by Emma Davies
The agent fidgeted with his papers. ‘Look, Mrs Maynard doesn’t actually know I’m here today, okay? Her husband is obviously thinking of selling the house or at least would like a current market value and, because he was concerned that his wife would be worried or upset about this, he arranged to have me visit on a day when she was at work. He asked me to deal only with him for the time being and I got the impression that this was so that he could pick the right moment to discuss the matter with his wife. Mr Maynard didn’t mention that you’d be here today, so I think it wise if you could keep the matter to yourself, otherwise—’
Amos held up a hand. ‘I’ll not be saying anything, don’t worry. I can see how it would look bad for you if I put my big foot in it…’ He turned to stare back at the house. ‘It makes sense, I suppose. It is a mighty big house and I always said to my missus how it must cost a bomb to heat in the winter, never mind anything else. Times are hard for us all, I guess. I’ll be sad to see them go though; been here a long time, and the gardens… well, you can see for yourself. They didn’t get like this overnight.’
He pushed his phone back in his pocket and picked up the secateurs, running a hand across the boot of the car. He then leaned down to rub at where his boot had rested on the bumper, polishing away the non-existent mark.
‘Must be worth a bit though, a place like this?’
The agent nodded. ‘It’s a fine property in a very nice location.’
Amos would have liked to have asked exactly how much the property was worth but he thought that was probably pushing it a bit. He looked around him. ‘Wouldn’t mind it myself if I had the money. I reckon there’ll be buyers queuing up from here to the other side of the hill…’
‘Well, the market is more limited obviously, for properties above a certain value, but there are always people who will appreciate a house such as this.’
Amos scuffed at the gravel beneath his foot, his eyes downcast. ‘So you think it will sell quickly then?’
‘Difficult to say… The market’s fair just now, but surprisingly not everyone wants such a large garden and, beautiful though this one is, it might actually make the property less desirable.’
‘Oh, I see,’ replied Amos, looking up. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking about my job again, and Missus Maynard of course,’ he added quickly. ‘She’d be devastated to leave this place. Maybe she’ll get to stay here a bit longer after all…’ He trailed off, looking at his watch. ‘So are you nearly done then?’ he asked. ‘Or will you be here for a while yet? I best get on, you see…’
The agent consulted his clipboard. ‘Not too much longer…’
‘And you will make sure you lock up properly, won’t you?’
There was a nod.
‘Righty-ho then. I’ll be in the garden – if you need anything, just shout.’
‘I will, thank you.’
Amos raised a hand in farewell and sauntered off, back the way he had come. Well, thank you, Mr Porter, he thought to himself. You’ve been very helpful, very helpful indeed. Things were beginning to become much, much clearer. When he’d first arrived he hadn’t been able to understand why Grace would ever want to leave somewhere like this, but evidently the idea was her husband’s, not hers. Now her behaviour in the shop earlier made perfect sense. Amos felt the back of his neck begin to tingle – he would just have to find some way he could help. It wouldn’t get rid of the guilt he carried with him everywhere he went, but maybe one more good deed might lift it just a little.
Amos waited in among the flower beds, deadheading the roses and hoping that Grace wouldn’t mind, until he heard the sound of car tyres sweeping across the gravel drive. Then he replaced the secateurs in the greenhouse and walked calmly down the slope of Grace’s garden, nodding to the bees as he passed. Climbing the fence so that he was back in the field of flowers once more, he scanned the space in front of him, looking for Flora’s bright figure; he had an apology to make.
That was the third time in a row Grace had jumped when the shop bell went and she was beginning to annoy herself. Worse still was that when she looked up, a hopeful smile on her face, it was to see Helen Bridgewater from the end of the lane, popping in for her bread just like she always did around this time.
‘Brace yourself,’ she quipped as Helen left to pick up her three energetic boys from school. It was a joke they shared whenever Grace was in the shop, knowing that the bread would provide an after-school ‘snack’ for the boys and be virtually demolished in no time.
Grace watched Helen walk back to her car, scanning the lane as she did so. Amos had been gone some time, surely he should have returned by now. Not that she knew what she was going to say to him when he did come back. If he came back at all. She had reread Flora’s note a dozen times now and, despite Flora’s admission that even though Amos had turned up out of the blue she felt she would trust him with her life, it didn’t change the fact that Grace had just let a complete stranger visit her house. She would more than likely get home tonight to find that Amos had run off with the family silver. She tutted to herself and frowned, running a finger along the edge of a display shelf and heading to the cupboard to fetch a duster.
As she wiped invisible cobwebs from the shelves, she smiled at the memory of him standing in the shop in a white tee shirt under dark-blue dungarees, rolled up at the bottom to reveal bright red boots. His jet-black curly hair wasn’t yet threaded with silver but Grace judged him to be around her own age; his deep brown eyes were surrounded by well-worn laughter lines, and the twinkle in them was indicative of his whole demeanour. And yet there was something else about him too, something Grace couldn’t quite put her finger on, but which had nonetheless made her reveal things about her life that she would never usually dream of doing with someone she had just met. She was quite annoyed with herself. Whatever must Amos think? And then she shook her head, tutting again. She would apologise at the very least.
Grace put down the duster for a moment and went to make herself a cup of tea. Humming to distract herself while the kettle boiled, she thought about how the flowers in the window display could do with a freshen-up. At least if she kept busy there was a chance her thoughts might stop tormenting her. Deep in contemplation, she carried her tea and the cleaning materials back through to the counter. There, she jumped out of her skin so suddenly that half of her drink slopped out of the mug and spattered across the floor in biscuit-coloured splodges.
Amos was around the counter in seconds.
‘Here, let me,’ he said.
‘No, don’t worry, I… Gosh, you made me jump!’ Grace hastily put down the mug and bent to mop up the liquid with the duster just as Amos fished a hanky from his pocket to do the same. Their heads crashed in the confined space.
Amos straightened first, catching Grace’s arm as she rose, grinning and rubbing her head ruefully. ‘Blimey, are you all right?’
‘No damage done… Are you okay?’
‘I think so. But if I start talking gibberish—’
‘How will I know the difference?’
‘Exactly!’
Grace stared at him for a minute, and then she burst out laughing, their shared amusement sparking across the space between them.
‘Look, just stay where you are,’ she said, still grinning, as she placed a hand on his chest to hold him at bay. ‘Or we’ll both be unconscious…’
She bent again and quickly mopped up the spillage with the duster, throwing it through the door of the small kitchenette so that it landed in the sink, then she turned back to Amos.
‘I was just thinking about you,’ she said. ‘And then I turned around and there you were.’ She frowned. ‘In fact, I didn’t hear the bell go, which is why you made me jump. Did you just materialise out of nowhere?’ As soon as she said it, she felt foolish but there was something about Amos that made the impossible seem possible.
He grinned. ‘Nothing so impressive, sadly. The door wasn’t properly shut,’ he replied.
‘Anyway, I’m sorry,�
� they both chorused at the same time.
Grace spluttered. ‘Go on, you first,’ she said.
‘No, you…’
They laughed again. ‘What could you possibly be sorry about?’ asked Amos.
‘Just that I’ve made you go all the way over to my house which really wasn’t fair,’ said Grace, blushing. ‘I had no right to drop my problems in your lap and I—’
‘You didn’t make me,’ replied Amos, cutting in. ‘In fact, I should apologise. I more or less twisted your arm to stick my nose into your business when I had no right to do that either. It’s rather a habit of mine, I’m afraid.’
Grace studied him for a moment; his face was open and entirely honest. He was apologising, but she also got the sense that he had no intention of changing.
‘So, what did you find out then?’ she asked, teasing. ‘Come on, tell me what happened.’
It was meant to be a light-hearted remark, but her face suddenly fell as she caught sight of Amos’s sombre expression.
‘Someone turned up, didn’t they?’ She turned slightly so that he wouldn’t see the look in her eyes. She had tried to convince herself throughout the entire morning that Paul would never go ahead with the valuation, that he wouldn’t dare after what she had threatened him with, and she had just about succeeded. But now she could see the truth of the matter written large across Amos’s face. ‘Bastard,’ she muttered.
Amos held out a hand and nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Grace,’ he said. ‘It was a chap called Evan Porter, from a company called Porter and…’ He didn’t need to finish, she was already shaking her head.
‘Yes, I know of them.’
‘He said that your husband was concerned you would be upset by the prospect of selling the house and that he’d been asked to deal only with him. I was pretending to be your gardener, you see, and the agent asked me not to mention anything to you either, saying that your husband wanted to pick the right moment to tell you.’
Grace pressed her lips together, her heart beginning to thud uncomfortably in her chest.
Amos cocked his head to one side. ‘May I ask you a question?’
She nodded, just about managing to hold his look.
‘You said earlier that your husband… Paul… had arranged to have an agent visit when you couldn’t be there, and yet you weren’t absolutely sure that anyone was going to turn up. You clearly aren’t happy about the prospect of moving and – now that I’ve seen your house and its garden – I can see why. Forgive me for asking, Grace, but is everything okay?’
Grace opened her mouth to reply with a vague response about the length of time she had lived there and her fondness for the place, but instead, to her surprise, she burst into tears.
5
‘Grace?’
She glanced up a few minutes later, surprised to see Bill’s concerned face hovering anxiously on the other side of the counter. She had completely forgotten the time.
‘Is everything okay? Not bad news, I hope?’
Bill eyed Amos suspiciously as Grace gave her eyes one final wipe. She managed a weak smile, inhaling deeply.
‘Sorry, Bill, I didn’t mean to cry all over the place… Not bad news as such, just a bit of a shock, that’s all. It’s been quiet,’ she added, explaining. ‘I lost track of time…’
She rummaged under the counter for her handbag and, spotting it, pulled it out.
‘It’s time for me to go,’ she said, sniffing.
‘Oh, right,’ Amos replied, looking rather uncomfortable. She smiled at him and then glanced back at Bill.
‘This is my… friend, Amos. He was just…’
‘Yes, we met last night, when Amos arrived.’ Bill nodded. ‘Did you get sorted, up at the farm?’
‘I did, thank you. Flora and her husband have been great. So I’ll be staying for a while and helping them out.’
Judging by the expression on Bill’s face he had jumped to the entirely wrong conclusion. Grace cringed with embarrassment. Whatever must he think of her, or Amos for that matter…? Despite how he must have been feeling, Amos stood back politely so that Grace could pass, touching her arm to steady her as her legs wobbled slightly beneath her.
‘Great, well, I’ll get going then, Bill. Er…’ She stopped to look around her. ‘Not much to report, nothing out of the ordinary anyway. Although you might want to keep an eye on the cornflakes, not sure why but I’ve sold several boxes today. I’ll see you next week as usual.’
‘And you’re sure everything is all right?’
‘Yes, honestly. Just a bit of an upset, but I’ll be fine.’ She mustered a bright smile and moved out from behind the counter, straightening her hair.
‘Erm…’ It was Amos this time.
She turned back.
‘I gave you a print earlier,’ he said. ‘Is it still here?’
‘Oh, I put it back on display. I haven’t sold it so it should still be there.’
Amos smiled at Bill. ‘Then I’d like to buy it, please,’ he said, fishing in his pocket and pulling out a twenty-pound note. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
Grace nodded. ‘It’s a Daisy Doolittle,’ she said to Bill. ‘Do you want me to write it in the book?’
Bill rubbed a crease on his forehead. ‘No, no, I’ll sort it. You get off now, don’t worry…’
Amos gestured for Grace to lead the way. ‘I’ll pick it up on my way out,’ he said. ‘No need to wrap it.’
‘Right you are then. Well, bye, both of you…’
A minute later, to Grace’s huge relief, they were back outside in the fresh air, walking quickly down the path from the shop and into the lane. Grace waited until she reached the slight bend in the road before stopping, knowing that they were now out of sight. She turned to look at Amos, a step behind her, the print tucked loosely under his arm. What did she say? She’d been trying out several opening statements in her head as they marched away from the shop, but all of them seemed somehow forced and rather pompous. And then she noticed the slight twitch at the corner of Amos’s mouth and watched it grow until a sudden snort of laughter burst out from his lips.
The tension melted away and, before Grace could draw breath, she was gripped by an irresistible urge to join in.
‘Oh my God, stop!’ she managed, bent over, clutching at her sides in mirth. But she couldn’t stop, and neither could Amos. It was a few moments before either of them could straighten and look at one another without being claimed by a fresh wave of laughter.
She wiped the tears away from under her eyes, the irony of the action not lost on her.
‘Why are we even laughing?’ she said. ‘It’s not funny!’
‘It bloody is,’ replied Amos.
She was about to contradict him, and then she grinned instead. ‘You’re right, it is.’ She lifted her hair away from the back of her neck and let it fall back down around her shoulders. ‘Poor Bill; he obviously thought there was something going on between us, and poor you…’ she said. ‘I probably should apologise, again… I seem to be incredibly good at putting you in awkward positions.’
Amos gave her a sideways glance. ‘Would you believe I’m used to it?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I would actually.’ She began to walk again. ‘But I am sorry, both for giving Bill quite possibly the wrong idea about you, and also for crying like that. I’m not entirely sure what came over me.’
‘You shouldn’t apologise for your tears, Grace,’ replied Amos. ‘Whether they are shed in sorrow or in happiness, they should be welcomed.’
‘Really?’ She stared at him. ‘Only I have been led to believe that tears are only allowed out in the privacy of our own homes, and just as long as we touch up our makeup afterwards.’
Amos peered at her. ‘But you’re not wearing any makeup,’ he said. ‘Are you?’
Grace smiled and shook her head. ‘And I can only imagine what I look like…’ She sighed. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but you’ve been very kind.’
‘I simpl
y sat with you while you expressed the depth of emotion you were feeling. And that tells me much more about the kind of person you are than the kind you are not…’ He indicated the lane up ahead of them. ‘You don’t need to tell me anything more, Grace, not if you don’t want to, and you certainly don’t owe me an explanation. Whatever this is has affected you deeply and I just happened to be there at that particular moment. Some might say that’s an opportunity, rather than a misfortune.’
Grace touched a hand to the little crescent-moon earrings she wore. Did Amos know that was how she felt too, or was it just a lucky guess? Either way, it would seem as if Amos was involved, however that had come about, and he certainly made her feel better, not worse.
‘Do you watch much television, Amos?’ she asked, hoping it wasn’t a rude question under the circumstances.
‘No, I can’t say that I do.’
‘So when you heard the name Paul Maynard, it didn’t ring any bells with you?’
Amos raised his eyebrows.
‘My husband is an anchor with the local television network, and host of umpteen programmes for them; entertainment shows, documentaries, Children in Need, you know the kind of thing… Over the years he has risen to become quite a valuable commodity.’
She plucked at a head of dead grass from the side of the road. ‘But sadly, over the course of our marriage, some thirty-odd years or so, the value he has placed on himself has increased, while the value placed on our relationship has declined. And, well, after discovering his latest in a long line of affairs, I’m afraid that last night I asked him for a divorce.’ She shuddered as a shiver ran down her back.
‘Try as I might, I just really don’t like my husband very much any more. Luckily, I don’t think he really likes me, and he certainly doesn’t like our house. And for that, I am truly thankful; for the last few years my home has been a haven for me, a place where I can mostly be alone and still try to be the person I have always been. If I truly still loved him, I would have been consumed by his rejection, and I would have lost even more of myself. Does that make any sense?’
