Page 93 of My Kind of Happy

Chapter Twenty-seven

‘Long time no see, big brother. I’ve missed you.’

My voice was low, but it needn’t have been; it was nine o’ clock on Sunday morning and the cemetery was still deserted. Even at this early hour, the sun was getting warm. The moisture on the grass after yesterday’s rain was rising as steam, giving a suitably eerie mistiness to the air.

I traced Freddie’s name on the headstone with my fingertips and I felt the pain of his loss like a physical ache in my sternum. I hadn’t been to visit his grave since the day after I’d found his letter; it felt good to be here again, connecting with him, as if by sharing my news, he was somehow still part of my life.

I picked up the vase which stood just below his headstone. The flowers I’d left here back in March had long since disappeared and I tipped out dried bits of leaf. I took it to the tap, washed it out and refilled it with clean water, yawning to myself. I’d watched the clock for most of the night, unable to sleep and it was almost a relief when Scamp had insisted on getting up at six to pay a visit out to the back garden. After that I’d made tea and sat outside with him, brooding over the incident with Pandora and Sam in front of his friends.

Before locking up the shop last night, I’d collected some of the leftover flowers from the workshop and gathered them into a posy. And now here I was, arranging them on my brother’s grave.

‘I’d give anything for a proper chat,’ I murmured. ‘Just a bit of reassurance that I’m not a terrible person. But you’ll just have to listen instead.’

Scamp had settled on the path nearby, his chin resting on his front paws. Poor dog; he wasn’t having the best of days either. Ethel’s house had been sold and the new occupants, a couple in their twenties with a little girl, had arrived noisily at the crack of dawn. I’d left Scamp inside and gone out to say hello and they told me they’d be here for a few hours taking measurements for curtains and furniture. Poor Scamp had sat and howled at the window, confused by the intruders in his old home.

I knelt down on the damp grass and unwrapped the brown paper from the flowers, spreading them out so I could select each stem easily.

‘You’d really like Sam,’ I said softly. ‘You’d warn me off him, I’m sure, and tell me that married men are off limits, no exceptions. And you’d be right. Don’t worry, I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. But I do really like him. The question is, does he still like me? As a friend, I mean. He might really resent me for being the one to spill the beans about Pandora’s affair.’

I sighed and popped the flowers into the vase absentmindedly: gerberas, stocks, roses …

‘I probably sound like a right misery, full of woe,’ I said. ‘But until last night, things were going pretty brilliantly. Working at the florist’s is making me happy: the village is really friendly, the people are so kind, I’m enjoying being creative and I love sharing my love of flowers with others. I might even be quite good at teaching people how to do it for themselves. Ten cricket players last night. Yes, you heard that right. Your antisocial sister chose to spend the evening in a large group.’

I turned the vase around, automatically checking the display from all angles.

‘But I think I’ve really messed up where Sam’s concerned; I’ve been unprofessional and that’s unforgivable. I never ever thought I’d fall for a married man, and I have. At least technically he’s still married. And this could be all in my imagination, but there was a moment last night when I thought he might feel the same as me.’

I groaned. ‘That’s probably wishful thinking on my part. He’s too honourable for that. Worse luck,’ I added softly.

I sat in silence for a few moments and picked up a handful of the pea gravel which covered the grave, letting it run through my fingers. In the distance, I heard the heavy wrought iron gates to the cemetery clang open and shut again; people were starting to arrive to visit their loved ones, to reminisce about the past and share their new stories just like me.

I didn’t want Sam to be part of my past, I realised with a jolt. Which meant putting all thoughts of any sort of relationship other than friendship out of my head. I’d give Sam space, but I’d let him know I was thinking about him, that I could be a friendly ear if he needed one. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

‘I’ll send him one text, just one,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘What do you reckon? I’ll check he’s OK and I’ll apologise for causing upset. Then I’ll leave it. He knows where to find me.’

I called to Scamp and then blew a kiss in the direction of Freddie’s headstone.

‘Thanks for listening Freddie. I love you.’

‘I sent him a text yesterday but I haven’t had a reply. What if Pandora found it and is using it as evidence of us having an affair. What if I’ve made matters worse? And then there’s Nina. I should probably tell her what I’ve done.’ I reached for the mayonnaise, added an extra squirt to the side of my plate and dipped my chicken into it.

‘At least your misplaced anxiety hasn’t dented your appetite,’ said Laura, watching me tuck into my dinner.

‘Very funny,’ I mumbled through a mouthful of food. ‘And it isn’t misplaced.’

It was Monday evening and Hamish, Laura and I were sitting in my suntrap of a garden with Scamp at our feet. The doors to our little Tiki bar were open, the music was on and I’d even dusted down and rehung the bunting in honour of the occasion. The barbeque had been put back on active service and for the last hour, I’d cooked salmon and pesto parcels, lemon chicken kebabs and steak marinated in Sam’s special spicy rub. Scamp was in seventh heaven as various titbits found their way onto the patio and despite my continued concerns about Sam, I was pretty pleased with myself. It was the first time in almost a year that I’d cooked for anyone else and it felt like an enormous milestone.

‘Not to dismiss your concerns, Fearne, but that steak was fabulous.’ Hamish wiped his chin with a napkin and put his knife and fork together neatly. ‘What flavours did you use?’

‘I didn’t,’ I said. My face was already hot from the heat of the barbeque but I felt the temperature rise a bit more. ‘I used something Sam gave me. He’s a real foodie; that’s his passion. He loves nothing better than to … what?’ I stopped in mid-sentence; Laura and Hamish were grinning at me.

‘I don’t know about you,’ said Laura, leaning against Hamish’s shoulder, ‘but I feel like I know this Sam intimately.’

‘You mean Sam with the deep blue eyes and cute dimple.’ Hamish wrapped his arm around her.

‘On his left cheek,’ she added with a snort and the two of them laughed.

‘It’s not funny,’ I said, put out. ‘What I’ve done could be the straw that broke the back of their marriage.’