‘Phooey!’ one of the women snapped, chucking a pile of chips into the middle of the table. ‘She’s not the best player, simply the best cheat!’
‘Ah.’
Madeline shrugged her stooped shoulders. ‘I’m not admitting anything.’
I settled her safely on her favourite bench and then fetched us glasses of iced tea from the café. She was right, it was a gorgeous spot, and the sunshine was delicious on my now bare limbs.
Sitting close enough to link arms, Madeline rested her spindly hand on mine, and chatted for a while about what she enjoyed doing at the Barn, and what she wished she could do given the chance.
Initially, she couldn’t come up with anything. ‘I don’t have the energy to do a lot these days, and even if I could, my body won’t let me.’
‘Is there anything you miss, that you used to enjoy?’
Madeline tried to think.
‘We used to go and watch the horses.’
‘We did!’ Her face lit up. ‘Did I tell you that I always wanted to ride?’
‘But you never did?’
‘Oh, there was never the money for something like that. And look at me now. I can barely manage to get in a chair, let alone on a horse!’ She nudged my shoulder with hers. ‘I’d love to visit the field again, if that was possible. I can’t make the walk from my house any more.’
‘I’m sure I can come up with something.’ I added it to the list in my notepad, which so far included ‘something with music’ and ‘genealogy?’
‘Don’t go to any trouble.’
‘It’s not trouble, it’s my job.’
‘Honestly, sitting out here with an old friend is more than enough.’ She gave my hand another pat. ‘They have these rules now, about physical contact. But being with you, being able to touch another person, and it be completely natural and easy, I have missed that. The last person who hugged me without having to ask permission was my niece, at my birthday party. That’s what I miss the most.’
I added that to the list, too, my brain already starting to whir.
We sat for a while longer, watching the butterflies dancing in the flowerbeds, and then I helped Madeline back inside so she could get ready for the minibus that would take her home. Another hour of reading, jotting down notes, pondering and searching through the internet and I’d already decided that this was going to be the best job I’d ever had. For a brief moment I almost wished it could be longer than three months.
‘Are you coming back for dinner?’ Mum asked, when she and Dad appeared in the office doorway just after five-thirty. ‘I’ve made a chicken pie.’
What I really wanted was a shower, my cotton shorts pyjamas and a good book, the evening breeze wafting the scent of cut grass and barbeques through my tiny attic window. It had been a big day, and I was ready to collapse into a boneless blob on my bed.
But my stomach rumbled at the very thought of Mum’s homemade pie. My plan for dinner had been to sneak some lunch leftovers home. Plus, of course, dinner at theirs meant less risk of crossing paths with Elliot.
‘You’ve not seen the new flat,’ Mum added. ‘It isn’t even new any more.’
The glimmer of hope in her eyes was too much. I’d been fobbing them off with excuses for overten years. A whole decade of Mum and Dad gently reminding me that their door was always open, even as against all parental instincts, they stepped back and gave me space to mess up time and time again. Even when rescuing me from the squat, they put no pressure on me to come back.
‘Of course, I’d love to.’
Mum flipped around under the pretence of checking the lights were off, but as we walked to join Dad at the front door, a streak of mascara glistened on both cheeks.
We strolled through the village to their flat, in a converted water mill on the banks of the river, cutting through a footpath that led between the tiny primary school and the park. It was strange being back here, watching a whole new generation of children swarming over the play equipment I’d spent so many summer evenings scrambling over and, in my older years, slouching about on. At the sports field beyond, more children were jogging up and down where I used to watch my brother and the boy I’d secretly fallen in love with play football.
My heart jerked in my chest when I spotted a mop of blond hair that for a second I thought was Elliot’s. I turned away, annoyed at my memory playing tricks on me, until Dad pointed at the field.
‘Elliot’s assistant coach for the under nine’s this year.’
Twisting my head back far too quickly to appear casual, I saw that it was, in fact, my housemate. In a red tracksuit to match the team shirts, he was jogging alongside them, his grin so wide I could see it all the way over here.
‘It’s caused a bit of controversy.’ Dad stuck his hands in his jean pockets and stopped to watch.
