Chapter Twenty
‘Horrible man,’ I seethed, as Cindy and I headed off on foot.
How had I ever thought Milo Soren goodlooking? He might look like Antonio Banderas, but he didn’t have any of film star’s charm. Together, Cindy and I ducked through a gap in a nearby hedge. We were now on a public footpath that led to the woods.
‘If he were the last man on Earth, and I were the last woman, and it was up to us to repopulate this planet, then humanity would die out,’ I ranted.
Sorry to tell you this, Mum, but it would die out anyway. You’re too old to have babies.
‘Don’t remind me,’ I grimaced. ‘It’s a sore subject.’
I know, Cindy soothed. But I did tell you it wasn’t a great idea parking outside Milo’s place or staring at his house for ages. You did look a bit, you know, unhinged.
‘That house that should have been mine,’ I said bitterly, as we paced along. ‘I don’t think I’m ever going to find anything that compares to Starlight Cottage.’ My shoulders drooped. ‘It’s all very well living at Lisa’s for the time being, but I really want a place of our own.’
What about that two-up-two-down in Gravesend?
‘It’s on a busy road. I don’t think I’d sleep at night with such a heavy volume of traffic.’
You’d eventually get used to it.
‘Believe me, there are some things that the passage of time does not ever allow you to get used to.’
Ah, said Cindy meaningfully. I know what you’re hinting at.
‘Yeah.’ I kicked a stone viciously. Watched it skim along the pathway, hit another stone, and then bounce sideways into some grass. ‘Not a day goes by where – at some point – I don’t think about it. What might have been. If I’d been a little older. A little wiser. If circumstances had been different.’ My eyes brimmed. ‘Sometimes I have a good day and realise that twelve hours have passed without me thinking about it. And I tell myself that the inner peace of those twelve hours was blissful. Such a relief. And then, equally, I’m horrified. I ask myself: what sort of person have I become to have permitted twelve hours of amnesia? It makes me feel like such a bad person.’
You’re not a bad person.
‘I’m not sure the Law of Karma would agree with you. After all, look how the subsequent years have played out.’
I still don’t think you’re a bad person. More… a sad person. In the last few months your whole life has changed. This time last year, you lived in a lovely part of Meopham. You had a house full of treasures collected with a man you expected to grow old with.
‘Whereas now I live out of a suitcase, sleep on a sofa, and can fit all my worldly possessions into a cardboard box.’
And you have me, of course.
‘Indeed,’ I smiled. ‘What would I do without you?’
Possibly be like Shirley Valentine and instead chat to the walls.
Cindy paused to scan the overhead trees. She then gave a yip of excitement and strained at the lead.
Much as this conversation has been fascinating, can you let me run free? This wood is heaving with squirrels, and I want to chase a few.
‘Fair enough,’ I sighed.
I stooped and unclipped the leash. My dog instantly took off like a supersonic rocket. There wasn’t an inch of fat on her. Perhaps I should be more like Cindy and, well, shift . It was all very well walking a pooch every day, but a jog might be better. It would burn more calories. Which might diminish the muffin around my midriff. And talking of muffins, I could kill a chocolate one right now. Perhaps if I did a bit of running, I could later spoil myself with a treat.
The Strawberry Shed stocked all manner of yummy cakes. My stomach rumbled at the thought of a giant Victoria sandwich full of fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Perking up, I broke into a jog and pounded after Cindy.
After ten minutes, I wondered if I’d worked off a thousand calories. I wasn’t sure which part of me ached the most – my legs after leaping puddles, or my breasts which had bounced painfully due to not wearing a sports bra. Winded, I came to a standstill and held my sides. A stitch threatened.
I was too out of breath to call my hound to heel. After two minutes, I still sounded like a heavy breather up to no good in a phone box. I leant forward, placed my hands on my knees and wondered if it were possible to pass out from hyperventilating.
Seconds later, Cindy came bombing towards me, tongue out. It looked like a pink flag fluttering in a breeze.
Did you see it? she panted.
‘See what?’ I puffed. I wouldn’t mind letting my own tongue hang out. Currently it felt horribly hot and too big for my mouth.
The squirrel, of course! Which way did it go?
‘No… and don’t know,’ I gasped. ‘Come on.’ I reached forward and clipped on her lead. ‘Let’s head back. I want to visit the farm shop.’
Okay, she said reluctantly.
Together, we retraced our footsteps, circumnavigating fallen branches from a recent storm.
Eventually we found ourselves back on the public footpath. Shielding my eyes and gazing straight ahead, I could see the path eventually forked. If I took a right, I’d be alongside Fern Farm’s grazing land. Not that I’d venture that far. I wasn’t up for crossing a stile and walking through a herd of cows. I’d read too many horror stories about dog walkers being trampled.
Instead, Cindy and I kept left. We took the path that ran alongside Starlight Street and led back to our starting point. I located the gap in the hedge that we’d taken earlier, and pushed through – straight into Milo Soren.