Angry that he should have run off like that, Tom ordered him back. ‘We need to leave! Tom, get back here now!’
Surprising him, he felt Sara’s hand in his. ‘Leave him be, my love,’ she murmured. ‘He’s just excited.’
‘I’m concerned about you catching a chill.’
A couple of times on the way round the lake, Harry had seen her wincing with pain. When he reminded her that the medication was in the pouch, along with a flask of water, she told him she was fine, and that he worried too much.
‘Wheel me to the bench, Harry.’ Seeing how he was about to protest, she grabbed his hand. ‘Just for a minute … please?’
With Tom still yelling, and Sara so insistent, Harry reluctantly gave in. ‘A couple of minutes, that’s all,’ he conceded. ‘Then you’re both going back into the car and no arguments.’ Slipping off his jacket, he fastened it securely about Sara’s shoulders and neck.
‘Honestly, Harry! You’ve got me trussed up like a turkey,’ she grumbled, while in truth, she had never been happier.
For a few precious moments, the three of them took delight in watching the swans fly past until they were just tiny specks on the horizen.
Tom was still leaping up and down, doing acrobatics on the bench, while Sara laughed at his antics. ‘Look at him, Harry.’ The child was a sheer delight to her. ‘It does my heart good, to see him so happy.’ She ached for her son, knowing that soon, he would be faced with a terrible truth.
She looked up at her husband, her adoring gaze drawing his image into her soul. ‘Harry?’
He stooped to her. ‘Yes, sweetheart?’
‘Thank you for today,’ she told him. ‘You’ve given me the best day of my life.’
Deeply moved, Harry held her close. ‘Oh Sara, I miss you so much,’ he confessed brokenly. ‘I miss holding you when we go to bed, and waking up next to you in the morning. I miss watching you when you potter about in the garden … and hearing your awful singing when you’re doing the dishes.’ They both smiled at that. ‘All those familiar things that we took for granted, I miss them desperately. But most of all, I miss our life together.’
Choking on his words, he gulped back the emotion. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I try to be strong, but now and then it swamps me. I feel ashamed, because it’s you I should be concerned about. Not myself.’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Harry. It’s out of our hands now, and however much we want to, we can’t change that.’
As Sara ran the palm of her hand over Harry’s bowed shoulders, not for the first time she realised that, in a different way, Harry’s pain was every bit as crippling as her own.
‘All those things you said – I miss them too,’ she confided lovingly. ‘But you and me, Harry, we should be counting our blessings. We’ve been given so much – a happy life together, a darling boy, and now just look at us: here we are, sitting in the sunshine, holding each other, when there are so many people in this world who will never know how wonderful that feels. When you think about it, Harry, we haven’t done so bad, have we, eh?’
Harry shook his head in admiration. ‘You never cease to amaze me. You’ve always been able to see the best in a bad situation,’ he said. ‘And that’s another thing I love about you.’
Just then, Tom jumped off the bench and began running down the steep bank, towards the lake. ‘No, Tom! Get back here!’ Harry shouted. But the boy kept running, veering this way then that, and thinking it was all a game.
‘Go on, Harry.’ Sara had every faith in him. ‘Go get him!’ And when Harry took off at the run, she yelled encouragement. ‘Come on, you can do it! You’ve got long legs and he’s only little!’ Harry had to laugh at that, and when Tom shot off towards the shrubbery, he paused for breath, before setting off again. ‘All right Tom, that’s enough! Game over, come on now!’
Breathless now, it crossed his mind that he wasn’t as fit as he should be. ‘Tom! Your mammy’s waiting to go home!’
It wasn’t long before he had the runaway in his arms. ‘You and your mammy are two of a kind,’ Harry panted then threw him over his shoulder, until Tom squealed with laughter. Then when Harry tickled his ribs, the boy was almost hysterical.
They went along the path and up the bank, towards the spot where Sara was waiting, ‘This boy takes after you,’ Harry called ahead. ‘Disobedient and wilful, that’s what he is.’
As they drew closer, Harry continued to lightheartedly tease and grumble. ‘Oh yes, he’s definitely taken after his mother. It’s no good, Sara, you’re gonna have to get him under control, because he doesn’t listen to a word I say …’ He stopped in his tracks. Something was wrong! He could sense it.
Swinging Tom from his shoulders, he ran forward. ‘Sara! … Oh dear God … my SARA!’ But Sara was gone from this world, and when he took her in his arms, he knew her pain was over.
Passionately, he folded her to his heart, remembering the words she had said only minutes ago. ‘This is the best day of my life.’ But it was small consolation. Sara had left them behind, and he was devastated.
Instinctively, Harry caught his son to him, and together they held her – until a passing couple came to their aid.
When he thought about it later, Harry could never remember covering those last few paces to Sara. He recalled the very moment when he realised something was wrong. He felt the weight of his son on his shoulders, and he remembered swinging Tom to the ground.
But that was all; until he had Sara in his arms.
Too young, too vibrant, she had lost her fight to live.
She was at peace now; and in that agonising time when he held her, Harry thought she was more beautiful than he could ever remember.
The following week in the pretty church overlooking the shoreline, there were many tears at Sara’s untimely departure and great joy at having known her as Harry and little Tom, proud and broken, led the congregation outside, to the well-tended, colourful garden. There on the bank on a glorious August day, they laid her to rest, facing the view she had always loved.
There followed a well-set-out tea in Sara’s cosy home, where the neighbours had pulled together and taken charge.
Afterwards, when everyone was gone, Harry spoke with his son. ‘Your mammy is safe now,’ he promised him gently. ‘Someone very special is looking after her now.’
Tom flung his arms round his daddy and sobbed until it seemed he would never stop. After a time, he fell asleep in Harry’s arms, whereupon with great tenderness, his father carried him to the couch and covered him over.
With those tiny arms around his neck, Harry had felt the unforgiving burden of grief like never before.
Looking down now on that small, innocent face so much like his mammy’s, Harry’s heart turned over. ‘Look out for us, my darling,’ he wept, and glanced towards the window as though talking to some unseen person. ‘Help me to make the right decisions.’
On the last day of August, Harry and his son stood at the door of their home and watched their furniture being loaded up. ‘Have you kept back everything you need, son?’ Harry wanted the boy to be sure.
Tom held up the raggedy lop-eared dog. ‘I’ve got Loppy,’ he said, and gave the shadow of a smile.
‘Are you sure he’s all you want to take with you?’
The boy confirmed this with a nod.
‘It’s your last chance, Tom. If there’s anything else you need, you have to say so now, before the wagon leaves.’
‘I only need Loppy.’
‘Okay, if you’re sure.’
Striding down the drive, Harry spoke with the burly driver. ‘You can take it away now,’ he instructed. ‘Oh, and you won’t forget, will you,’ he pointed to a large tea-chest marked Personal, ‘that that one does not go in the sale. It goes into storage.’
The driver perused his clipboard. ‘I’ve got it all written down, sir. Don’t worry, everything will be taken care of.’
‘And you’ve got the forwarding address for the documents and such?’
‘Good.’ Taking his wallet from his back pocket, Harry slipped the driver two pound notes. ‘Thanks. You and your mate have done a good job.’
The driver stuffed the notes in his pocket. ‘Much appreciated, sir.’
‘You will be careful with it all, won’t you? I mean, try not to damage anything?’ Buried under cardboard boxes, he could see the well-worn armchair that both he and Sara had sat on many times; in particular he recalled the evening when she had perched on his knee in that very chair and told him she was expecting their first – and now only – child.
‘We’ll treat your belongings with respect, sir.’ At the onset of this job, the driver had been acquainted with Harry’s circumstances, causing him to be grateful for his own happy marriage and five healthy children.
Harry thanked him before, with heavy heart, he turned away.
Having gone from room to room, satisfying himself that everything was locked and secure, Harry got Tom and the suitcases into the car and drove straight to the churchyard.
The gardener, Roland Sparrow, was waiting in the porch; pencil-thin and whisky-faced, he gave a nervous cough as Harry approached. ‘I’ve not been waiting too long, Mr Blake,’ he preempted Harry’s question. ‘Five minutes at most.’
Taking off his flat cap, he then addressed him with a mood of respect. ‘Might I say before we start, the boss informed me of your loss, and if you don’t mind, I would very much like to offer my condolences.’
Harry acknowledged his concern. ‘Thank you, Mr Sparrow, that’s very kind.’ Quickly changing the subject, he asked, ‘Did you bring the copy of instructions I left at your office?’
‘I have them here,’ came the answer. ‘Very thorough they are too. Most folks either don’t know how, or don’t bother, to take the time and trouble drawing plans and naming flowers, but you’ve done it all, and it makes my job that much easier, if I may say so.’
‘And are you comfortable with everything?’ Harry had taken a long time, thinking about what Sara would have wanted.
‘I have, and what’s more I think it’ll turn out to be the prettiest little garden in the churchyard. Keeping the place beautiful, it’s what I do.’
Looking down his glasses, which were precariously perched at the end of his narrow nose, he read from Harry’s list. ‘Let’s see now … the planting of different coloured heathers for autumn and winter; daffodil and tulip bulbs all around the border for spring, and a girdle of low-growing pink and blue perennials for the summertime.
‘By! It’ll be well pretty! Oh, and just think of the perfumes in the summertime!’ His voice adopted a reverent tone again. ‘I understand you’ve chosen a black marble cross, with two inbuilt flower vases?’
Harry confirmed it with a nod.
‘Well, I can tell you now, the vases will be filled every two weeks with seasonal flowers, and they’ll be regularly topped up with water ’cause that’s what I do.’
‘So, I can count on you, then?’ Harry needed reassuring.
Mr Sparrow beamed with pride. ‘I shall tend your lady’s garden with great care, you can depend on it.’
Harry concluded the discussion. ‘You’ll find all the names and telephone numbers you need on your list, and I will be in touch with your office with regards to everything. Also, I’ll be back as often as I can, so as to keep an eye on things.’
‘That’s absolutely understood, Mr Blake. And I’m sure you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.’ Sparrow glanced about the well-tended churchyard. ‘I’ve been doing this work for nigh on twenty years. It’s what I do, and though I say so meself … nobody does it better.’
‘I’m sure.’ With that, they parted company.
Harry watched the older man amble away. He did not particularly enjoy the idea of someone else tending Sara’s grave plot, but for now it had to be that way, if he was to keep his promise to her.
‘Is the man getting yellow roses for Mammy?’ Cradling his precious raggedy dog, Tom had stood silent throughout the conversation. Now though, as he looked up at Harry, the tears were not far away.
Harry swung the boy into his arms. ‘That’s right, and because we’ll be nearly two hundred miles away, Daddy’s paying him to take care of your mammy’s garden when we can’t be here.’ It hurt him to see how the boy was so hopelessly out of his depth. ‘Is that all right with you, young man?’
‘Will he put the yellow roses where Mammy can see them?’
‘I’m sure he will, yes. Mr Sparrow is a good, kind man. He would want Mammy to see her favourite flowers.’
He and Tom then went to stand before Sara’s grave for what seemed an age. They talked of the past and spoke of the future, and they gave their heartfelt promise to come back whenever they could.
After a time, they made their way out of the churchyard in silence, lost in thoughts of that wonderful woman who had briefly touched their lives, and made them all the stronger for it.
Leaning back on his rickety wooden bench, the gardener saw them leave; he saw how the little boy clung to his father, and he saw the grief in the latter’s face, and he shook his greying head.
‘Time will help,’ he muttered. ‘Wait and see if I’m not right.’ His own young wife had died of blood poisoning twenty years or more since, and at the time, he had thought he would never get over it. But he’d now been married to the excellent second Mrs Sparrow for over fifteen years, and couldn’t be happier.
He then slid the whisky flask out of his back pocket and took a healthy swig. ‘Phew! Puts hairs on a man’s chest that does, and no mistake!’ he said to the gravestones.
Returning the flask to his back pocket, he began merrily whistling as he went about his work.
Roland Sparrow was used to seeing folks come and go. He tended their graves and he drank to their health.
After all … it was what he did.
At the gate, Harry glanced back. In his mind’s eye he could see Sara as plain as day; laughing in that carefree way he loved, her long hair blown by the breeze while she chased Tom across the park. She was always so brimful of life and energy.
He smiled at her memory now, and through the rest of his life, that was the way he would always remember her.
The final stop was the estate agent.
‘So the house is empty now, is it, sir?’ The agent was a fresh-faced young fellow with a blue and white spotted tie and a smile as wide as the Mersey Tunnel.
Harry handed over the keys.
‘We’ll be in touch.’ The young man’s smile was comforting. ‘Matter of fact, the gentleman who viewed your property a week ago has sold his own place and now he’s arranged to view your house again.’
‘Sounds hopeful.’ Harry had agonised about selling their home, but it was all part of the promise he had made to Sara. ‘It’s best if you do it straight away.’ She had been insistent. ‘Before Tom starts school.’
‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’ The young man’s voice penetrated Harry’s thoughts. ‘Is that all right with you?’
Harry apologised. ‘Sorry … er, yes. Yes, that’s absolutely fine. I’ll wait to hear from you.’
A few moments later, taking hold of Tom’s hand, Harry then embarked on the journey he never dreamed he would make. He would not be making it now, if Sara had not made him promise.
The memories of his youth had never really gone away; Sara knew that. When he first met her, he told her everything, and she was a tower of strength to him.
The memories were suffocating, of the way it had been. Wonderful memories. Crippling memories.
After he lost his parents in a fire, there was the lovely Irish Kathleen, always there, wise and caring. She had been like a mother to him.
Sometimes tragedy frightens people away, like the mates he used to hang about with – Bob, Alan, and the unpredictable Phil Saunders, who had always been his rival. Where were they now? What had become of them? Had they done
well, or fallen by the wayside?
He smiled, despite his sombre mood. Wasn’t it strange how life swept you along, whether you wanted it or not. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, it was meant to be.
Without him even realising it, the girl grew strong in his mind.
‘Judy.’ After all this time, her name came softly to his lips. Back then when they were young, she had meant the world to him. When it all went wrong, he had moved away – to the mayhem of war and manhood. And then some turbulent years later he had met his darling Sara and moved to Weymouth to build a life with her. Warm and forgiving, she had been his saviour, giving him stability and a son.
Why though, had Sara desperately wanted him to go back? Back to that place where he had grown up and found his first love? What woman would want that? But then, Sara was special.
In that moment, he wondered about his first love, and a great sadness filled his heart. Had Judy found happiness? Was she safe? Had she forgiven him? Or did she want to punish him for what had happened all those years ago?
Time would tell, he thought.
Truth was, the prospect of seeing her again was deeply unsettling.
Chapter two
WITH ONLY A short distance to go up the A418 from Aylesbury before they reached Leighton Buzzard, Harry found himself snarled up in traffic. ‘I think we’ll take a short break,’ he said. A quick glance at the boy and he decided it would do them both good to take another breather. It was a very long journey from Weymouth to Bedfordshire and they had been driving for hours. Besides, the nearer he got to Fisher’s Hill, the more his nerves were getting the better of him.
Twenty minutes later, as Harry negotiated his way through the lanes and backways, Tom spotted a food van in a lay-by. ‘I’m hungry, Daddy,’ he said.
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