by M K Turner
“See you later. Remember, the bad bits.” Young Henry grinned. “I’ll wait here, the others are coming now.”
The Bearing women thanked Annette for her invitation but made their excuses to leave. It was time for the family to remember Henry, and they assured her that if Dan and young Henry had their way it would be fun.
Chris Rogers was in a wheelchair, and Robin pushed him forward and then left them as instructed.
“I need to thank you, ladies. For finding out the truth, for leaving Dan out of it, and for bringing peace to us all after so many years. I’ll go to my grave a contented man.”
Annette walked up behind him. “Did he just say what I think he did. Behave, Chris, you’ll outlive the lot of us being pushed around in that thing. You don’t even have to walk.”
Laughing, Chris shook his head. “She’s wrong, but one has to humour her.” His smile fell away and he lowered his voice. “Will you be going on Wednesday?”
“We will.” Bridget kept her voice low. “I don’t think anyone else will be there. It seems right somehow. I understand you paid for it. That was kind of you.”
“Least I could do.” He opened his mouth to say more but closed it again when Robin came to say the funeral cars were ready to leave.
Waving their goodbyes, the three women walked back to their own car. Two funerals in one week was not ideal, but at least Henry’s was a happy affair.
Wednesday was bleak, and Bridget shivered as the single car drove up the drive to the crematorium. “Here comes Frank.” She pointed in the opposite direction as Frank sprinted towards them. “I wasn’t expecting him.”
“Ladies. Just about made it. Don’t know why but like you, I suppose, I thought there should be someone here. Oh, I didn’t realise they were coming.”
The women turned to look. The funeral car had come to a halt, and Dan Simmons climbed out and unfolded Chris Roger’s wheelchair and gave a wave.
“Well, I suppose that’s right and proper, isn’t it?” Margaret sounded unsure.
“I suppose he felt it his duty. Come on, let’s go in out of this wind.” Bridget took her arm and whispered, “Careful what you say. Frank doesn’t know.”
“Know what?” Frank asked, stepping up behind them.
“I have tealeaves.” Angie jumped in. “You can come home with us and ply your craft.”
“Or not,” Tipper replied. “But I’ll give it a go. Thanks for remembering.”
The service was short. One hymn was played, and no tears were shed. The goodbyes at the end were formal and slightly awkward, and Angie was glad when they were in the car and on the way home.
“That was horrible. Such a contrast to Henry’s, but our duty is done.” Margaret patted Angie’s knee. “Thank you for jumping in when I made that blooper. Do you think he can really read the leaves?”
“No idea. But you never know, stranger things have happened as we all know. Ryan said he has a surprise for us too.”
“For all of us? How exciting. I do like a nice surprise. Drive a little faster, darling”
“Mother, we’re in a cemetery.”
“Then no harm can be done.” Bridget laughed.
Tipper was already waiting for them when they arrived home. Lily was in his arms and trying to pull the pen from his top pocket.
“Kettle’s on,” he called cheerfully.
Sitting around the table, tea poured, drunk, and the anticipation building, Angie passed her cup and saucer to Tipper. He upended the cup onto the saucer and passed it back.
“Turn it around,” he instructed.
“How many times?”
Tipper considered this. “I have no idea, until you feel you’re done.”
Turning the cup several times, Angie slid it back across the table. Closing his eyes, Tipper covered the base with his hand, and thought about how his granny had handled the cup before she looked inside. Lifting it from the saucer, he cupped it in his hands and peered inside.
The others sat silently, watching his every move.
A frown, a squint, a wiggle of the nose and he set the cup back down and looked up. “You’re going on holiday,” he announced.
Angie’s hand flew to her mouth. “How do you know? I mean, I know how you know. But you can do it, Frank. You have the gift.”
“Really? You are going on holiday?”
“Yes, don’t know where yet, that was the surprise. Don’t tell me you made it up on the off chance.” Disappointed, Angie pouted. “That was naughty.”
“No, not at all. I looked at the pattern the leaves made and that’s what it looked like. Look” He held the cup so she could see in. “That white streak looks like a beach, and those are the waves.” He moved his hand to demonstrate. “And there, can you see? A little deckchair.” He grinned. “I can do it! Well I never.”
“I can see the beach now you’ve told me what it is, but no, not the rest.”
“Well you wouldn’t, would you. That’s not your gift.” Bridget slid her cup forward. “Mine now please, Frank. Angie tells me Ryan has a surprise for me too, perhaps you can tell me what before he does.”
Tipper repeated his actions and looked at the leaves in Bridget’s cup. With a shrug he looked resigned to failure.
“Not unless he’s buying you a house. That’s all I see. Big door in the centre of a house. I don’t suppose you are moving, are you?”
“Not again. Not in this lifetime. Never mind, Frank. Give Margaret’s a go. You might have more luck with her.”
“No. That’s okay. I’m happy to let life surprise me. No offence, Frank.” Margaret pulled a stray leaf from the tip of her tongue. “Not sure there’s enough anyway, I seem to have drunk most of them.”
“None taken.” Tipper pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Perhaps another day. Oh, look out, they’re back. I’ll leave you to it.”
Ryan appeared with Lily in her arms. She was gabbling incoherently. Taking her from Ryan, Angie laughed. “What’s got you so excited, madam?”
“Simming,” replied Lily.
“Simming? Ryan have you told her we’re going swimming? We’ll have to be quick. The toddlers pool closes in an hour.”
“I did. But not here. On holiday. I’ve booked a fabulous cottage on the Cornish coast. Two weeks, cleaner included.” He looked past Angie. “You two are allowed to come.” Pulling a brochure from his pocket, he handed it to Tipper. “Pass that over. It’s the one on the cover. Star billing.”
Tipper glanced at the brochure and his eyes opened wide. Passing it to Bridget he went back to her cup and looking in it again, he smiled.
“I’ll be off. Enjoy your holiday, bring me back a stick of rock. Bye all.” Blowing a kiss to Lily, he let himself out and whistled all the way to his car.
“Will you look at that Margaret.” Sliding the brochure across the table, Bridget smiled.
Margaret had already noticed. The large, traditionally thatched cottage had a large central door. Pretty little leaded windows surrounded it.
“Perfect. When are we going? I think we could all do with a break, and it will stop Mother bothering Frank for more cases. I for one could do with a little peace.”
“Was he right?” Angie came into the kitchen.
“Yes. Frank is gifted. Isn’t that wonderful?” Smiling, Bridget folded her arms. “Simply wonderful.”
Collecting the cups, she peered into Margaret’s. “No. Nothing. Not gifted like Frank.”
Had Frank looked, he might have been able to tell Margaret that the holiday would bring her little peace.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for reading Terms of Affection. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I’d be grateful if you would be kind enough to leave a review, or contact me with your thoughts and any comments. Constructive reviews are invaluable to authors. If you would rather contact me personally the details are below.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Having worked in the property industry for most of my adult life, latterly at a senior level, I finally escaped in 2010. I now work as a consultant for several independent agencies, but I dedicate the bulk of my time to writing and, of course, reading, although there are still not enough hours in the day.
I began writing quite by chance when a friend commented, “They wouldn’t believe it if you wrote it down!” So I did. I enjoyed the plotting and scheming, creating the characters, and watching them develop with the story. I kept on writing, and Meredith and Hodge arrived. In 2017 the Bearing women took hold of my imagination, and the Bearing Witness series was created. I should confess at this point that although I have the basic outline when I start a new story, it never develops the way I expect, and I rarely know ‘who did it’ myself until I’ve nearly finished.
I am married with two children, two grandchildren, two German Shepherds and a Bichon Frise. We live in Bristol, UK.
I can be contacted here, and would love to hear from you:
Website: http://mkturnerbooks.co.uk/