Chapter Seventeen
Dylan and I sat in the woodland clearing, munching our bacon butties and chatting companionably. However, I couldn’t tell you specifically what we talked about. Everything and nothing. We didn’t discuss our deceased spouses, although our children cropped up in the conversation.
Dylan mentioned his daughter, Terry. Apparently, she was the same age as Tim and engaged to be married. The wedding was imminent and the bride-to-be very excited.
I shared that Tim was married, also that I hoped to be a grandma in the not-too-distant future. Dylan looked faintly horrified at the grandparent reference.
‘The idea of being a grandfather seems preposterous,’ he mock-grimaced. ‘I’m not old enough. This heart’ – he touched his chest – ‘still feels twenty-one, even though the body is fifty-three.’
Ah, so he was quite a bit younger than me. Eight years to be precise.
After a toyboy, Maggie?
No – I silently retorted – and could you please stay out of my thoughts.
I am your thoughts.
‘I know what you mean,’ I said to Dylan. ‘My heart still feels eighteen.’
‘Ha!’ he laughed. ‘That makes you three years younger than me.’
‘Actually, I’m significantly older than you,’ I said wryly. ‘Which might explain why I am ready to be a grandma,’ I added.
Dylan gave me a searching look.
‘I know it’s rude to ask a lady her age, but–’
‘Sixty-one,’ I said, answering his unfinished question.
‘You don’t look it,’ he said gallantly. ‘I thought you were younger than me.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, not really believing him. Likely he was being polite – making me feel better, because I was more of a wrinkly than him.
Eventually, we finished our butties. The dogs licked up the crumbs from the plates. Draining our mugs, we headed back to the sanctuary.
Rachel was pleased that all had gone well and that we’d ticked off another condition of the centre’s criteria.
‘All that now remains’ – she beamed – ‘is to visit your respective homes and inspect the gardens. I need to make sure they’re a safe space for Bess and Charlie.’
‘Right,’ I blanched. There was a hole under one of the fence panels. A local fox had dug a sizeable entry point. I’d have to go to the garden centre on the way home. Buy a socking great plant to plug the hole.
‘Tomorrow morning suit?’ asked Rachel.
‘Sure,’ I nodded. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ I’d give Mum and Dad a miss tomorrow. After the earlier stress and tears, I felt I deserved a break.
‘Tomorrow is fine for me too,’ said Dylan.
‘Fabulous.’ Rachel nodded her approval. ‘Well then, guys, until then. Afterwards, you’ll be able to collect your new family members and live happily ever after.’
‘Wow,’ I said, grinning from ear to ear.
‘See you tomorrow,’ said Dylan to Rachel, as we both made to leave.
Outside in the carpark, Dylan stalled.
‘I hope you don’t mind my saying, Maggie, but…’
‘Yes?’
‘You looked a little apprehensive when Rachel mentioned the garden inspection. Is there anything that needs doing? Something you need a hand with? A new fence panel, perhaps?’
‘No,’ I assured. ‘It’s nothing like that. Rather, it’s a hole under a fence panel. Courtesy of Mr Fox. However, I’m going to drive straight over to the garden centre and buy a plant to hide it.’
‘Good old Mr Fox,’ Dylan chuckled. ‘Once Bess is in residence, he’ll likely avoid your place.’
‘I hope so,’ I nodded. ‘Mr Fox can be quite a nuisance. He loves to raid the wheelie bin. He’s quite accomplished at lifting the lid. Last week he ripped open a sack of rubbish and left mouldering pizza crusts all over the driveway.’
‘Didn’t he eat them up?’
‘Regrettably not. You see, I’d burnt the pizza. The crusts were like concrete.’
‘Ah, so Mr Fox didn’t want to break a tooth. Wise fella.’
We both laughed. And then, when the sound petered out, we simply stood there. For a moment it was suddenly awkward. What more was there to say?
Me: I hope your home inspection goes well.
Dylan:Likewise.
Me: All the best.
Dylan: And you.
It suddenly dawned on me that this moment was pivotal. It marked the end of our brief friendship. And as that thought registered in my head, my heart felt an inexplicable sense of loss.