By the time he’s done, he’s drenched in sweat and feeling a little wobbly, so decides to skip his long morning walk and head into the village to grab his morning paper instead; another daily ritual of his. One he’s come to enjoy for more than one reason.
He pushes open the door of the village newsagent, the bell dinging above his head. It’s one of those run-down buildings that’s crammed with far too many items, the shelves over-crowded with a mishmash of products. Graham’s noticed that it’s the only shop in the village. He can post items here, buy the paper, purchase small amounts of necessities such as bread and milk, and even scan papers or use the printers. Truly, a jack of all trades type of shop and since it’s the only one of its kind in the village, he supposes that’s why it’s still doing well.
‘Ah,bore da, Graham,’ says the lady behind the counter, Karen; the owner of the shop. She told him once that she’s worked here since she was fifteen and Graham wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or feel sorry for her.
‘Bore da. How are you, Karen?’ he asks, handing over a copy ofThe Guardianto be scanned from the pile beside the front counter.
‘Can’t complain, although now the colder weather’s here, my knees haven’t got the memo. All they do is complain.’
Graham hands over £1.30 in cash, silently scoffing at the price, but he’s too far gone to stop reading it now. It’s part of his routine. ‘Ah, yes, I’m with you there.’ He’s already feeling the after effects of his exertions this morning.
Transaction complete, Karen smiles at him, flipping her hair over her left shoulder. They play this game every morning. She’s a little younger than him, he thinks, but not by a lot. Over the past few months, he’s enjoyed getting to know her, swapping pleasantries and moaning about the weather, but it never goes beyond that. He doesn’t even know her last name. It’s never come up. That’s fine with him because he’s not interested in starting up a relationship, not concerned about having a girlfriend, or making a new friend of any kind for that matter. He doesn’t attend the local village meetings, nor does he join in with the gossip he knows spreads around. It’s a small village. People talk. He just doesn’t care. He’s never been one for getting involved in the local community, despite living in Cherry Hollow for his entire life until he moved away.
But there’s something about Karen that ignites a very tiny spark inside of him, something he never thought was possible again, not after having his heart broken so many years ago. He’s fifty-five years old, damn it, far too old to be thinking about such trivial things, such as how the morning sunlight beaming through the window highlights her naturally auburnhair, picking up the flecks of grey and making them dazzle like streaks of silver.
‘How’s your vegetable garden coming along?’ she asks.
‘Coming to the end of the growing period now,’ he replies as he puts his left hand in his pocket. His fingers brush the two pieces of paper he found earlier. He wonders whether he should enquire after Sophia Hammel or tell Karen about the scarecrow he found in the tree this morning, but if he did that, he’d be here longer than he planned. Really, he just wants to get home and read the paper. A creature of habit is Graham Williams.
‘Have a good day, Karen,’ he says, tipping his cap.
‘Oh, Graham, will you be joining the committee meeting tonight to talk about the new prospects and ideas for the village?’ Her face reddens as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
The bell above the door pings, followed by a couple of young lads who make a beeline straight for the snacks and energy drinks.
‘Oh, er … I wasn’t planning on it.’ Village committees and the like have never been his type of scene. Back in Cherry Hollow, he’d avoided them like the plague, especially since most of the committee consisted of a gaggle of middle-aged women who mostly used the opportunity to gossip and drink copious amounts of tea during the morning meetings, and something a little stronger during the evening ones.
‘I think it might be a good opportunity for you to voice your opinion on what you want to see happen in the village. I’ll be there … and … um, I’m making my famous banana bread.’
‘Famous, huh?’ He doesn’t want to burst her bubble and admit he’s never heard of her so-called famous banana bread. ‘Then that’s sealed the deal for me,’ he adds.
‘Great. I think there’s talk about cutting down that big old tree by yours.’
This piques his attention. ‘There is? Good God, why would anyone want to chop down such a grand old majestic tree?’
Karen shrugs. ‘It’s been there a long time.’
‘All the more reason to leave it alone.’
‘The branches are rotting. There have been a few accidents over the years.’
Graham frowns. ‘Hmm, well I for one will be voting to stop the destruction of the tree. It’s a landmark of the village, surely?’
‘I suppose so,’ she replies with a sigh, ‘but it does have a horrible history attached to it.’
‘Which is?’
‘You haven’t heard?’
Graham shakes his head. The boys who entered earlier are now standing behind him, waiting for him to move. Graham doesn’t like to be rushed.
‘Would you tell me about the tree tonight at the meeting?’ he asks, taking a step to the side to allow the boys to approach the counter, their arms laden with junk food and drinks.
‘Of course. How about you meet me at five before it starts at six?’
‘It’s a date …’ His face instantly warms at his faux pas. ‘I mean … see you then … then …’
Karen giggles. ‘I’ll see you later. It’s at the village hall.’
