It wasn’t Tuesday, it was Saturday and I was back in town. I was dashing – not because I was worried about Sam, I wasn’t; I was dashing because I wanted to zoom round the shops, grab the stuff for the barbecue and get straight back to Larry and Sam.
Potatoes, marshmallows, salad, sausages, bread, wine, beer. That should do it.
I’d left Sam making Jeannie a party invitation. When I saw what he was doing I felt giddy with happiness. Sam had never been to a party in his life – he’d never been invited and wild horses wouldn’t have dragged him to one if he had.
Yet there he was with his felt pens out, concentrating on a piece of folded card with a tiny map of Backwoods on it, an arrow pointing to the orchard and the word ‘PARTY’ in bright red letters.
The barbecue had nearly not happened. Sam had wanted to light the great stack of branches and when Larry said it was too near the polytunnel Sam’s face fell a mile; I’d promised him a bonfire and he’d set his heart on it.
So Larry dug what he called a fire pit at the other side of the summer house, away from the polytunnel, and put some kindling in it.
‘This’ll be easier to cook on anyway,’ he said. ‘It’s better than a great big bonfire – more like an explorers’ fire.’ Sam had squatted down beside it and practised holding his hands out to the non-existent flames.
When I got back from town, Sam announced, ‘Jeannie has accepted my kind invitation and will be arriving at six.’
I gave him trays of glasses and kitchen roll and plates to carry to the bottom of the orchard. I watched him go. Each time he ran to the last apple tree and hesitated before carrying on – walking like he was on thin ice until he reached the fire pit. Then he’d put the tray down before turning round, doing the same slow march back to the tree and galloping up to the house.
I glanced at the sky. The weather could go either way. Come on, God, I thought, give the kid a break. Give him a chance to be normal for once.
Larry lit the fire in plenty of time so the embers would be perfect for cooking when Jeannie arrived and Duncan finished milking. He sat on a rickety fold-up chair and made a few practice sausages for me and Sam before the party started.
He handed a couple round then took a big bite. ‘Delicious,’ he said. ‘I’d better practise one or two more before our guests arrive,’ and he winked at Sam. They looked like real mates and it made me smile.
Spotting movement over the hedge, I saw Jeannie coming down the lane. She was in quite a get-up: a burgundy velvet cloak and a floppy red hat, and was carrying what looked like homemade wine in a green glass bottle. She came through the back gate into the orchard and waved at Sam who jumped up to greet her.
I was kind of sorry we’d had to invite Jeannie but Sam had wanted to – and seeing it was the first time he’d ever asked for any such thing, I couldn’t turn him down. But this summer house project was ours – Larry’s and Sam’s and mine – and I wished we’d kept it that way.
‘Burnt sausages for tea?’ Duncan hung his coat up and eyed the pile of buns and bowl of salad on the table.
‘Take them out, would you? Jeannie’s already here.’
‘Oh blimey, we got company? Old Jeannie’ll have a cauldron over that fire if we’re not careful.’ Duncan set off towards the orchard: ‘Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble,’ he said in a stupid witchy voice, ‘eye of frog and toe of newt . . .’ I rolled my eyes, ‘. . . one of Jeannie’s cats and a dead dog’s ear . . .’
I laughed. ‘Get on with it,’ I said.
Jeannie sat with her cloak spread out around her as she munched on her hot dog. ‘This is a beautiful sausage,’ she announced, holding it up and examining it like a jewel to the light. She smiled at Sam. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job.’
‘Larry cooked the sausages,’ said Sam.
Everyone watched Larry rake the red embers.
‘Well, you can do the marshmallows,’ he said. ‘Put one on here, hold it six inches away and keep it turning.
He handed Sam the toasting fork.
‘Have you got children?’ Jeannie asked.
‘No, ‘fraid not,’ said Larry, topping up Jeannie’s glass. ‘I don’t live the life for children, sorry to say.’ Larry ruffled Sam’s hair. ‘I’ve got my pal here though. He’s keeping me busy.’
I sipped Jeannie’s wine, thick and sweet and viscous. It was already going to my head; God knew what kind of a potion it was.
I watched Larry and Sam over the brim of my glass. Sam was concentrating on his marshmallow, twirling it as it melted and bubbled brown. When Larry had ruffled his hair he hadn’t dodged or winced or smoothed it down. I took another sip and enjoyed the heat as it trickled down my throat. It warmed me, travelling through my body, making me happy and relaxed – the same sensation I had when I watched Sam and Larry together.
I’d been jealous of Larry when he first arrived and frustrated that he found it easy to say and do the right thing with Sam when I found it so difficult. But however he’d done it – whether it was his maps, his stories, his good humour, his easy-going attitude, or whether it was just because he knew he could walk away at any time – I could not deny he had transformed Sam’s life.
‘Larry hasn’t got kids but he’s turned his hand to everything else,’ Duncan said. ‘He’s a bit of a gardener.’ Duncan swigged his ale – he’d refused to drink wine, especially Jeannie’s. ‘When’s our new crop ready to plant out?’ he asked.
‘Pretty soon,’ said Larry.
Why did Duncan have to bring that up in front of Jeannie? Maybe he was proud of his daft new venture and wanted to show off.
I shifted on my seat. It was hard and uncomfortable. The wind was getting up and starting to blow the ash about and the clouds were scudding low in the sky.
‘We’ll have to put this fire out if the wind gets any worse,’ said Larry. ‘We dinnae want to be mending that tunnel again.’
‘More wine?’ I said, waving the bottle about and then pouring the dregs into my own glass.
‘I’m going to try one of Sam’s delicious-looking marshmallows and then I’ll have to go,’ said Jeannie. She bent forward and pulled the marshmallow from the fork. ‘Elvis has a skin infection and gnawed his foot this morning until it was red raw and bleeding.’ She put her head back and licked the hot sugary string. ‘I’ve fixed a cone round his neck,’ she went on, ‘but he keeps getting stuck behind the sofa.’
I bit my lip to hide a smile. ‘Oh,’ I said, glad I’d finished my sausage. Larry caught my eye, obviously thinking the same thing. A rush of happiness swept over me, fizzing through my body, and it was hard not to laugh out loud.
After Jeannie struggled out of the wicker chair and left in a billow of purple, the sky turned grey and mauve, and dusk arrived within minutes. Duncan stood up and stretched. ‘Looks like the party’s going to be rained off. I’ll go and unpack some ale I got this afternoon.’ He looked at Larry: ‘Come and try it.’
‘Aye,’ said Larry.
Sam, Larry and I were dashing about, piling up plates and left-over food, when there was a great clap of thunder and a fat drop of rain hit my cheek. Sam flung down a bag of bread rolls and grabbed his ears. The sky darkened; it was going to heave it down. Before I had a chance to tell Sam to get back to the house, it started – rain coming down in buckets and hard. I screamed and laughed at the same time; it was that kind of rain.
‘Come inside,’ I yelled, and I dashed for the summer house, trying to cover my head with a plate.
When I turned round, Sam had gone.
Larry was in the summer house next to me. Rain was dribbling through the roof by the door and I shrieked again as a drop slid down my neck. Larry pulled me towards the back of the summer house – it was drier there where the roof was holding. We both laughed and wiped our faces and stared out at the fire spitting and smoking, surrounded by sodden party stuff, Jeannie’s chair now soaked and sorry-looking.
I laughed again to see the rain bouncing off the garden. ‘That’s crazy,’ I shouted over the roar of the storm as it buffeted the summer house and Larry laughed too.
Suddenly I gave a great shiver as the rain chilled my skin. I put the plate on the floor and hugged myself and rubbed my arms to warm up.
Larry opened his jacket.
‘I’m warm,’ he said.
I hesitated, just for a moment, and then moved towards him. He circled me with his jacket and held me tight. He was warm and his face was rough against mine.
He wiped a drop of rain off my forehead and twisted his fingers in my hair. His mouth tasted of wine and cigarettes. It was a long time since I’d kissed someone who tasted of wine and cigarettes. A drop of rain slid down either my cheek or his; I didn’t know which.