obviously got a bit of a soft spot for the elderly.’
I returned his grin just as Hazel came back into the living room with a tray of orange juice and glasses.
‘I hope he’s not trying to sell you a horse, Nick?’
A few notes of German drifted down the stairs as Silky relaxed under the shower.
‘Nah, he’s been giving me a hard time for not following his example.’
‘But you’re too young to retire . . .’
‘I mean about not getting my hooks into a gorgeous girl like he did.’
Hazel smiled as she put the tray down. ‘Has he told you about the lovely life we have now?’
‘Not yet, but I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time!’
Hazel fussed around like a mother hen as she rearranged all the things neatly on the coffee table. Eventually she poured three glasses and we clinked them in an unspoken toast.
I pointed out of the window. ‘Was that Julie I saw riding?’
Hazel’s face lit up. ‘She’ll be over soon. She phoned to say she’d seen you.’
‘The pair of them – like that, they are.’ Charlie went to cross his fingers to show how entwined the two of them were, but couldn’t quite manage it. His forefinger seemed to have a mind of its own. He brought his thumb and little finger into play instead, as if he was on the phone. ‘And when they’re not together, they’re never off the blower. And Hazel emails the kids every day after school.’
‘Maintenance, my darling.’ Hazel looked me in the eye. ‘If you don’t keep checking the roof, then next time there’s a storm . . . Don’t you agree, Nick?’
I looked at the family gallery on the sideboard; the usual mishmash, some black and white, some colour, in a variety of silver and wooden frames. Wedding photos with ’70s hairstyles; then their two kids, Julie and Steven, at all the different stages: big ears; no teeth; zits . . . Then the ones of Julie’s wedding, and her own children; by the look of it they had about four of them. The air round here was obviously good for raising more than just horses.
My gaze fell on one of a young man in a Light Infantry beret and best Dress Number Twos staring proudly into the camera, the Union Jack behind him. Steven’s passing-out parade must have been about 1990, because Charlie and I had still been in the Regiment; I’d thought he’d burst with pride when he told me. I didn’t know much about him though, beyond the fact that he’d been seventeen and the spitting image of his dad.
‘How’s your boy doing? He still in?’
Hazel’s eyes dropped to the floor.
I wondered what I’d said, then I noticed: there weren’t any other pictures of him.
Charlie leaned across and took Hazel’s hand in his. ‘He was killed in Kosovo,’ he said softly. ‘Ninety-four. He’d just got promoted to corporal.’
He put his arm around his wife. I sat back in my chair, not sure what to say to avoid adding to the wreckage.
‘Don’t worry about it, lad, you weren’t to know. We kept it to ourselves pretty much. Didn’t want GMTV round, filming us going through the family album.’
Hazel looked up and gave a brave smile. She’d probably got over the worst of it during the last ten years, but it must have been a nightmare.
Silky drifted in, breaking the moment, smelling of soap and shampoo. She’d put on a pair of pale blue cotton trousers and a white vest, and her wet hair was combed back.
There was an awkward silence. Hazel busied herself pouring another glass of juice. ‘I bet you feel a lot better for that.’
‘The shower or the singing?’ Silky smiled as she came and sat beside me. Whatever she was about to say next was drowned out by the blare of a car horn.
Hazel looked relieved. ‘Julie.’
Seconds later, a flurry of feet and young voices bomb-burst into the house, shouts and shrieks echoing off the wooden floors. The door flew open and four boys with sticky-up crew cuts and untanned skin ran into the room. The older two, about eight and seven, came up to me
I returned his grin just as Hazel came back into the living room with a tray of orange juice and glasses.
‘I hope he’s not trying to sell you a horse, Nick?’
A few notes of German drifted down the stairs as Silky relaxed under the shower.
‘Nah, he’s been giving me a hard time for not following his example.’
‘But you’re too young to retire . . .’
‘I mean about not getting my hooks into a gorgeous girl like he did.’
Hazel smiled as she put the tray down. ‘Has he told you about the lovely life we have now?’
‘Not yet, but I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time!’
Hazel fussed around like a mother hen as she rearranged all the things neatly on the coffee table. Eventually she poured three glasses and we clinked them in an unspoken toast.
I pointed out of the window. ‘Was that Julie I saw riding?’
Hazel’s face lit up. ‘She’ll be over soon. She phoned to say she’d seen you.’
‘The pair of them – like that, they are.’ Charlie went to cross his fingers to show how entwined the two of them were, but couldn’t quite manage it. His forefinger seemed to have a mind of its own. He brought his thumb and little finger into play instead, as if he was on the phone. ‘And when they’re not together, they’re never off the blower. And Hazel emails the kids every day after school.’
‘Maintenance, my darling.’ Hazel looked me in the eye. ‘If you don’t keep checking the roof, then next time there’s a storm . . . Don’t you agree, Nick?’
I looked at the family gallery on the sideboard; the usual mishmash, some black and white, some colour, in a variety of silver and wooden frames. Wedding photos with ’70s hairstyles; then their two kids, Julie and Steven, at all the different stages: big ears; no teeth; zits . . . Then the ones of Julie’s wedding, and her own children; by the look of it they had about four of them. The air round here was obviously good for raising more than just horses.
My gaze fell on one of a young man in a Light Infantry beret and best Dress Number Twos staring proudly into the camera, the Union Jack behind him. Steven’s passing-out parade must have been about 1990, because Charlie and I had still been in the Regiment; I’d thought he’d burst with pride when he told me. I didn’t know much about him though, beyond the fact that he’d been seventeen and the spitting image of his dad.
‘How’s your boy doing? He still in?’
Hazel’s eyes dropped to the floor.
I wondered what I’d said, then I noticed: there weren’t any other pictures of him.
Charlie leaned across and took Hazel’s hand in his. ‘He was killed in Kosovo,’ he said softly. ‘Ninety-four. He’d just got promoted to corporal.’
He put his arm around his wife. I sat back in my chair, not sure what to say to avoid adding to the wreckage.
‘Don’t worry about it, lad, you weren’t to know. We kept it to ourselves pretty much. Didn’t want GMTV round, filming us going through the family album.’
Hazel looked up and gave a brave smile. She’d probably got over the worst of it during the last ten years, but it must have been a nightmare.
Silky drifted in, breaking the moment, smelling of soap and shampoo. She’d put on a pair of pale blue cotton trousers and a white vest, and her wet hair was combed back.
There was an awkward silence. Hazel busied herself pouring another glass of juice. ‘I bet you feel a lot better for that.’
‘The shower or the singing?’ Silky smiled as she came and sat beside me. Whatever she was about to say next was drowned out by the blare of a car horn.
Hazel looked relieved. ‘Julie.’
Seconds later, a flurry of feet and young voices bomb-burst into the house, shouts and shrieks echoing off the wooden floors. The door flew open and four boys with sticky-up crew cuts and untanned skin ran into the room. The older two, about eight and seven, came up to me
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