I shrugged off the memories of the last time I’d danced in this garden and proceeded to attempt the kind of moves an eleven-year-old girl deserves when she’s about to leave her whole world behind because her mum is seriously ill.
Within moments, the door to New Cottage opened and Leanne shuffled out, Peter bracing her by the elbow. Carole was right behind them, flinging her arms out and singing along as though the pain of the past fifteen years was a forgotten nightmare.
As Ebenezer’s playlist rolled on to the next song, we adjusted our dance partners so that Leanne and Ebenezer could sway together while Peter and Carole did some sort of complicated jive and Joan gripped my hands as we spun and hopped and jigged about until the sun had set and the bats came swooping above our heads.
‘Right, that’s enough of that,’ Carole gasped eventually. ‘We’ve got a long day tomorrow. Let’s leave these wild ones to it.’
Once we’d cleared the remains of dinner into the kitchen and got ready for bed, we crawled inside the tent and lay on top of our sleeping bags. Still warm from the dancing, we left the tent flap open so we could see the moon sailing across the treetops. Our plan had been to read our own books before the designated lights out, but Joan handed me her battered copy of The Hobbit.
‘Will you read to me?’
I had to wait for the lump in my throat to ease before I could reply. ‘Where have you got to?’
‘The chapter called “An Unexpected Party”.’ She smiled. ‘Like we had just now.’
‘Joan, I’ve read this book more times than you can count. I know that’s the first chapter.’
She looked at me, eyes wide and innocent.
‘I’m not reading the whole book.’
‘Why don’t you start it from there and we’ll see how it goes. You can stop when we get to a boring bit.’
‘You mean the blank page at the end?’
She grinned, lying back with a contented sigh.
Bilbo had just set off on his adventure when I noticed that Joan was asleep. She’d wriggled closer to see the illustrations, and her head now rested against my upper arm with a heavy reassurance that kept me reading for another few pages. Closing the book softly, I eased back into a sort-of-comfortable position, checked that Nesbit was still curled up in the entrance and clicked off the lamp.
The second that Joan sighed and rolled over into the other side of the tent, the tears came. I was so grateful that I’d had the chance to get to know this remarkable child. She’d filled up a chasm in my heart that I’d not realised existed.
What on earth am I going to do without her?
Once the tent was packed away, I had one job on Saturday morning. Remain calm and collected. Or in other words, not dissolve into a snotty heap until the hire van had disappeared down Hatherstone Lane.
There may have been one tear, two at the most, but Joan’s stiff, bitter expression was enough to keep my emotions in check as I helped load up the final bits and pieces before hugging my friends goodbye. Ebenezer appeared out his front door and handed Joan a book.
‘I don’t think you’ve read it.’
‘I haven’t,’ she said, flipping open the cover of Little Women. ‘Thank you…’ She paused, the hint of a smile creeping over her face for the first time that day. ‘Barry.’
‘Ebenezer, if you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t! I didn’t even know Barry was a real name.’
I peeked at the inscription in the front of the book:
For my darling Ada, the best of women.
Yours forever, Barry.
Oh boy. Was I supposed to be not crying?
Joan didn’t exactly help, throwing her arms around Ebenezer’s waist. ‘I’ll never forget you.’
He patted her awkwardly on the head.
‘Promise you’ll make sure Ollie’s okay without me.’
Ebenezer muttered something along the lines of how he’d do his best, but he’d got a lot of other important things that needed doing, and then hobbled back inside.
‘Right, that’s it,’ Peter announced, slamming the van door with a thud.
One last hug, a cringe-worthy fake smile and a wave, and they were gone.
Steph phoned, as promised, but after a brief chat I insisted I was fine and no, she didn’t need to come over, as ‘I don’t mean to be rude but I’d rather be on my own today’.
That feeling lasted for about half an hour.
I wasn’t going to drag Steph over, though. I should have been able to handle feeling sad on my own for a day.
The issue was that I didn’t feel sad; I felt like every last trace of colour had been packed into that van.
I felt like I was already sick and tired of my miserable, moping self, so I yanked on my walking boots, whistled for my dog and went for the kind of furious, pounding march through Bigley Forest that makes it impossible to think.
Forty-five minutes later I was steaming with exertion, sweat dripping down my back when Nesbit pricked up his ears, galloping into the undergrowth before scampering back a few seconds later, his prize in tow.
‘Well, hello, girls,’ I managed, automatically running both hands over my mass of tangled frizz as I braced myself for the appearance of Scout and Willow’s owner.
‘Hey,’ he said, eyebrows raised in surprise as he rounded the corner and found me standing there, wishing I’d changed out of the T-shirt I’d worn to heft boxes into a van.
‘Hi.’
I swallowed hard, focusing on bending down to pet the collies. The rational part of my brain knew that bursting into tears at the sight of Sam would prove more than a little awkward, but I was so pleased and relieved to see him it was all I could do not to launch myself into his arms where it was safe to fall apart.
‘I was on my way to see you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Thought Nesbit might need some cheering up today, so we decided to reply to the party invitation in person.’
‘You remembered?’
He managed to frown and smile at the same time. ‘Of course I did. I’d have come earlier, but we had another forest fire.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ The floodgate burst as a fresh wave of sobbing shook my shoulders.
‘It’s okay, no one was hurt. Maybe a couple of singed insects, but we handled it.’ He stepped forwards, stopping a couple of feet away so that it was up to me what happened next. ‘If I ask if you want a hug will you run away from me again?’
I gave a watery laugh. ‘A hug would be really nice, thank you.’
‘Purely platonic, of course,’ he added, wrapping me up in his arms.
Speak for yourself, I couldn’t help thinking, buried against his chest, my forehead resting in the dip above his collarbone. His warm, earthy scent had become so familiar, it was like coming home.
Sam suggested fish and chips. ‘It’s high time you had a proper tour of Bigley,’ he said as we strolled back towards the village, the dogs crashing about in the undergrowth beside us.
‘I’ve lived here for over three months; I know my way around.’
Sam shook his head in mock disgust. ‘You know the shops and the library. The dog park. You’ve not scratched the surface of the real Bigley Bottom.’
‘It’s a village less than a mile long, and half as wide.’