by Jay Howard
~~~
Her grandparents had filled the void her parents left, filled it with love, understanding and sound advice that had set her feet firmly on her life’s course. ‘There’s one person you can’t ever run away from,’ Grampa had told her once, ‘one person who won’t ever leave you: yourself. Be honest with yourself, learn what you want and need from life and go balls out to get it. You mustn’t ever expect someone else to make you happy; you have to do that for yourself.’ She smiled, remembering how she’d thought he’d said something naughty and challenged him on it; he’d spent the next hour teaching her about Watt and his steam engines with their centrifugal governors.
“Hello, Adele.” The deep voice was soft, full of love. “Come to see the family?”
She opened her eyes and gazed steadily at the man whose voice she knew as well as her Steinway’s. She was surprised to see the first faint beginnings of grey at his temples, for he was not that much older than she was, but he was still in very good shape. Her absence of just over a year for this latest tour was allowing her to see changes she might not otherwise have noticed.
“Hello, Tim,” she said. “Your duties for the church are still keeping you fit I see.”
“Amongst other things,” he said.
Adele smiled, knowing how hyperactive he had always been, energy always put to good use on the family farm and helping neighbours. Tim opened the door for her and she got out of her car, gathering from the passenger seat the fresh flowers she had brought for the graves she was visiting. They walked together to the family plot, a secluded corner near a yew tree that had seen many generations laid to rest.
“You’ve kept it nice for them,” she said. “Thank you.” She traced her fingers over the black lettering on the white marble. Her parents, her paternal grandparents, all here together in two graves, side by side. Other family members were nearby, in company with generations of villagers who had all worshipped in the fifteenth century church. The headstones gave hints of the story of all their lives, hints that gained flesh from perusal of the archives and a little imagination.
She felt Tim watching her and knew he read her thoughts; he’d always been able to do that. He took the vases from the graves and went to the tap by the wall to get her fresh water, then waited silently while she arranged the flowers. Together they stood, remembering times past. Her hand stole into his and tears shimmered in her eyes but did not fall. He lifted her palm to his lips.
“I wish you’d spend more time here with us,” he said and kissed her fingertips. “More time with me.”
She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt his gentle kiss on her chestnut curls, like a benediction, and he moved his arm around her to draw her in closer.
“You’re a home-bird, Tim,” she said into the warm softness of his lumberjack shirt, “whereas I have itchy feet.” She leaned back to look into his clear grey eyes. “Grampa walked me across the globe every night. We talked of all the places he’d like to have seen, the people who went there and the things they did. I want to actually see them all, not get to his age and have regrets about missed chances. But more important than that, there’s so much more I have to discover in my music; it’s only when I play in a concert, when I feel all those people living the notes with me, that it all finally makes sense.” She pushed away from him, turned back to the grave. “I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to give that up yet.”
“I’m not asking you to, Adele,” he said. He stood behind her, held her upper arms. “Do you love me at all?” he whispered.
“You know I’ve loved you since you first dipped my pigtails into your pot of poster paint.” They both laughed at the memory. “That was the first time since the funeral I’d thought of anything or anyone else. You were the one who first brought me back into this world.”
“Then if you love me, marry me. Go on your concert tours, but come home to me. I’d rather have some of your time than just chance encounters in a churchyard. Let me be the one you phone from faraway places, the one you tell of your adventures, your triumphs in the concert halls. And one day, when you’re ready, you’ll find that living in one small village, really getting to know the people around you, you’ll see all the facets of what makes us human, right here in this one small community. The rest is just scenery. All the passions, emotions, the varying degrees of intellect, the concern for each other; it all happens right here on my own doorstep. Please, Adele, let it be our doorstep.” He kissed her, softly; she felt all his love flow in the gentle touching of lips. “There’ll never be anyone else for me, only you.” His voice had gone husky and he cleared his throat, clearly feeling self-conscious, his soul exposed.
“I think I’ve been away from home too long this time,” she said. “I didn’t realise until today how much I’ve missed England.” She moved back against him, felt his strength enfold her. She twisted round to look at his well-known features, every line and curve that she’d seen change from boy to man. “I’ve missed you.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
“Hold on, I didn’t say that.” She felt panic set in and took a step back, holding her hands up defensively.
“At least tell me you’ll think about it.”
An impish grin spread across her face. “Feed me and I’ll give you a ‘maybe’.”
He laughed and took her hand, leading her back through the lengthening shadows. “I’ll never understand how someone who loves her food so much can stay as slim.” He lifted the rake he’d left by the brazier and tamped down the flickering embers. Sparks fluttered up around them, dying as they watched.
“I love the smell of bonfires,” she said.
“We’ll both smell of bonfires now.” He rummaged amongst the ashes then hooked out two shapes wrapped round with fire-blackened foil. “How about some bonfire food? Jacket potatoes do for a meal?”
“They could be the start of something good.”
They left the churchyard under the unblinking gaze of a barn owl.