‘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 (#ulink_0fb88d9e-8efe-5ea7-a2d9-c41d685e9af2)
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.
‘Okay,’ Harry conceded. ‘It’s been a while since we ate.’ Drawing into a little gravelled area, he got Tom out of the Hillman. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see what they’ve got.’ To tell the truth, he welcomed the stop. His back was aching, and he had a real thirst on him.
At the van Harry lifted Tom into his arms. ‘Right, big man. What d’you fancy?’ He pointed to the items arranged on glass shelves behind the counter. ‘And don’t get anything too messy,’ he cautioned. ‘I don’t want it all over you … or the car!’
Tom chose a ham roll. Harry chose ham and tomato; and each had a bag of potato crisps, a Wagon Wheel chocolate biscuit, and a bottle of orange juice. On the way back to the car, they chatted about this and that, the main topic being the little man who could hardly see over the counter to serve them.
With only a short distance to Fisher’s Hill, Harry was still questioning the situation. Was Kathleen only acting out of loyalty by writing back in response to his letter, and saying they could stop with her? And would Judy’s life be turned upside down again, because of him?
He could not go home, and he had no other family, so if he didn’t go to Kathleen, where would he go? All the same, wouldn’t it be better if he let sleeping dogs lie? He could take them to a hotel; maybe arrange to rent a house until he found something more permanent.
‘I think we’ll pull off the road for a while, Tom,’ he told the boy. ‘After all, we’re in no hurry.’ He felt the need to slow everything down.
Taking a left turn, he found himself in what looked like a lane to nowhere. ‘I remember this place.’ He and Judy had been here many times on their bikes. ‘I used to go fishing in the stream at the bottom,’ he said. ‘Me and … my friends.’ The pictures were so alive in his mind – of him and his mates – climbing trees, chasing rabbits, and doing all the usual stuff that growing boys do.