‘You are clearly potty about each other. Why hold back?’
I stood back to check that the photograph of Charlie I’d hung on the wall was straight. ‘Why not? If it’s meant to be, we’ve got plenty of time to settle into it. Besides, my track record with men is unanimously dismal. It’s wise to take things slowly, given the potential fallout if things go wrong.’
‘The only thing that could go wrong is you being so feeble and cowardly that things fizzle out and one of you moves on before it gets anywhere good!’ Becky retorted through a mouthful of curtain hooks.
‘It’s already good, thank you very much. I’m not going to let you bully me into rushing it. Especially not when there’s a baby involved.’
‘Oh, but…’ she started to protest.
‘And I will remind you, as if there was any chance of you forgetting, that Luke starts on the bathrooms on Monday. Until then, you get to decide where the line goes when it comes to embarrassing interference in friends’ love-lives.’
Becky turned bright red at the mere mention of Luke. She had it even worse than me. ‘I’ll behave. I promise! Please don’t say anything, Eleanor. It’s different with me and Luke.’
‘Like I said, you get to draw the line.’
‘The line is very,veryfar back!’
‘Excellent.’
* * *
By Friday evening, we were ready for the grand reveal. I didn’t go so far as to move any of Daniel’s personal possessions upstairs, but Becky and I had done what we could to make it feel homely. The main attic room was now painted a soft white, with a dark grey accent wall behind the bed. We’d added photographs of the farm and the family, along with a selection of Charlie’s old postcards set in a mahogany frame.
We’d reused the original shelving, sanding it down and painting it a lighter grey to match a rug that we’d relocated from another bedroom. Geometrically patterned blinds hung at the huge windows, and a few touches like bedside lamps made out of a tree-trunk and a stash of books and his ‘player of the year’ football trophy finished it off. It was a mix of cosy warmth and practicality, and it suited Daniel perfectly. I had even framed an old spreadsheet of farm accounts and hung it on one wall as a joke. He said that he loved it. Then he draped an arm around my neck, pulled me close and planted a smacker on my lips, right in front of Becky, so I supposed he meant what he said.
I would have been embarrassed at the show of affection, but seeing Becky wrestling with the temptation to make a comment was worth it.
Hope was less bothered about her room, but I knew in years to come she’d appreciate the cornflower walls and life-sized stencil of an apple tree. Her soft furnishings were a stripy mix of buttercup yellow, red and navy, and above the changing table we had hung an enlarged copy of the picture of her on the day she was born that Charlie had kept in her room. We had re-covered an armchair in vibrant yellow fabric scattered with tiny red chickens, and placed it next to a bookshelf crammed with stories. Everything was orderly and bright, and I was optimistic Hope would sleep long, sweet dreams in here compared to the dingy junk-room she was used to.
Daniel cried. Actual tears. Which made me cry, too.
‘I don’t know how you ended up here, or where you came from, but I’m growing more and more convinced you must be an angel,’ he whispered, burying his face in my hair.
I allowed myself to enjoy the rush of pleasure for a lingering moment until the age-old stab of guilt wormed its way between us.
Becky beamed at me, eyes brimming. I ducked my head and turned away.
Having barely spent any proper time together since arriving back home due to Daniel slaving away at his work backlog, and me alternating between working on the top floor and avoiding him, while grabbing a quick bowl of pasta that evening, he asked if I wanted to walk into Ferrington on Saturday to have lunch.
‘I would love to. On one condition.’
Daniel eyed me expectantly.
‘We go to the Water Boatman.’
He put down his fork so quickly it clattered against the bowl. ‘That’s on the New Side.’
‘I know. I’ve been there before.’
‘We can’t walk there.’
‘Yes, we can. It will take longer, that’s all.’ I carried on eating, all easy-breezy as if no one sensible would consider it a big deal.
‘It’s miles along a dual carriageway. You can’t walk it!’
I pulled out my phone and opened the maps app. ‘Here. You can follow the footpaths along the Maddon, turn off through this farm, past this wood. And look, here. There’s a footbridge over the river that leads to another footpath. It’s three and a half miles from the farm to the pub, and not a main road in sight.’
‘The Old Boat House has a really good lunch menu. Do they even allow kids in the Boatman? I’ve heard it isn’t the most… family friendly clientele.’
