Jeff Barrowcliffe lived in a 1930s bungalow painted sky blue and adorned with bright hanging baskets and window boxes. As Freddie clicked open the front gate he saw Jeff on the driveway at the side of the bungalow, tinkering with the engine of a motorbike. It was ridiculous to say he hadn’t changed a bit, but he was still instantly recognizable—albeit bald, wirier, and more wrinkled.
Straightening up, Jeff wiped his hands on an oily rag and waited for Freddie to reach him. They’d never hugged each other in their lives—back in the fifties, hugging was strictly for homosexuals—and Freddie wasn’t sure he had the courage to give it a go now. Thankfully, by clutching the oily rag in front of him, Jeff ensured this wasn’t an option.
“Jeff. It’s good to see you again.”
“You too. Took me back the other day, hearing from you out of the blue like that.” Rubbing a grimy hand over his tanned head, Jeff said, “Still don’t know why you called.”
“Curiosity, I suppose. We’re all getting on a bit now”—Freddie shrugged—“and none of us is going to live forever. I just wanted to catch up with people from the past, find out what happened to my old friends.”
Jeff said drily, “Lost touch with a fair few of them then, have you?”
Since he deserved the jibe, Freddie simply nodded. “Yes.” Then he said, “The other reason I’m here is to apologize.”
“The last time I saw you, you were flat on your back with blood running down your face. And I had bruised knuckles.” There was a glimmer of a smile on Jeff’s face as he recalled the occasion. “Do I have to apologize as well?”
“No. I deserved it.” The memory of that day was etched indelibly in Freddie’s mind. Giselle had told Jeff about the incident the night before, then had gone on to announce that their engagement was off and from now on she and Freddie were an item. Freddie, chain-smoking in his bedroom, had heard the sounds of arguing coming from Jeff’s house next door. The next thing he knew, Jeff was hammering on his front door demanding to see him and threatening to punch his lights out, and Freddie had gone downstairs to face him. Under the circumstances, it had seemed the least he could do.
That was the last any of them had seen of Jeff. He had packed a rucksack, left Oxford that same night, and joined the army.
In a way it had been a relief.
“Coming in for a cup of tea?” Jeff said now.
“I’d love that.” Freddie nodded. There was so much to catch up on, he barely knew where to start. Prompted by the abundance of hanging baskets he said, “Are you married?”
“Oh yes. Thirty-three years, two daughters, four grandkids. The wife’s not here today.” As he led the way into the bungalow Jeff said over his shoulder, “Thought it best to keep her out of the way while you’re around. Wouldn’t want you running off with her.”
Freddie saw that he was joking and relaxed. “Those days are long gone.”
“How about you then?” In the tidy, newly decorated green and white kitchen, Jeff set about making a proper, old-fashioned pot of tea. “Did you end up getting married too?”
“Yes.” Freddie nodded, then said drily, “But not to Giselle.”
“So you got your nose broken for nothing.”
“We just weren’t right for each other. Well, we were only kids. Twenty years old—everyone makes mistakes. Thanks.” Freddie took the cup of tea Jeff was offering him and reached for the sugar bowl.
“They do that right enough.” Nodding in agreement, Jeff lit a cigarette. “And now we’ve got our kids making mistakes of their own. Still, nothing we can do to stop them, is there? That’s what life’s all about.”
“We didn’t have children. It never happened.” Freddie found himself envying Jeff his family, wishing he could meet them. “But I married the most wonderful girl. We were so very happy.” A lump materialized in his throat and he willed himself to get a grip. “I was a lucky man. Almost forty years of marriage before she died. Couldn’t have asked for a better wife.”
“So we ended up with the right ones in the end,” said Jeff. “I’m sorry your wife died. How long ago?”
“Four years.”
“You’ve still got your own hair and teeth. Might meet someone else.”
“That won’t happen.” Freddie had no intention of telling Jeff about his illness; the last thing he was here for was sympathy. But talking about Mary had affected him more than he’d expected. Damn, he was getting soft in his old age.
Evidently having noticed that he was struggling to control his emotions, Jeff said, “How about a drop of brandy in that tea?”
Freddie nodded. “Sorry. Sometimes it catches you off guard. Ridiculous.” Breathing out slowly, he watched as Jeff fetched a bottle of cognac from one of the kitchen cupboards and sloshed a generous measure into his cup. “Aren’t you having one?”
Jeff returned the bottle to the cupboard and sat back down.
“Not for me. I gave up the drink.”
“Good grief.” Freddie was instantly diverted; this was something he could never imagine doing. “Really? When?”
“Two years after I last saw you. Mind you, I drank twenty years’ worth in that time.” Jeff spoke with characteristic bluntness. “Of course that was to get over the fact that Giselle had left me for you, and that she’d told me I drank too much. Ha, I thought, you reckon this is too much? I can drink plenty more than that.”
“In the army?”
“Bloody hell, especially in the army. Then I got myself another girlfriend, and she ended up leaving me too. Said I was a drunken waste of space. Funnily enough, so did the next one and the one after that.” Pausing to drink his tea and take another drag on his cigarette, Jeff said, “In the end, I suppose it just hit me one morning that they might be right. Then again, it may have helped that I’d woken up in a hedge in someone’s garden with their dog peeing on my best coat.”
“So you stopped? Just like that?”
“There and then. Just like that. So, ironically, I don’t even know what my last alcoholic drink was or where I drank it. But I realized I probably wouldn’t see forty if I carried on the way I’d been going. So I stuck at it and managed to get myself sorted out. I’m not saying it was easy, but I did it in the end. And life’s been good to me. I’m still here, and I’m happy. Can’t ask for more than that, can you?”
“And there was me, wondering if I’d ruined it.” For Freddie, the relief was tremendous.
“You weren’t my favorite person for a while. To put it mildly. But that’s all in the past now,” said Jeff.
“Good. You don’t know how glad I am to hear it.” Closure, Freddie realized. This was what he’d so badly needed. Feeling better than he had in weeks, he smiled across the table at the friend he hadn’t seen for so many years. “Now, I hope you’ll let me take you out to lunch.”
* * *
“It’s been a great day.” Tired but happy, Freddie hadn’t been able to resist calling into Piper’s Cottage on his way home that evening. Lottie, who had just finished putting Nat and Ruby to bed, gave him a hug and opened the bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Eyeing it with astonishment he said, “I say, look at this. Been shoplifting again, darling?”
Honestly, just because she’d once happened to walk out of Topshop with a purple and black zebra-print bra and panty set hooked to the back of her sweater. They hadn’t even been her size, but it hadn’t stopped Mario branding her the naughty panty stealer and gleefully warning everyone in Hestacombe to keep an eye on their credit cards.
“Shop-flirting, actually. I met this rather gorgeous chap in the supermarket. Then he came up to me in the parking lot afterward and I thought he was going to ask me out.” A frustrated Lottie said, “But he didn’t! He gave me this bottle instead and just—zoooom—drove off.”
“His loss, darling. Our gain. Anyway, let me tell you about Jeff.”
Far too enthralled by his own successful day to be remotely interested in her anonymous champagne-wielding admirer, Freddie launched into how he and Jeff had gone to lunch together, talked nonstop about everything under the sun, and caught up with each other’s lives. Lottie learned about Jeff’s alcoholism, about his beloved grandchildren, and—more than she needed to know, frankly—about his motorcycle repair business. All in all, the reunion had been a stupendous success, and the difference in Freddie was heartwarming.
When the champagne was finished, Lottie said, “So who are we going to look for next?”
Freddie’s eyes twinkled. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Giselle?”
He nodded. “Giselle.”
Consumed with curiosity—OK, downright nosiness—there was something else Lottie was desperate to know. “You were in love with her. But you broke up. Why?”
“Ah well. Something happened,” said Freddie.
Well, obviously it had.
“What happened?”
Freddie rose to his feet, collected his car keys, and bent to kiss Lottie’s cheek. “I’m afraid I was a bad boy. Again.”
“If you don’t tell me,” said Lottie, “I won’t find her for you.”
He smiled. “I broke Giselle’s heart. She thought I was about to propose, and I finished with her instead.”
“Why?”
Freddie turned in the doorway. “Because I’d fallen head over heels in love with someone else.”