Downshire
is a relatively small English county but like a pocket battleship it packs a
lot in, a short but beautiful coastline, a channel port, the Ancient forests of
Dancingdean and Pepperstock, the craggy ridges and manmade lakes of the
Pepperstock Hills National Park, the rolling hills of the Downshire Downs, the
beautiful Finchbottom Vale and farm land as far as the eye can see from the
Trotwood’s and the Grace’s in the south to the home of the Downshire Light
infantry, Nettlefield, and their affluent neighbour’s, Roespring and Tipton in
the North and it’s in leafy Great Trotwood where our story takes place, where
Amy Murthwaite was mourning the death of her Mother.
Amy was an only child and had
lived in Great Trotwood her whole life, and her mother had just celebrated her
40th birthday when she fell pregnant, and Amy was cherished, because
her parents had given up all hope of parenthood, and she cherished them in
return for the love they showered on her.
So, she was naturally
devastated when her father died suddenly when she was still in her
mid-twenties, and his loss brought her and her mother even closer together, and
she devoted herself to her Mum at the expense of all other personal
attachments, and she had never regretted her decision.
In the last five years of her
mother’s life she had become more like her nurse than her companion, then at
the age of 38 she was suddenly alone.
The
Wake was being held in the private rooms at the village
pub, Tiplady’s Tipple, named after Josiah Tiplady who was the Lancashire
Industrialist who made his fortune amongst the smoking factory chimneys of the
North who purchased the old Trotwood Manor in the 19th century.
But Amy couldn’t face it, so
instead of joining everyone else at the pub she went home after the service at
St Timothy's to an empty house.
The house she had lived in all
her life and the one she and her mother had shared for 13 years.
When she got inside she
slipped her jacket off and went to the kitchen and poured herself a drink and
then cried.
It was June the 21st,
the longest day of the year, which felt like the longest year of her life.
After sitting alone quietly
for about half an hour and wondering why she was all alone at 38 years of age, and
then she was disturbed by a knock at the door, so she ignored it and poured herself
another drink.
A few moments later there was
another, more persistent knock so she ignored it again and drained her glass.
A few seconds more and there
was another even more persistent knock, so she got up and walked down the hall
and reluctantly opened the door.
It
was Alistair Blake, the man who had been carrying a torch for her since his
twenties, who she had been keeping at arm’s length while she gave all of
herself to her mother’s welfare.
They
had dated, after a fashion, theatre, cinema, and the occasional meal for
special occasions.
Her
mother urged Amy to snap him up, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
“There
will be time enough for that” Amy would say to her and her mother would shake
her head and smile.
“I
was told to come and get you,” he said
“You’ve
been missed”
“I
don’t think I can” Amy replied
“Nonsense”
he said firmly, “you’re expected”
But
Amy turned around and walked back to the kitchen and sat down.
“You
must” Alistair insisted crouching down in front of her.
“I
can’t” she retorted
“You
have no choice” he insisted
“I
can’t go, how many times must I say it?” she snapped “it’s just too hard”
“It’s
not about you,” he whispered in his face “it’s about your mum”
She
said nothing in response, she just looked at him, as if she’d never seen him
before and then inexplicably and right out of the left field, she kissed him.
“That’s
not helping” he shouted and then kissed her back, before he pushed her away and
said
“We
shouldn’t be doing this”
“Shut
up and kiss me,” Amy begged “I thought you wanted to, you kissed me back”
“I
do want to” he said “But I don’t want you to kiss me just because you’re sad”
“Oh,
how precious” she sneered
“Well
call me old fashioned but I want the woman I love to kiss me because she wants
to” he said as he stood up “and because she wants to do it as much as I do”
“Well
we can’t always have what we want, can we” she snapped
“I’m
going back to the wake” he said “you should come too”
“Why?
Because I’m expected”
“No
because you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t” he said and walked towards
the door, but he didn’t get far.
“Wait
for me” she called “Please”
They
walked in the pub together and she put on a brave face for everyone and
internally counted the minutes until it was over.
When
she got back home she planned on finishing the bottle of Scotch she’d opened
earlier and would then crash out and not surface for a few days.
But
instead she tidied herself up, tended to her make up, and went back out locking
the front door behind her.
She
walked up the short footpath and knocked on the front door of the cottage and
waited nervously until the door opened and Alistair smiled and invited her in.
“I
came to apologise for earlier” she said
“There’s
really no need”
“I
think there is” Amy said “so I’m sorry”
“Apology
accepted” Alistair said brightly “Come and have a drink”
“There
was something else I need to say” she said nervously “And I’m a bit worried
about how you will react”
“That
sounds ominous” he said suddenly feeling nervous himself, so he sat down on the
staircase
“Saying
sorry was just the first part” Amy said and took a deep breath before she added
“The
second was to ask the man that I love to kiss me”
“Well
that is something totally different to accepting an apology” he said as he
stood up “and my reaction to it is this”
And
he leant in and kissed her and brought a satisfactory end to her longest day.
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