Chapter 13
Cripes, that hurts, Fiona thought as she eased herself out of bed on Sunday morning. She ached from her head to her toes, and every part in between. Her face hurt from smiling so much, her toes from dancing, and the rest of her from being on the go all day. She hadn’t achieved that level of activity since her last day at Clover Cafe.
‘You know what they say,’ she grumbled aloud, as she slid her feet into a pair of slippers and reached for her dressing gown. ‘If you don’t use it, you lose it.’ And she’d patently lost it.
Gone was the time when she could work from seven in the morning to seven at night, and beyond. Yesterday had exhausted her.
No sooner had Bill dropped her off, she’d had a long soak in a hot bath, changed into her nightie, had drunk a cup of cocoa and had put herself to bed, not caring that eight p.m. was ridiculously early.
To her relief, Molly and Jack had done the bulk of the clearing up, sending her and Bill off home with promises to return everything to Fiona this morning. Even Patch had looked shattered, and Fiona guessed that the little dog hadn’t had the chance to nap, not with all the noise, the people and the dancing. She would give Bill a ring later to see whether he was feeling just as bad.
By the time she had made tea and toast and was getting dressed, she was starting to loosen up, although her feet continued to ache and her knees hadn’t stopped griping. Her arms and shoulders were sore, too.
‘Stop grizzling,’ she told herself, forcing her spine to bend enough to enable her to put a pair of socks on. A brush of her hair and a spray of perfume had her feeling almost human again, and she went back downstairs, (trying not to wince at every step) to tackle the kitchen.
She and Bill had attempted a clean-up before they had left for the tea dance yesterday, but the standard of cleanliness in her kitchen still left a lot to be desired.
Typically, she had her arms in soapy water up to her elbows when the doorbell rang. It was Molly and Jack, and she hastened to put the kettle on as they ferried the boxes of plates, cups, sauces and other paraphernalia from the car to the house.
‘Can I help you put this lot away?’ Molly asked.
‘If you can stack it under the stairs, that would be great. I won’t bother unboxing it because most of it is destined for the cafe anyway.’
She and Molly had been ordering things online for the past week, so they would have everything to hand as soon as the decorating was finished. And with each day that passed, the cafe was a step closer to welcoming its first customers.
‘How much profit did we make?’ Fiona asked, knowing that several expenses such as food, crockery and cutlery needed to be deducted first, but when Molly told her, Fiona clapped her hands in delight.
Molly said, ‘It’s enough to pay Gavin for the plastering and the rest of the odds and sods that need doing, plus a bit extra in case something unforeseen crops up.’
‘When do you think the work will be finished?’
‘Two weeks, maybe three. The plaster will have to dry out before we can start painting, so that’ll take a week or so, then it’ll need a couple of coats of paint.’
Three weeks was no time at all – they would pass before Fiona knew it – and a feeling akin to what she used to experience as a child when the six weeks summer holidays drew to an end and she would soon have to return to school, came over her. She almost felt as though she was losing her freedom, which was ridiculous because since she had sold her business she had done very little with all the free time she’d suddenly had. Possibly the most constructive thing she had done had been to phone the council to complain about the state of the park, but her pestering them hadn’t made a jot of difference. It had taken Molly’s drive, determination and vision to make anything happen. Along with Bill’s help, obviously. He seemed to have a knack for getting people to do things: a result of ordering crews around and being in charge of a humongous ship, she suspected.
You wouldn’t believe it to look at him now, though. It was sad to think that as you grew older, people only saw the old person with the wrinkles on their face, the stooped shoulders and the shuffling gait. There were few clues left on the body to give a hint as to what they might have been in a past life. Not that Bill’s shoulders were particularly stooped, of course and neither did he shuffle. Nor did she, for that matter – but it was the principal of the thing.
She was forced to admit that she wasn’t a spring chicken, as this morning’s aches and pains had demonstrated. She had also noticed that she wasn’t as agile mentally as she had once been, and it worried her to think that she might have been stagnating.
Not anymore.
Since the day Bill had called in to tell her that the cafe in the park should reopen and that she was the best person to run it, she had felt her confidence growing. But there was one thing which continued to bother her – she couldn’t run it by herself, and yesterday had hammered the reality home.
‘How is the hunt for volunteers coming along?’ she asked Molly.
‘A couple of people have said they can help out, and Bill said he can spare a few hours. But if you hear of anyone, let me know.’
Fiona eyed her doubtfully; that didn’t sound promising…
Maybe people were hanging back until it was open and they could see it in the flesh, so to speak. She didn’t blame them. Anyone peering in through the windows right now wouldn’t be impressed. The place looked a mess. But it wouldn’t be like that for much longer.
Molly and Jack had a cup of tea with her, and after they left Fiona decided the kitchen could wait. It wasn’t going anywhere and would still be here this afternoon. It was getting on for lunchtime and as she’d only had a nibble of a sandwich, one miniature lemon drizzle cake and two slices of toast since the omelette yesterday lunchtime, she was hungry. A spaghetti bolognese should do it, especially since she had a packet of mince in the fridge that needed to be used up. She would cook a batch of sauce, have one portion for her lunch and freeze the rest.
Or (and here was a thought) she could call Bill now and invite him to share it.
To her delight, he accepted!
***
Patch was incandescent with excitement when he saw Bill with his harness in his hands. ‘Hold still, you daft dog,’ Bill told him, trying to wrestle him into it.
Remembering his wallet, he fetched it from its usual place on the sideboard in the living room, then grabbed a lightweight jacket. He probably wouldn’t need it, but it never hurt to be prepared: it could be a bit blustery where he was thinking of taking Fiona later.
Bill had no idea why Keeper’s Pond had come to mind when Fiona called to invite him to share some spaghetti bolognese with her, but he thought it might do them both good to get out for a couple of hours and stretch their legs. He’d taken Patch for his walk this morning, but it had been somewhat of an effort if he was honest, and although he didn’t relish sitting around on his backside all afternoon, another circuit around the park didn’t hold much appeal. He wanted to go somewhere different.
So, after a delicious lunch, he said, ‘Fancy a drive out?’
‘I wondered why you’d brought the car. Where did you have in mind?’
‘Keeper’s Pond. Do you know it?’
‘I’ve heard of it. It’s supposed to be nice.’
Keeper’s Pond was a bit of a drive, but not as far as Brecon, and from what Bill could remember the views were impressive. Situated on the top of the broad mountain separating the towns of Blaenavon to the south and Abergavenny to the north, the pond was a popular spot for walkers, wild swimmers, and those people who simply wanted to sit on a bench and enjoy the scenery.
The view didn’t show itself until the car had crested the top of the road that traversed the mountain, but it was well worth the journey. The vista that spread out before them was one of patchwork fields, interspersed with verdant woodland and bare bracken-clad peaks. And just off to the right lay a large pond, a glittering sapphire under a clear bright sky.
The car park was full (lots of people had the same idea) but Bill managed to bag a space as someone was leaving.
‘I didn’t think it would be this busy,’ he told Fiona as they strolled the short distance to the start of the path that ran along the pond’s northern edge.
The benches dotted along it were occupied, and some people had brought folding chairs with them. Others sat on the grass. The pond itself was also busy, and he could see several swimmers in the water, and three paddle boarders at the far end. And there were dogs galore, many of them getting their paws wet at the water’s edge, with the more intrepid going deeper and swimming with chuffing breaths and happy eyes.
Patch launched himself straight in, yipping happily as he swam in a circle, then he scampered back out and shook himself vigorously.
Fiona squealed as the dog showered them with droplets of water, and Bill couldn’t help but laugh at the scamp’s smug expression.
‘Getting your own back for all the times I bathed you, eh?’ He turned to his companion. ‘Sorry, Fi. I hope you’re not too wet, or muddy.’
‘Not muddy at all, and a drop of water never hurt anyone. Look at his little face! He’s having such a great time.’
Patch was now dashing around, not knowing where to sniff first, his tail wagging furiously.
‘Do you fancy a sit or a stroll?’ Bill asked. He was studying the path and saw that it sloped gently upwards beyond the pond’s furthest point.
‘Let’s walk, shall we? I’ve got my trainers on, and it looks nice and peaceful up there. I wonder how far it goes?’
‘There’s one way to find out,’ Bill said, taking her arm in his, and very soon they had left the pond behind and were walking along a grassy path surrounded by heather and wimberry bushes thick with tiny purple berries.
‘Gosh, I haven’t seen wimberries in the wild since I was a girl!’ Fiona cried. ‘Me and my friends used to pick them every summer, coming home with fingers stained purple by the juice. I swear we used to eat more than we picked to take home, though. You can’t get them in the shops unfortunately. The nearest things are blueberries:great big dusty purple things, with zero taste. You can’t beat these.’ She stopped to bend down and pick a few. ‘Here.’
She popped a couple in his mouth, and the tart fresh flavour exploded on his tongue.
‘My mum used to make the most wonderful pies with them,’ she said, eating some herself, and when Patch showed an interest, she gave him some too. ‘A sprinkle of sugar on the top of the pastry and served with creamy custard. Yum.’
She had a faraway look in her eyes, and Bill gazed at her fondly. He had his own fine memories of wimberry tart and custard.
They carried on with their walk, the gradient so gradual that they only noticed it when they looked behind and saw the pond in the distance below. Bill guessed there might be a fair way to go before it levelled off, and they could be walking across this moorland for a while.
He was trying to gauge whether Fiona had had enough, when she suddenly stopped and sank down onto a grassy tump.
‘Let’s have a sit for a minute and enjoy the view,’ she suggested, and he awkwardly sat down beside her, his knees protesting. Patch, whose tongue was lolling out of the side of his mouth, joined them, squeezing his little body between theirs, so he was sitting in the middle.
‘Listen,’ Fiona breathed, her head cocked to the side. ‘Skylarks.’
Bill shielded his eyes from the sun, and studied the sky, immediately spotting the bird. Its trilling call was reminiscent of summers gone by, and he let the glorious sound flow over him.
‘There’s a red kite,’ he said, pointing out a bird circling overhead. Its forked tail and the white feathers on the underside of its wings were quite distinctive. ‘I’ve seen them in the air above the park once or twice,’ he told Fiona. ‘And buzzards. I saw a sparrowhawk a couple of weeks ago, as well. It’s a good sign when apex predators are around, because it means the rest of the park’s ecosystem is healthy.’
‘You know an awful lot about wildlife.’
‘Mainly thanks to Reuben. He’s rather passionate about the subject.’
Fiona laughed. ‘I had noticed.’ She lay back and closed her eyes, her face lifted to the sun. ‘I can understand why. I used to do this in the meadow when I was a child. Even then, I used to love the peace and quiet. Until the boys appeared, with their boasting and their footballs.’ She was smiling as she said it, and Bill guessed that she hadn’t minded having her peace disturbed.
‘Good times, eh?’ he said, remembering his own boyhood in the park.
He had played in it for hours on end, building dens in the woodland, kicking a ball on the field, dangling upside down from the bars of the swings. And if he had a few pence, he’d buy an ice lolly from the cafe. Those were the days. The park had been well-used and well-loved by adults and kids alike, and Bill shared Molly’s dream that it would be so again.
‘It’ll be wonderful to have the cafe open,’ he said. ‘Just like the old days.’
And although he didn’t say it aloud, he was looking forward to being a part of it. He could just imagine him taking the orders and serving people with drinks and snacks, whilst Fiona prepared the food. What a good team they would make!
He was inordinately excited – more than he would have thought possible. And for the rest of the day he tried to figure out why. The answer only came to him when he was in bed on the cusp of sleep. The reason he was looking forward to the cafe reopening wasn’t because it was something to occupy him, or because it reminded him of his childhood. It was because he would be working alongside Fiona .
Now that was a turn-up for the books…