Page 49 of Take Me Home


Font Size:

Kalani had crammed another foil-covered box with people, having a party. ‘I love my actual house. I just want to learn how to enjoy having other people in it. Trampling in mud or spilling wine on my sofa. Looking at my stuff.’

Laurie had covered a sheet of paper with a drawing of shelves full of folders and storage boxes. She released a blissful sigh. ‘Everything in its place. Orderly. Organised. Doable.’ The last shelf was empty. ‘This is my Sunday shelf. Please note the absence of any pigeons on this shelf. It’s for thinking, napping, pottering or doing nothing at all.’

My ideal home? For a few startling seconds, I’d not been able to stop thinking about the boathouse.

In the end, I’d created a garden. Was there a better symbol for putting down roots, allowing time to know a place, and, in doing so, to be known – and loved? To care enough about a place that it would hurt you to leave.

Wasn’tthatwhat made a home?

‘That is incredible!’ The Gals gushed, inspecting the hurriedly arranged silk flowers (not roses! Not yet), the tiny plot of vegetables I’d fashioned out of tissue paper, and the hammock I’d hung from two trees made out of twigs draped with more tissue-paper blossom.

‘You should do this for a living,’ Deirdre said, the others nodding in agreement. ‘When I finally marry the unidentified man under the bedcovers, will you do my flowers?’

Boy, those beanbags had to bear some blubbering that night. We could probably have wrung the tears out of them afterwards.

Instead, we headed to the kitchen to rehydrate with a gorgeous gal or three.

18

Friday morning was perfect spring weather. Clear and bright, with a warm breeze that carried the scent of cow-parsley blossom and meadow grass. I strolled down to the riverbank accompanied by Muffin, Flapjack and the bleat of distant lambs competing with a symphony of songbirds sounding as exuberant to be out and about as I felt. I’d made do with just a cardigan over jeans and a stripy T-shirt. When I spotted Gideon already waiting, my heart did an involuntary jig.

‘Look,’ he said quietly, eyes dancing as he gestured with his head to where the light sparkled on the water. It took a moment, but then I spotted it – a streak of brown, slipping up to the bank before disappearing into the reeds on the far side.

‘An otter?’

He nodded, smiling. ‘It’s only the third one I’ve seen since living here. They normally appear at twilight.’

‘Let’s hope the rest of the day is as rewarding.’

‘Anyway, I should have started with hello, but I didn’t want you miss it.’ He stopped, catching my eyes with his. ‘Hello.’

I tried to keep my smile to a reasonable, ‘spending the day with a friend on a non-date’ level. I couldn’t do anything about the heat burning my cheeks and neck.

‘Hi.’

‘Can I carry anything?’ He nodded to my rucksack.

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ While I’d brought food for our picnic, Gideon had insisted on bringing drinks, lessening the pack on my back.

‘We’ll head to the bridge first.’

Once we’d crossed over the water – after a pause to stop and admire a clutch of early ducklings bobbing around their anxious-looking mother – we headed into the trees, following a trail I’d not explored before. The dirt path weaved through stately oak and birch trees, their catkins dangling like snoozing caterpillars. It was too early for bluebells, but we passed snowdrops and wild daffodils. We stopped to listen to what Gideon informed me was the frenetic tapping of a woodpecker.

In between looking and listening and absorbing the wonder of English woodland on the cusp of spring, we talked about everything and nothing, keeping conversation as light as the pools of sunshine dappling the forest floor. I shared stories about the more bizarre clients I’d encountered, including the younger woman who expected me to auction off her late husband’s human-hair collection to pay for his funeral, and the two triplets who’d kept their brother’s ashes in a life-sized model of his head. Gideon repaid this with tales of his wilder youth on the outskirts of Lancaster, and the extreme measures Agnes sometimes employed to yank him back into line.

One of the highlights happened after cresting a hill to discover a gorgeous view spreading down into a valley, where we decided to stop for lunch. To my pride and pleasure, I spotted her in a small clearing further down the slope.

‘A deer,’ I whispered to Gideon, taking hold of Muffin’s collar, despite the doe being a good fifty metres away and Muffin being far too invested in waiting for a stray crumb of sandwich.

‘It’s a roe, I think,’ he replied, peering at it. ‘The red deer are larger. The roe are normally too shy to be seen in the middle of the day.’

Perhaps hearing the muted voices, she lifted her head from the patch of foliage she’d been nibbling, twitched her nose a few times, then bolted into the shadows at the far side of the clearing.

‘An otter and a deer. The forest is being generous today.’ Gideon grinned. ‘I’ve come up with a far more impressive date than anticipated.’

‘Date?’

He leant over and kissed me, another gentle brush of his mouth against mine, which left me longing for more. ‘What would you prefer to call it? Two single people, spending time together, holding hands, kissing and sharing lunch?’