I lead the way up the steps to the field. I’m getting fitter now, so I don’t pant half as much. We turn around and sit side by side on the grass, facing the sun setting behind the trees on the top paddock.
‘Don’t put your bottle on the grass: it’ll roll straight downhill,’ I say.
‘You sound like you’re speaking from experience,’ he replies.
‘I am. Sitting up here, drinking on my own.’
He tuts and leans back on his elbows. ‘Why don’t we go out with Adam again this weekend?’
‘What about your other friends?’ I ask, turning towards him.
‘What about them?’
‘Do you have many?’
He shrugs. ‘I have a few mates, yeah.’
‘Do you catch up with them often?’ I haven’t met or heard about any of his friends since I came here.
‘Not so much recently,’ he replies.
‘Why not? Do they really collect driftwood for you? They must be good friends to do that.’
‘What, to pick up the occasional piece of wood?’ He looks at me, raising one eyebrow. ‘That’s easy.’ He sighs and returns his gaze to the view. ‘It’s the whole bereavement thing they find difficult. They’re great “going-out” friends, but I haven’t been up for that. I haven’t wanted to talk to them about Nicki, but I doubt they’d know what to say or do if I did.’
He’s talked about her to me...
‘You’re different,’ he says, as though reading my mind. ‘You didn’t know her. I think other people find it hard because they lost her too.’
I nod, getting where he’s coming from. ‘You can talk to me any time you like,’ I say quietly, stretching my bare legs out in front of me.
‘Thanks,’ he replies after a moment.
We sit there in comfortable silence. Well, it’s notthatcomfortable: the grass is tickling the underside of my legs.
‘Are you sure April’s all right?’ I ask after a while, nodding down atHermie.
‘I’ll go and check on her,’ he decides, getting to his feet.
I watch as he makes his way back down the hill.
‘I was starting to worry you’d buggered off home,’ I say on his return approach.
‘Paid a visit to the toilet block while I was down there.’
He flops on the grass beside me, barely out of breath. He’s so fit.
Yeah, really. It’s a bit unfunny, actually.
‘April okay?’ I ask.
‘Out cold,’ he replies fondly, leaning back on his elbows again.
‘I can’t believe Morris’s mobile cream-tea service was your idea.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Are you Morris?’
