‘I’ll speak to her about it when I take Bertie to school next week. How about we coincide with the end of term? That should give enough time for planning permission to be approved.’
‘Ifplanning permission is approved,’ said Seb, twisting his tangled beard between his fingers.
‘Don’t be such a pessimist,’ I said, giving him a nudge. ‘It’s a brilliant project with very honourable aims. It will also bring job opportunities to the village and open up the lake as a resource for locals. What’s not to like?’
‘Those planning officers can be tricky customers.’
‘Then it’s just as well we’ve got Liv here to charm them, isn’t it?’ said Maggie. She heaved herself to standing and looked down at Seb. ‘Now, let’s make a detour to your cabin and you can find me a pair of sharp scissors. I can’t stand looking at that flea-ridden carcass on your chin for a moment longer.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’d grown used to spending Friday evenings alone, while Rob toured the local boozers with his mates, so it came as a pleasant surprise when three weeks into our stay, Harry suggested a movie night and all residents agreed to participate.
It turned out movie night was a regular event at Lowen Farm, the residents taking turns to pick what film to watch. Our visit coincided with Pat’s turn to choose. Given its twelve rating, I wasn’t sureForrest Gumpwas suitable for Bertie, but Pat convinced me it would be fine and I capitulated. I could always take Bertie up to bed if the film became unsuitable.
Pat was already setting up the DVD player when we arrived in the lounge. It was a cosy room, with an entire wall taken up with a long, squishy sofa. A selection of faded beanbags allowed for extra seating, Bertie jumping into one to claim it as soon as we entered the room.
Maggie and Stephan were the next to arrive. ‘Ta da,’ said Maggie, holding a bottle of Prosecco aloft. ‘I thought we should celebrate how well the meeting went today.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Pat, ‘I’d forgotten to ask how it went.’
‘Let’s just say I’ll eat my wellies if we don’t get planning permission. You’d think Liv had spent years as a project manager the way she answered all the bloke’s questions.’
‘It was a team effort,’ I said, experiencing a flush of pride at Maggie’s compliment. Facing the planning officer’s questions head-on had been exhilarating, a chance to exercise a mind that had lain dormant for years. For the first time in a very long time, I had felt useful, like Liv, rather than Olivia wife of Robert, a piece of arm candy good for parading around at parties and little more.
Harry carried a tray into the room, laden with glasses and bowls of crisps and nuts. ‘There are beers in the fridge, Stephan, if you want to fetch them?’
‘Sure thing.’
‘I’ve brought some too,’ said Seb, walking into the room and handing a bottle of bitter to Pat. Seb flopped down on the sofa beside me and held up his bottle of beer. ‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking it against my glass. ‘Here’s to getting the project off to a flying start.’
I looked up at him, and he smiled, holding my gaze. ‘I think celebrations may be premature,’ I said, taking a sip of my wine.
‘Who’s the pessimist now? You were amazing earlier.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, unable to look at Seb in case he saw how happy his compliment made me.
Andrea and Christine arrived, sitting down beside Seb. Andrea reached into her handbag and pulled out a box of chocolates. ‘It would have felt wrong to bring anything else, given the film we’re watching.’
‘Life is like a box of chocolates…’
‘Yes, all right, Pat,’ said Harry, sitting beside me on the sofa. ‘Give it a rest. You’ve been saying that all day.’
‘Well, I think we’re ready to hear it from the man himself,’ said Pat, pressing play on the DVD player. ‘Budge up everyone.’
Everyone on the sofa squashed together, leaving Seb’s leg pressing against mine, the smooth skin of his arm sending electric shocks through my own. Bertie shuffled his bean bag back until he was leaning against my legs. He had his own bowl of popcorn and had waded through half before the film had even started.
When it became clear, as much to Pat’s embarrassment as my own, that the film was not suitable for Bertie, he ran upstairs to fetch his iPad, then repositioned his bean bag so his back was to the TV, headphones on.
An hour into the film, I lost my battle against tears. I let them stream down my cheeks, hoping that in the darkness no one would notice. A hand reached up and I held my breath as Seb caught a tear with his finger, gently brushing it away from my cheek. I looked at him, the glare from the TV exposing the dampness in his own eyes. Without thinking, I reached for his hand, his fingers interlocking with mine. It felt so natural, I only let go when Bertie looked around to ask how much longer was left of the film.
By the time the end credits rolled onto the screen, the air was full of the sound of sniffing. No one moved to switch on the light, each needing a minute to hold a tissue to their eyes or blow their noses.
‘I’m sorry you had to sit out the film,’ I told Bertie.
‘It’s all right,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I didn’t like the kissing. That part was gross. Playing Minecraft was much more fun.’
‘Yeah, girls are gross, aren’t they?’ said Seb, winking at me.
