Chapter 3 #2
He refocused on his book. ‘I’ll come with you.’ And still reading, he popped the last bit of his biscuit into his mouth.
‘You’ve only just walked up the hill.’
‘It’s good for me,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t be nipping into work. Iris is closing up. She’ll tell me off if I go back in.’
Iris was lovely and firm for which Bonnie was grateful.
She liked that Howard didn’t do ridiculous hours now he’d taken on the bookshop.
He came home to her at a reasonable time.
‘I’m leaving now,’ she told him. She wasn’t, she still had to find some sandals and get her bag, but if she told him that he’d snatch another few pages before he even thought about getting ready.
He didn’t take his eyes off the book. ‘No, you’re not – you haven’t even got your shoes on.’
She started to walk away. ‘Getting them on now,’ she called back over her shoulder.
Howard didn’t take long to get himself together and ready to leave. And as usual they’d only just locked up when he took her hand.
They headed down the hill towards the shops.
The only thing Bonnie didn’t like about Driftwick Bay, and the reason they’d rarely spent summers down here previously, was the crowds drawn to the Jurassic Coast, especially Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door, and all the other hidden treasures.
She could see why of course. But selfishly she couldn’t wait for September when the busyness would fade.
She was a people person – she’d had to be with her job – but she also liked solitude and already she was thinking about the kids returning to school, adult groups heading back to their own homes and jobs, and the town once again becoming a little quieter.
This morning’s painting session had been wonderful though, because she’d purposely got outside nice and early.
There’d been a light breeze, birdsong in the background, the crashing of the waves in the distance and the odd screech of a gull overhead, rather than any traffic noise or tourist chatter as holidaymakers made their way past the cottage and down the hill.
First stop in the small town was the post office where she posted a letter to Beverly.
They communicated by WhatsApp most of the time but Beverly had said when Bonnie retired that she loved to write and receive letters, so Bonnie would surprise her with this one.
The pair had worked alongside each other for more than a decade and Bonnie missed their friendship.
She got a little thrill sending the letter on its way and tutted to herself that she was far too late to stop at the bakery as she’d hoped and chat with Cathy the owner or pick up their favourite farmhouse wholemeal loaf.
They’d had supermarket-bought loaves for years until they were within walking distance of this bakery and now they were converted, favouring the most delicious breads, free of all the additives and preservatives that had become so commonplace.
Time to head back up the hill again, the hill that should help keep them fit as they cruised into old age.
Cruised – Howard had started using the word when they were on safari and it had stuck.
They’d both worked for so many years – she as a district nurse for Berkshire Healthcare, he as a civil servant in public administration, that she supposed this sort of life did feel like cruising.
But, as she was sixty-six and younger than his seventy-one years, she’d told him that while he could use the term cruising, there’d be no talk of old age just yet.
‘I just want to nip down to the telephone box library,’ said Howard.
‘You could’ve done that after work,’ she said with a fond roll of her eyes, because it shouldn’t surprise her.
It was in sight after all and no matter he’d spent all day with books, he loved looking inside this community initiative that saw people taking paperbacks out and leaving one in their place.
He’d never been one to resist anywhere that had books, whether for free or for sale.
At the airport terminal during their travels she’d known she could get through several cups of tea while he perused the books in whatever shop he came across.
He’d found a gem of a bookshop in Amsterdam, and in Venice as they’d relaxed in a gondola she’d half expected him to jump in the canal and swim to the open door of the bookshop he’d spotted.
While Howard went down to the telephone box library Bonnie paused.
This spot was perfect. She’d not thought about it before.
Three-quarters of the way up the hill, it took in the best of the main street in Driftwick Bay, its small collection of shops, the mouths of the cobbled walkways, the lovely red of the postbox, the surviving phone box that Howard had now opened the door to.
There was a sneak peek of Lulworth Cove way beyond but, best of all, Howard’s bookshop to the left had a commanding presence with its beauty. This view would be a joy to paint.
She took a few photographs with her phone so she could pin one or two to her easel while she worked.
When Howard emerged from the telephone box library they started the walk up the hill back to the cottage.
‘You didn’t grab a book.’ She hooked her arm through his, glad he was steady on his feet.
He wasn’t always, another thing that came with old age she supposed, and when things like that happened she knew he worried about developing Parkinson’s like his brother had before he passed away.
It was one of the reasons she’d retired sooner than she’d really been ready for, so that if either of them were faced with a life-altering illness or disease, they would have at least done the things they wanted to do, and they wouldn’t have any regrets.
‘Not this time.’ He pulled her arm in a little tighter against his torso. ‘I might donate a couple more though. I thought you’d appreciate me getting rid of some. I did promise I wouldn’t bring home too many more books when I bought the bookshop after all.’
She laughed. ‘Can I have that in writing?’
The rest of the evening passed with dinner, a Pimm’s in the garden to make the most of the weather, and when bedtime rolled around Howard climbed into bed beside her to read for a while before he would get up again and disappear into the back room quietly for another Midnight Book Club.
She switched off her bedside lamp when she grew sleepy. ‘You know, a lot of wives might be upset if their husband had a weekly midnight rendezvous with at least two other women, let alone if he still had his pyjamas on.’
His laughter rumbled in his belly and she felt him put a kiss to her cheek. ‘Good job you’re not a lot of wives then isn’t it.’
‘Goodnight, Howard.’
‘Goodnight, my love.’
She fell asleep, content. Time together was a precious thing and one that should never be taken for granted.