‘That’s the one.’
‘She was; she watched my car and the stock for me while I unloaded.’
‘That was kind of her. You know she delivered flowers every week without fail for your mother. Hildy would always stay with her for a tea and a chat too. I’m surprised she didn’t say anything to you today. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t be. She’s not one to blow her own trumpet.’
‘Don’t think she needs to with those loud clothes.’
Trevor chuckled and took in the space at the edges of the workshop which were no longer piled quite so high. ‘Looks like you made a small dent in what was in here.’
‘Could’ve done better with more stall space but it worked out all right in the end.’ Apart from when he’d upset Morgan, that was. ‘Jasper has added me to the website as a temporary trader so folks visiting from far and wide can see what’s on offer.’
‘You know, as a lad, you would’ve sat at the end of the driveway and done a garage sale.’
‘At thirty-eight years old, I suspect I’m a bit past all that. Although I did make a bit of cash the year I sold the wooden coasters I’d made.’
‘I wonder if they’re still in circulation.’
‘Dear God, I hope not. They were plain and boring. I think I sold ten and made a fiver at fifty pence each. Perhaps people felt sorry for me.’
‘What will you do when all of this is gone?’ Trevor looked around at the stock Nate still had: the small table, the wooden blocks, the key box, a couple of well-sculpted feature shelves in the corner, a tidy box.
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. But I know I had to clear this place out, not fair to leave it all here.’
‘You know this place is yours whenever you need, don’t you?’ Trevor shrugged. ‘It’s good you’re back in here but I’d hate to see you rush out again. It’s not like I need the extra storage space either; what I do like is knowing you’re using it again.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ When Branston got out of his basket to stretch his legs, his tummy heading all the way to the floor as he did so, Nate mouthed the wordwalkto his dad.
‘I’ll change my shoes.’
Nate and Trevor were soon out of the house with Branston, who had likely done his stretch as a massive hint that he’d been patient long enough.
‘Let me know if I’m walking too fast, Dad,’ said Nate as they made their way past the field on Snowdrop Lane where the markets had been held – nothing but green space now – and on to Snowdrop Woods.
‘Don’t be daft. You used to keep up with me, remember.’
‘When I was about three foot tall,’ Nate laughed as they reached the gate to the woods. Being reminded of childhood memories always made him feel warm inside.
Branston, off the lead, sniffed his way into the thicket off the path in the woods that in the rain would likely be impassable in this section unless you had a good pair of wellington boots.
‘Do you think he’ll be back?’ his dad pondered.
‘Maybe,’ Nate joked, although they hadn’t walked much further before the dog came bounding up behind them.
They tramped along a path, reminiscing about the walks they’d come on when Nate was a kid: him, his dad, his mum. ‘There were a few times when your mum and I thought we’d have to send out a search party for you,’ said Trevor. ‘You’d take off much like Branston and we wouldn’t see you for ages. It was probably only a minute or two that you were out of our sight but believe me when I say that for a parent, that time feels like forever.’
‘I love these woods. I mean the garden was great, I never wanted for more outside space. But in these woods, I’d run free, discover pockets I never knew were there. I don’t think I’ve even discovered it all yet.’
His dad reached another fork in the path. ‘This way, let me show you something you might have forgotten.’ He led the way down a much thinner section.
Nate had no problem with exploring. He didn’t do this in Wales that often. He liked to walk, especially in the winter, all bundled up when the weather tried to make it impossible, but with work it was difficult.
A contented and fond expression appeared on Trevor’s face as they reached the narrowest part of the path and found themselves stepping out from between the trees on either side to the vast expanse laid out in front of them. The land was bursting with beautiful buttercups dazzling in the sunshine. ‘Your mother loved this. We’d come here every day, until she couldn’t.’
Nate smiled, remembering. ‘She talked about it often.’ He turned and threw a stick back down the path for Branston to chase after. The last thing he wanted was for the dog to squeeze beneath the wooden post and rail fence and disturb the buttercups, their delicate heads vulnerable. ‘She loved the woods and the change of season.’
‘We both did. She particularly adored the snowdrops around Little Woodville, of course.’
‘And the daffodils,’ said Nate before his dad could.
