Chapter Nineteen
When I drew the curtains on Friday morning, I was greeted by golden sunshine and the promise of another warm day. I stretched, trying to remember last night’s dream. Greg had been in it. He’d had a message. Something to do with Dylan.
However, the more I concentrated on trying to recall what he’d said, the more the dream eluded me. By the time I’d put the kettle on, I couldn’t remember any of it.
I hummed to myself as I made a coffee. Rachel would be along shortly to inspect the garden.
I took my drink into the conservatory. The room was already warm. Lovely. Later it would be stifling. Such was its nature. Stinking hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter.
A bird flew past, and something stirred in the corners of my mind. A sense of déjà vu. What was it?
I flopped down on one of the cushioned sofas. Gazed at the view on the other side of the French doors. Admired the Rowan sapling I’d picked up at the garden centre. Mr Fox’s entry point had gone.
Another bird swooped low. The sense of déjà vu prevailed. It was definitely something to do with Greg. But what? I tutted and shook my head.
‘Do you like my Rowan?’ I said aloud. There was no photograph of my late husband in the conservatory. However, my fanciful imagination now conjured him up. He was sitting next to me, on the sofa. ‘I’m so proud of myself for planting that tree,’ I told him. ‘I did it without any help. It was hard work making Mr Fox’s hole even deeper. My shoulders still ache after hauling those sacks of compost across the lawn. However, it was worth it. I reckon my little Rowan tree will look amazing in another year or two.’
I sipped my coffee thoughtfully, happily imagining Greg next to me. One arm casually slung along the back of the sofa. His hand brushing my shoulder.
A blackbird landed on the fence. The déjà vu persisted as the bird peered at me. And then, like a cloth removing a stubborn bit of dirt, I remembered last night’s dream with absolute clarity.
My husband and I had been sitting right here, in the conservatory, looking at the garden beyond. A blackbird had landed on the fence – just like the one now looking at me – and Greg had asked a very pertinent question.
‘I gather you’ve met someone, Mags?’ he’d said. It hadn’t been an accusation. Not at all. In fact, he’d seemed slightly amused. ‘I’m pleased for you, darling.’
I could feel myself blushing as I now recalled the dream while still imagining Greg sitting alongside me.
‘It’s not like that,’ I’d answered. I found myself repeating it now. Saying it out loud, in this conservatory. Talking to thin air.
In the dream, I’d told Greg about Bess. In fact, we’d gone to the sanctuary together. We’d crept inside the building, then stood outside Bess’s kennel. She’d been fast asleep, nose on paws, muzzle twitching as she’d dreamt. Greg had smiled and said that she seemed like a nice dog, and that he knew all about her deceased owner.
‘Have you met Bess’s owner?’ I’d asked in surprise. At the time, it had seemed perfectly normal to ask that question.
‘No,’ he’d replied. ‘But I’ve checked out your man.’
‘My man?’ I’d gasped.
‘Don’t get yourself in a tizzy, Mags,’ he’d chuckled. ‘You’re allowed to befriend other guys. It’s called moving on.’
‘I’m not moving on,’ I’d protested. ‘I’m simply rehoming a dog. Bess will give me the companionship I crave.’
‘Hey, I’m teasing you,’ Greg had laughed. ‘No need to rise. That said, I think we should have a chat about your future, sweetheart. I think it’s time. Dylan seems like a nice guy. I want you to know that I approve.’
My face had heated up with indignation.
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Dylan.’
‘I know nothing is going on. Stop being defensive. I’m simply saying that if you want something to be going on, then it’s fine with me.’
For a moment, my face had worked, as I’d wrestled with conflicting emotions. Happiness at Greg giving me the thumbs up. Irritation at being sussed. Delight at the possibility of something developing with Dylan. Guilt for even thinking about it. Ultimately, embarrassment at Greg knowing I had a secret crush. Consequently, I’d been prickly.
‘Are you spying on me?’ I’d demanded.
‘Of course not,’ Greg had snorted.
The dream was now unrolling in full technicolour, as clear as that blackbird on the fence.
‘However’ – Greg had pointed out – ‘you talk to me a lot. So, it’s only natural that I’m around when you chat. And anyway, don’t deny your attraction to Dylan. It’s so obvious. You’re all hot and bothered. You’ve also gone a bit googly eyed. It’s how you used to look when we were first dating, do you remember?’
In the dream, Greg had slung an arm around my shoulders. Given them a reassuring squeeze. Was it my imagination, or could I now feel the lightest touch upon my shoulder?
‘Dylan is simply someone I met at the rehoming centre,’ I now said aloud. ‘He gave me his business card. He suggested we might occasionally walk our dogs together. That’s all. But I won’t be following up. No way am I ringing him. I’d feel too shy. And I didn’t give him my phone number, so he can’t ring me.’
Hmm, I now heard Greg say in my head. I’ll have to see what I can do about that. Everyone deserves a second chance of happiness.
‘What do you mean?’ I said, just as the doorbell rang. That would be Rachel. ‘Saved by the bell,’ I said to the empty space beside me.