent had two balls left, which he cleared, but missed an easy shot on the black.
Tom nudged his ball in, took a tricky angle on his last ball, then knocked the black perfectly into the side pocket.
“Okay, who’s up next?”
Cassie sipped her drink and watched him beat his next challenger.
He was good — but she could beat him.
He won the game, then Paul was up.
It was a tight game and Cassie was enjoying the nip-and-tuck as they both set up tricky shots for each other, and Paul managed to force Tom into a foul.
Suddenly she felt a kind of prickling at the nape of her neck, and the group around the table shifted slightly to accommodate a newcomer.
She knew it was Liam even before she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye.
He was chatting with friends — not that she was watching him.
It was a few moments before he glanced in her direction.
Their eyes met before she could look away, and he smiled.
She acknowledged it with a cool smile of her own and turned her attention back to the pool table.
Tom won again, to a murmur of good-natured grumbles.
“Liam’ll get you.”
“No, Cassie’s up next. Come on then, girl.”
Several patronising smiles confirmed that this was expected to be a bit of light relief before the return to serious bloke match-ups.
She didn’t react, just selected a cue from the rack and chalked the tip, calling heads as Tom tossed the coin.
She lost the toss, and Tom chose to break first.
He slid her coin into the slot and released the balls, and racked them up on the table.
The smile he slanted in her direction as he bent to line up his shot told her that he, at least, had guessed that she would be no walkover.
He took the break but didn’t sink any balls.
Cassie moved round the table, studying the angles as she considered whether to go for a quick win or to string it out a little, make it look as if she really was a klutz.
A comment of, “Beginner’s luck,” somewhere behind her as she sunk her first ball made the decision for her.
In little more than two minutes she was on the black, while Tom stood holding his cue.
“That wasn’t beginner’s luck,” he remarked.
“Well done.”
She straightened from the table, smiling.
She hadn’t intended to glance at Liam, but her gaze inevitably slid in his direction.
He nodded, a glint of warm approval in his eyes.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Casual, friendly.
Don’t let anyone see that your heart just skipped.
* * *
Liam sipped his beer as he watched the action at the pool table.
Everyone seemed to have forgotten that Cassie had been pretty good at pool before she left.
They had often played, here or in the pub near his Bristol digs when she had come up to visit.
She’d clearly played a lot since then.
If anyone thought that first win had been a fluke, he suspected they were soon going to find out that it wasn’t.
“Okay, Terry, you’re up,” someone called.
“Good luck.”
Terry was one of the older players.
It was a tighter game than Liam had expected — Cassie missed a couple of easy shots.
Then he realised that she was being mindful of Terry’s dignity, giving him space to pocket a few of his balls without being too obvious about it before clearing the table.
He was glad of the game as cover, enabling him to let his gaze linger without looking too obvious.
She was wearing a plain white sleeveless T-shirt and well-worn jeans that clung over her trim derrière as if she’d been born in them.
As she leaned over the table to line up a shot, he felt as if he’d been tasered.
But it was her smile that held his attention the most.
Wide and generous, it seemed to encompass everybody while making you feel it was just for you.
It was that smile that had first caught his attention, that night at Lisa Channing’s party.
It was the memory of that smile that had lingered in his mind long after she had left him behind.
* * *
“Ah, that were a good game, my luvver.” Terry was beaming, not minding that he’d lost.
He patted her shoulder.
“Well done. Where’d you learn to play like that?”
“Right here,” Cassie responded, smiling.
“Though I’ve been practising a bit since then.”
He chuckled with laughter.
“I bet you have, I just bet you have.”
It was Liam’s turn at the table next.
She was aware that her smile was a little wobbly as he picked up his coin and handed it to her.
“Tails.”
She had a sudden moment of panic that nerves were going to get the better of her.
Fumbling the coin toss would be a very bad way to start.
But hell, she’d jumped off a small metal platform and plunged almost four hundred and fifty feet attached to a bungee rope.
Eight and a half seconds of free fall — pure terror, pure adrenalin.
She could cope with a game of pool — even against Liam Ellis.
Smiling with a confidence she didn’t feel, she tossed the coin and called, “Tails it is.”
“I’ll take the break.” Liam’s eyes glinted with amusement.
“By the look of it, it could be the only time I get to the table.”
“Good luck,” Tom teased as Liam picked up his cue.
Lucky or not, he sank a yellow on the break, and a second on his next shot.
He missed the third, but left the cue ball in a tricky place, making it difficult for Cassie to avoid a foul.
She walked round the table, carefully studying the angles.
It was difficult to focus — she was all too conscious of him standing there, just a few feet away.
Watching her, smiling slightly.
She needed to win the game.
If she didn’t, would he think she had let him beat her?
Would the others remember that ten years ago they had been an item, and assume that she was still soft on him?
Dammit, that just added to the pressure.
Bending over her cue, she drew in a long, deep breath and held it.
Steady, don’t force it, keep it smooth .
.
.
The cue kissed the white, the white bounced off the cushion and nudged one of her red balls, and she let go of the breath from her lungs as she relaxed, smiling.
No foul.
Liam laughed.
“Well done! You could make a fortune as a hustler.”
She slanted him a challenging glance and stood back for him to take his turn.
He pocketed two more balls before failing to sink his next shot.
Stepping up to the table, she studied the lay of the balls, then systematically pocketed all seven red balls in one run, finishing with an awkward long shot on the black.
Liam led the congratulations, shaking her hand, and her heart skipped again.
She managed a smile.
“Thank you.”
“Who’s next for the slaughter?” Liam asked, grinning around at his friends.
With some good-natured ribbing, another challenger stepped up, but was dispatched as effectively as the others.
Finally, Cassie shook her head and put her cue back in the rack.
“That’s enough. I’m out.”
“Well done. Very good play.” Several of her rivals applauded her as she moved away from the table.
“That was a good game.” Liam had moved to her side.
“Loser buys the winner a drink?”
“Oh . . . Thank you.” Somehow she managed a smile.
“A white wine spritzer, please.”
He bought her drink at the bar, but they didn’t immediately move over to the table where Lisa and Ollie were sitting with Paul and his girlfriend.
“Are you coming to the cricket tomorrow?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.” She conceded a faint smile.
“I’ll be there. And so will my grandmother.”
He arched a dark eyebrow in astonishment.
“Really? She’s well enough to come out?”
“Not really,” Cassie acknowledged wryly.
“But she’s made up her mind. Would you care to argue with her?”
“Not at all — she’s terrifying!” He laughed.
“Do you remember that time there were a bunch of yobs throwing stones at the seagulls down on the beach? She marched down there and gave them a right rollicking. Their ears must have been ringing for weeks!”
“Oh, yes. That was just like Nanna. At least she’s agreed to use her wheelchair.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a big concession.” Just then his phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen.
“Excuse me, I have to take this.”
“Of course.”
“Hello? Yes . . . Tell me . . .”
An emergency.
It was too noisy in the pub for him to hear.
Lifting his hand in a brief goodnight, he eased quickly through the crowd and out of the door.
That was probably the last she would see of him tonight.
Biting back her disappointment, she took her drink and moved over to sit down with her brother and his girlfriend.
“Good game.” Paul grinned.
“I knew you could play, but I didn’t realise you were that good.”
Cassie laughed.
“Ah, much you do not know there is, young Jedi.”
Paul rolled his eyes.
“Have you still got a crush on Han Solo?”
“Paul! I was twelve!”
He laid his hand over his heart.
“Ah, first love.”
She flicked a beer mat at him.
Tom Cullen came over to join them.
Cassie smiled up at him.
“Where’s Vicky?” she asked.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
“Working a late shift up at the hotel. But you’ll meet her tomorrow if you’re coming to the cricket.”
He sat down, and in a few moments the conversation turned, inevitably, to football.
“Who do you reckon’s going to win the title this year, Paul?”
He laughed.
“Oh, come on, the season’s barely started. Only a fool would make a prediction after only two games.”
“That new caretaker manager that’s taken over from Johnson looks like he could do the business. They should keep him on. He could give them just the push they need.”
“They’ve got some good young players coming up. There’s a young striker I reckon could really go places.”
“Liverpool are always going to be a good bet. Though that goalless draw at Notts Forest was a bit of a letdown.”
Cassie was sitting next to Paul’s girlfriend, the leggy blonde.
He had always gone for the same type, even when he was in his teens.
“Do you play football, Chanelle?”
The girl looked startled at the question.
“Oh . . . no.”
“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 on Footballers’ 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.
The dress code was colourful summer dresses, casual jeans, T-shirts.
The same code seemed to apply to the two teams — only about half of them wore traditional cricket whites.
The youngest player looked to be in his early teens, while some of the others looked old enough to be his grandfather.
And there were several women on both teams.
“Nanna, would you like a cup of tea?” Cassie asked.
“Hmph! I thought you were never going to offer.”
Cassie smiled to herself.
“How about you, Arthur?”
He beamed up at her, showing off his dentures.
“What’s that, my luvver?”
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh, no, thanks all the same. My girlfriend’s fetching me one.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“That’s right.” He chuckled with mischievous laughter.
“And here she is.”
A tall, slender young woman with honey-blonde hair and smiling eyes approached them carrying two paper cups of tea.
“Here you are, Arthur — just how you like it. Nice and sweet.”
“Just like you, my luvver.” He took the cup in both hands.
“Thank you very much.”
The young woman turned to Nanna with a warm smile.
“Hello, Mrs Channing. Lovely to see you again. You’re looking really well. How are you feeling?”
“Fit as a flea!” Nanna declared briskly.
“Has that old goat got you waiting on him hand and foot?”
“Oh, I don’t mind — he deserves it.” She glanced over at Cassie, her smile open and friendly.
“Hi. You must be Cassie, Lisa’s sister. I’m Vicky. It’s lovely to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Oh?” Cassie laughed, tilting her head towards her brother.
“Don’t believe a word he says.”
“Oh no, not from him. From Lisa. She’s shown me loads of the photos you’ve sent her. That bungee jump in New Zealand looked amazing!”
“It was.” Cassie’s eyes danced.
“It was like flying. I went up three times. They practically had to drag me away in the end.” A small brown-and-white terrier came snuffling around her feet.
She tickled his ear, glancing up to smile at Tom Cullen on the other end of the lead.
“Who’s this?”
“Rufus. Rufty-Tufty. Rufus, sit,” he commanded as the small dog tried to climb up Cassie’s leg.
After a brief consideration the dog decided to obey and was rewarded with a treat.
“And I see you’ve met Vicky.” He slid his arm around the sunny blonde’s waist, his eyes smiling down into hers — the kind of look that would make the heart of the Wicked Witch of the West melt into a puddle of honey.
For a fleeting moment Cassie wished that Liam might look at her like that .
.
.
Vicky leaned up and put a kiss on the side of her fiancé’s mouth, then took the dog’s lead.
“Let me have Rufus. You’d better go and join your team. I’m going to sit and have a natter.”
“Well, in that case, I’m definitely going to join the team,” he teased, laughing.
“See you later, Cassie.”
“Yeah . . .” She smiled quickly.
“Yes, see you later.”
Hopefully, no one would have noticed her momentary distraction — she had spotted Liam out of the corner of her eye.
He was with his brother and sister-in-law, little Robyn running ahead with a boy maybe a couple of years older.
Turning back to Vicky, she smiled again.
“Lisa told me about Molly. I was sorry to hear she’d died. She was an amazing old woman. And she left you her cottage.”
“That’s right. I was thrilled. I used to love coming down to stay here in the summer holidays when I was little. I don’t suppose you remember me from then.”
Cassie shook her head.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Well, it was a long time ago — sixteen years. After my dad died, we didn’t come down any more.”
“That’s a shame.” She was trying to keep herself focused on the conversation, refusing to let herself watch Liam, who was over by the pavilion, chatting to the other players.
Vicky nodded.
“It was. But I’ve been fascinated finding out about her, stuff I’d never have dreamed of.”
“Did she really dance at the Moulin Rouge?”
“She did. I’ve got some photos, and some of her costumes. They were in a couple of old steamer trunks in the attic.”
“Wow!” Cassie felt herself warm to the other woman.
Lisa was right — she did seem really nice.
And Tom certainly looked happy.
“Lisa sent me a picture of that weird portrait. I remember that old drawing of my other Nanna — Nanna Marjory — that Mum had. It used to scare me a bit when I was little, but if you kept looking at it, it was sort of beautiful.”
“Yes, the painting was the same. It’s amazing to think it’s in the Pradera in Spain. I’d have liked to have kept it, but as Debbie said, it was better for it to go to a big art gallery where lots of people could see it. We’re going to visit the gallery while we’re on our honeymoon.”
“Oh, yes. Lisa told me you’re getting married soon. Congratulations. And the wedding’s going to be here in Sturcombe?”
“Of course. At All Saints.” Her face was glowing with happiness.
“It’s in five weeks. Are you staying that long? Will you come?”
“I’d love to come.” Cassie smiled warmly.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“I know it might seem a bit quick — we’ve only known each other for a few months, but . . . Well, if you know it’s right, why wait?” Her eyes danced.
“My mother was just itching to tell me to be sensible. That’s her favourite word.”
Cassie laughed.
“It’s one of Nanna’s, too.”
Nanna must have heard that — she’d always had alarmingly sharp hearing.
“There’s nothing wrong with sensible. And where’s my tea? Standing there nattering.”
Cassie rolled her eyes.
“Just going, Nanna.”
“Huh!”
A long trestle table had been set up in front of the wooden pavilion, with plates of sandwiches, finger rolls and cupcakes, rows of cardboard cups, and a stainless-steel tea urn.
Debbie was serving another customer, but she turned with a smile as Cassie approached.
“Hello, Cassie.”
“Hi, Debs. So this is how you spend your day off?”
“I enjoy it.” Debbie’s beaming smile emphasised the truth of that.
“It’s lovely to be out in the sunshine, and I get to watch the cricket.”
“Is Bill playing?”
A hint of a blush coloured Debbie’s cheeks.
“He’s the wicket keeper. Do you want tea for your gran?”
“Yes, please. And I’ll have a coffee.”
“Coming up. How is she?”
“Not too bad, I think.” Cassie glanced back to where the old lady was sitting, still bickering happily with Arthur.
“She insisted on coming today. We were a bit worried about it, but Ollie said it was a risk worth taking. And she can be very obstinate.”
“She always has been.” There was a fondness in Debbie’s voice.
“But she’s a sweetheart. Everyone loves her.”
“A sweetheart?” Cassie laughed.
“That could be a bit of an exaggeration. By the way, I forgot to ask the other day, how’s your mum? Lisa wrote me she’d been poorly a while back.”
“Yes, she was — she had a touch of pneumonia. But she’s much better now, thanks.” She glanced past Cassie’s shoulder.
“Oh, hello, Liam.”
“Hi, Debs.”
Cassie felt her shoulders tense.
Liam, holding little Robyn’s hand.
As she turned, he greeted her with a smile.
“Hello. Nice to see you again.”
“Hi . . . um . . . Yes. Nice to see you.” Oh, for goodness’ sake, get a grip!
The little girl was bouncing with excitement.
“Daddy, Daddy, it’s the tappoo lady. Ask her.”
“I’m sorry.” He laughed.
“She’s been nagging at me since Friday about having a ‘tappoo’.”
“You promised,” the child reminded her, her huge blue eyes wide open and appealing.
Cassie laughed — could anyone resist?
“So I did.”
“She made me bring the pens in case you were here. Julia has them. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I’m not nearly as good an artist as the one who did mine, but I can probably make a decent effort. I can do it while I’m watching the cricket. They are wash-off pens?”
“Of course.” His eyes glinted with amusement.
“When you have kids in the house, it’s wash-off pens only. Otherwise all your walls, doors and anything else they can reach would be covered in three-legged ducks and green cows.”
Cassie laughed again, though she could still feel the tension in her shoulders.
“Okay. Well, we’re sitting over there. I just need to take my grandmother her tea.”
One dark eyebrow arched in question.
“So she got her way?”
“Of course — doesn’t she always? You don’t argue with Nanna.” Her voice was laced with dry humour.
“You’re playing today?”
“Yes, I’m second bat, with my brother. You remember Luke?”
“Of course. Hello Luke.”
She smiled up at the man standing behind him.
There was a striking family likeness between the two.
She knew that Luke was three years older, but Liam was slightly the taller, and a little wider in the shoulder.
They both had dark curly hair — Liam wore his a little longer — but they had the same hard-boned, sculpted features and deep-set dark eyes.
“And Mrs Ellis.” She recognised his mother at once.
“How do you do?”
“Oh, make it Diane, please.” The older woman smiled warmly .
.
.
to Cassie’s relief.
If she had any lingering reservations because of Cassie’s behaviour towards her son ten years ago, she had apparently set them aside.
“I don’t think you’ve met my daughter-in-law, Julia.”
Ah, Luke’s wife, an attractive young woman with long, curly hair the colour of autumn leaves.
Her smile was as warm as her mother-in-law’s.
“Hello, nice to meet you.”
“And this is Ben, my grandson.”
“Hello, Ben.” Cassie smiled at the child, dark-haired like his dad, maybe a couple of years older than Robyn.
“Can I have a tattoo too?” Ben pleaded.
Cassie flicked a questioning glance at the red-haired woman.
“Well, if your mother says it’s kay.”
Julia laughed.
“I have to say yes, or there’ll be jealousy. That’s if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Though I bet you don’t want a flower?” she added to the little boy.
“No.” He put on a fierce face.
“I want a shark. With great big teeth.”
“Oh . . . right . . .”
His mum shrugged her shoulders.
“He can have whatever he likes. It’ll wash off before he goes back to school.”
“Okay. Well, let me just take Nanna’s tea to her, then I can do them while I watch the match.”
The game was about to start.
Lisa and Ollie were setting up the scoreboard beside the pavilion, while Cassie’s mum had settled on a blanket on the ground, with baby Kyra in her infant carrier.
Vicky was sitting with them, along with little Amy.
Noah and Ben had gone off to play with their friends in a corner of the field.
“Hi. Is there room for a couple more there?”
“Oh, hi, Julia.” Cassie’s mum patted the blanket beside her.
“Of course, come and sit down.”
Little Robyn scrambled into Cassie’s lap.
“Will you do my tappoo now?” she pleaded excitedly.
“I want one just like yours.”
Julia smiled and reached into her bag for the pens, and handed them over.
“Sorry — she won’t rest until she gets it done.”
“That’s okay. Do you want the same colours?” she asked the child.
She nodded vigorously.
“Yes, please.”
“Right. Sit still then. No wriggling or it’ll all go wrong.”
She took the blue pen and began to draw carefully on the child’s shoulder.
Beside her, Nanna and Arthur Crocombe were still bickering happily.
A thrush was singing in a beech tree nearby, and a heavy bumblebee was lumbering lazily over the long grass.
A summer Sunday at a village cricket match.
Heaven.
The home team had won the toss and had chosen to bat first.
The fielders were walking out to their places, the bowlers were taking a few practise run-ups, the wicket-keepers were checking the stumps.
Cassie’s dad had taken up his umpire position as Liam and his brother strolled out onto the field swinging their bats.
“That’s my daddy,” Robyn announced with pride.
“Yes, it is. Is he going to get lots of runs?”
“I bet he’ll get a hundred. ”
Cassie gave her a little hug.
“Let’s hope so, then we’ll be bound to win.”
It took a couple of deliveries for bowler and batsmen to get the measure of each other, then Luke knocked the ball towards the outfield and he and Liam began to run.
“Go, Daddy!” Robyn squealed, clapping her hands with excitement.
“Go, go.”
“Hold still!” Cassie protested.
“I nearly made a smudge then.”
The child twisted her head around to beam up at her.
It wasn’t clear which was more important to her — the tattoo or cheering her daddy on.
Out on the pitch, the match was beginning to warm up.
Cassie watched the play.
If she happened to be watching Liam more than any of the others, no one would be any the wiser.
Even hampered by the bulky shin pads, he moved with an easy athleticism as he ran between the stumps, his wide shoulders hinting at leashed power as he swung the bat.
She enjoyed these traditional village cricket matches — liked the slow, easy pace, no one needing to really raise a sweat.
The essential politeness of it, even when questioning a call or bowling a viciously fast ball, and the archaic names for the fielding positions — backward square leg, fly slip, silly mid-off.
She had often watched them when she was young — she had even been drafted into the team a couple of times when they were short of players.
They had always taken them seriously, although the main purpose had been fun, enjoying the game with your friends and neighbours.
And she’d watched quite a few matches at all levels in Australia, where they took the game more seriously than almost anything except beer and Aussie rules football.
The staff of the water-sports resort where she had worked had even had their own team, competing in a local league.
She managed to finish Robyn’s ‘tappoo’, being careful to lift the pen away at moments it seemed likely that the child would wriggle.
The little girl’s face lit up with delight as she twisted her head over her shoulder to see it.
“Oh, it’s pretty. It’s exackly the same as yours.” The child flung her arms round Cassie’s neck and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek.
“Thank you. It’s the bestest tappoo ever.”
Cassie felt as if her heart was wrapping itself around this adorable little girl.
“It’s not quite the same — I’m afraid I’m not as good at drawing as the man who did mine.”
“I’m going to show my granny and Auntie Julia.” She bounced over to them and proudly showed off the colourful design.
They duly admired it, and Diane Ellis smiled across at Cassie.
“Thank you. She’s gone on about nothing else since she saw yours.”
“I’m not very good,” Cassie admitted.
“The artists in New Zealand are amazing. But I hope it’ll keep her happy, at least until it fades or washes off.”
“Oh, she’ll have forgotten all about it by then.”
Luke had run up a score of fifty-six in seven overs before getting caught out at cover point.
As he walked back from the crease, Tom Cullen strolled down to take his place.
“Good luck, Tom,” Vicky called to him.
He smiled down at her as he passed.
Oh, wow!
That man was seriously in love!
What would it be like to have someone smile at her like that?
She glanced out towards the crease where Liam was treading down a divot with his foot.
Something like hot lava seeped through her bones.
Oh no, don’t even think it .
That time had come and gone.
She couldn’t imagine that he would want to revisit it.
Liam was on bat, and he walloped the ball out towards the boundary.
The fielder stopped it with his foot, inches before it crossed the boundary and tossed it quickly back to the wicket keeper, but Liam just got his bat over the line before he could be stumped.
All the home supporters cheered as Ollie, who was on the scoreboard, added the three runs to their total.
“Doesn’t Ollie play?” Cassie asked her mum.
“He’d like to, but he often gets called away to an emergency so that would disrupt the team.” She laughed.
“He’s training Noah up to be his substitute.”
The little boy was proudly slotting the old numbers back into their box and standing alert for the next score.
Nanna and Arthur were still cheerfully arguing.
“No, you silly old duffer. Mavis Tuckett married that Ronald Witheycombe from over by Tavistock, and they went off to Australia.”
“Silly old duffer yourself, Edie Channing. It were her sister Doreen married Ronald Witheycombe. Mavis never got married. She lived with her mum and worked over at the hotel as a chambermaid for years.”
“Don’t you call me a silly old duffer, Arthur Crocombe . . .”
Helen Channing laughed fondly.
“They’re happy.”