‘Still—’ But Nate’s shake of the head said he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Then you come to the next dinner here. I insist.’
‘Dad always likes heading to your place to eat. I think he enjoys having somewhere else to be and seeing people as much as he appreciates being fed.’
‘You’re both welcome. So you’ll come, on Sunday?’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I’d offer you a cup of tea but I have to get back to the Bookshop Café.’ He picked up a brown paper bag from the benchtop. ‘Take these instead.’
Nate peered into the bag. ‘You’re giving me leeks?’
‘Fresh from the garden, bumper crop. You won’t take my money, gotta do something.’ Sebastian picked up his keys.
‘I appreciate it. I’ll use them for dinner tonight.’
‘Must be nice for Trevor to have you around for a while.’
‘It’s good to be here. And it’s good to see Dad doing so well and know he has so many people around him. I mean, he always told me he did, but you know what it’s like; you need to see it with your own eyes.’
‘He’s got plenty of people in his corner, no need to worry about him.’ He made a face. ‘Morgan mentioned to me that you were a bit concerned.’
‘I try not to be too overbearing.’ Not only was he glad that Morgan was clearly looking out for Trevor; Sebastian’s comment also suggested she thought of him perhaps as much as he thought about her. ‘Where’s Morgan’s fiancé?’ He had to ask the question. And at least Sebastian seemed to think it was normal for Nate to enquire, given they shared the stall.
‘He took a job in Scotland. I think she plans to join him.’
Nate nodded. ‘Makes sense.’
Sebastian locked the door to Snowdrop Cottage behind them before Nate climbed into his pick-up and drove the short journey back to Oak Cottage. His dad was walking down the driveway as he pulled in and Branston bounded up to Nate when he climbed out of the pick-up. It always tickled him that the dog showed his appreciation of his master every single time, no matter whether they’d been together only an hour before.
‘I don’t know about you, Branston,’ said Trevor, ‘but I want to spend the rest of the day in the lounge in my favourite chair.’
‘Don’t tempt him,’ said Nate following his dad in through the front door. ‘He’ll try and climb into it with you if you’re not careful.’
‘He’s got a basket, haven’t you, boy?’ From the cloth bag he’d had over his arm, Trevor took out the pile of books he’d bought and sorted through which one he’d make a start on.
‘Thought you were buyingone?’ Nate grinned.
‘Couldn’t help myself. I’m glad they opened the Bookshop Café; it’s much nicer than ordering online. Browsing is one of the best parts of choosing a new book and Sebastian’s recommendations are even better.’
‘You settle down and enjoy a read for a bit. I’ll deal with dinner.’
‘Call me if you need help.’ Trevor headed for the lounge without argument, Branston obediently following at his heels, while Nate went to make a start on the beef stew. And now they’d have fresh leeks on the side courtesy of Sebastian; he’d do those in some butter and show them off, given they were homegrown.
Once the stew was in the oven, Nate took his dad a cup of tea. He found Trevor sitting in the tatty chair that looked ten years older than the rest of the furniture, engrossed in his choice of book, Branston curled up in the basket right at his feet. Both of them perfectly content.
Back in the kitchen, Nate checked the temperature on the oven was low enough and headed for the workshop to carry on with the chessboard. The glue was dry on the different shaded wood pieces and he found a low-grit sander sheet from one of the drawers beneath the workbench and fixed it onto the electric sander, another power tool he’d added to his collection over time. The electric sander easily coped with the task of smoothing over the newly adjoined wood until it was flat and even. Once that was done, he used a gauge on the table to cut off the rough edges of the board, the leeway he’d allowed previously. He used the same gauge and a stop so that he could crosscut the board into strips and after he laid out each strip, he flipped every other one so that the overall pattern became that of a chessboard. Once the pieces were glued and clamped again, he went back inside the cottage. Trevor hadn’t moved and Branston had only shifted so that he was sitting on Trevor’s feet.
As Nate peeled some potatoes, his dad came through to the kitchen, brandishing a magazine. ‘I forgot to give this to you – picked it up in the village.’ He set the magazine down on the kitchen table and as he returned to the lounge, Branston, who’d trotted in here after him, followed. Traitor.
Nate picked up the magazine. It was a woodworking one, the same magazine as he’d had for years when he lived here but not picked up since. Flipping through the pages, he saw some items could only ever be attempted in his wildest dreams. There was a feature on a course for beginners to get them started making things out of wood, other plans for simpler items he knew he could do without need for much more than a sketch pad and a pencil. There was a feature on decorative knife carving that had him whistle at the sight of a wooden troll on top of a fence that someone had fashioned with a blade. Some people had talent. And his dad still believed in his, the way his mum always had. It was just that she’d been around more to tell him. His dad had always been busy with everything else, and Nate felt a moment of sadness that sometimes, he hadn’t realised that not only had his mum needed company and comfort; his dad might well have needed the same. He’d been living with his wife and his son, some would’ve assumed that of course he wasn’t lonely, far from it. Sometimes, it was as though the daily routine had threatened to swallow Trevor whole and Nate knew it must’ve been hard for his dad to have any normality outside of that, any escape. But he seemed to have found it now with the folks in Little Woodville and it was good to see.
While they waited for dinner, Nate got back to his own project and wondered whether it would pass the rigorous standards of the magazine’s editors. He inspected the chessboard. This was what he had always loved the most – the ability to see a creation he’d envisaged in his mind long before his hands and his tools came together to do the work and then what it looked like at various stages. He cut a piece of plywood to the size of his chessboard and fixed the board onto it using glue. He flipped it up, secured the pieces with clamps and, using his nail gun, put brad nails at intervals around the board to hold it all together. He wondered what the man who’d made the request would think of the finished product.
He rummaged through some of the wood he had stored in cupboards, mostly offcuts but some of decent size and length, and he searched on the shelves on the walls to see what else might be of use. When he was in the kitchen before, he’d noticed the herbs his dad was trying to grow on the windowsill. Currently in plastic pots that did the job, they’d look better lined up in a planter box, and so that’s what he would make. It was the perfect gift for the upcoming Father’s Day. And so in between finishing the chessboard – cutting edges, fixing them onto the board, rounding the wood, smoothing and clamping – he got started on the planter box which he’d make out of a grainy wood to go with the traditional kitchen, finished in oak.
Every now and then, Nate glanced over at the sheet that covered the unfinished blanket box. A gift he’d never got to give to his mum. He knew he had to peel the sheet away eventually, but would he ever be able to finish the piece? And what would he do with it if he did?
10
