No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [39]
“But she was,” Sam found himself interjecting.
His new friend smiled. “After a long time, she came back to us,” he said.
“But not the same?”
“No,” Ivan said, a little sadly, “not the same.” He put down his pole to pour some more coffee into his cup.
“How long has it been?” Sam asked.
“Six years this week.”
“Holy shit!” Sam breathed.
“Yeah. It’s always a bad time for her but it’s over now and summer’s around the corner.”
Sam’s pole bobbed, the line tightened and so did his grip. This would not be a small fish.
Later that evening when Ivan had docked the boat outside Sam’s, Sam had wandered past it and made his way to the wood. He walked until he came across the plaque that bore his neighbour’s child’s name; a sodden teddy bear and wilting flowers lay beneath it. He had no idea why he felt he had to sit by a stranger’s memorial but recently he hadn’t had much reason for anything.
That night Ivan went home and phoned his kids. Chris was out playing soccer with some new pals but Justine was there and she seemed to be in a lighter humour than when they had last spoken.
“How’s school?” he began, predictably.
“Jenny Thompson’s dog got run over!” She seemed quite excited.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
“I’m not!”
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The first time I went to her house he bit me and, anyway, he only broke a leg.” She spoke as though she’d been waiting for him to get his comeuppance.
“Fair enough so,” Ivan conceded.
“He has a cast and everything.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s funny.”
He could hear the smile in her voice and grinned. “How’s Chris?”
“He’s a pain.”
Ivan laughed.
“Mam wants to talk to you,” she said, with a sigh.
“I love you, Justy,” he said quietly.
“Love you too, Dad.”
He waited for her to pass the phone to her mother.
“Dad?” she said.
“Yes, love.”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
Before he could answer she had passed the phone.
“Ivan.”
“Norma.”
“Look, I was thinking that maybe you could take the kids for the Easter holiday.” She was rustling papers.
“I’d love to have them,” he said.
“Good.”
“Doing anything nice?” he asked.
His question came as a surprise – normally they restricted their conversation to the children – and caught her off guard. “No, Des and I just need some time alone,” she admitted.
“Oh.” He regretted asking. “Well, I can’t wait,” he added, with delight.
“OK, then.”
“Right.” He put down the phone.
His kids were coming for an unexpected visit in less than a month. He thought about painting their rooms but decided against it. Justine feared change almost as much as her auntie Mary and, indeed, he did.
Sam made his way out of the wood in time to bump into Mary, who was coming home from the pub. Sunday nights were always quiet and her father was happy enough to close on his own. He was trying to open his wooden gate as she got out of her car. The damn thing seemed wedged shut and refused to budge. He shook it and shook it, cursing under his breath.
“You have to kick it,” she said.
“Kick it?” he echoed.
“It probably swelled in the rain.”
“Swelled,” he repeated.
She put her handbag on her car and gave the gate a good boot. It swung open. She picked up her bag and walked into her own garden.
“Thanks,” he said.
She responded by putting her key into the door.
“I said thanks.” He wasn’t used to being ignored and didn’t like it.
“I heard you,” she replied.
“So say, ‘You’re welcome,’” he ordered, and the pity he had felt for her earlier all but disappeared. Nothing excused bad manners.
“You’re welcome,” she said, and closed her door.
“Did that kill you?” he mumbled, putting his key into the lock.
9. All is forgiven, Brinkerhoffs
A red sun lit the dusky evening sky. Sam walked along the path, eyes north, watching the colour seep. The various shades