The dawn chorus pulled Edmund from bed. He had set himself the task of pruning the raspberry and blackcurrant bushes. They should have been done by now, and with a storm forecast he knew he’d need to cut back all the old branches to allow fresh young shoots to grow. He’d failed to do the pruning a few years ago, and the bushes weren’t strong enough to produce fruit the next year. A lesson learned.
He’d left Miriam in bed, crept from her warmth with the stealth of a thief, not wanting to wake her, but hoping she would join him for breakfast. He was still tired from the night before, wondered why he’d let Miriam talk him into such a long walk, but she seemed quite desperate, unable to settle into the news, barely listening to details of ongoing negotiations. There was still hope after all. They’d set off to the field outside the village; with the cancelled race and Miriam in a constant state of bewildered loss, he could not say no to a walk.
He was happy in his garden, barely noticing the passing of time until he felt the heat on his forehead. He poured himself a cup of tea from the Thermos he had filled and made plans to build an espalier for the roses.
It seemed to him that Miriam was happier now. Well, perhaps not happy, but content, despite the disappointment of the race. He’d been surprised by the force of her feelings for it, even more surprised at Frank’s reaction, which seemed altogether inappropriate. Audrey tried to cover it up, of course, but Edmund had seen his face. He might as well have been told they were at war with Germany. The poor woman’s birthday celebration had fallen apart at that point, and when Peter had told them he’d joined the RAF, Frank surprised them all by insisting on another bottle of champagne. He’d got himself quite drunk after that, could hardly stand up. It was good of Peter to see Frank home. But still the whole evening jarred him, though Audrey hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d never met such a calm woman. Miriam had told him she’d driven an ambulance in the last war, and he could believe it. They’d all had too much champagne. Miriam on the way home insisting she would join the Air Transport Auxiliary if war came. What was she talking about? She’d be needed at the shop, the post office an essential service, especially if he were to be called up.
Edmund pricked his finger on a raspberry thorn and the trickle of blood got mixed with the grease from the bands he put around the branches to capture invading insects, the wound stinging a bit until he could wipe his hands. He was tired, exhausted really—the long hours in the store and his evenings in the garden were catching up with him. He wasn’t sleeping well either. The news a drip-feed of things out of his control and so far away. He could do something here that saw results, prune and plant with a simple counteraction of growth and harvest.
He leaned against the fence, wondered why he hadn’t seen anything of Miriam yet, then smelled the smoke from his neighbour’s pipe.
“Nigel,” he called out to him, getting to his feet.
“Edmund.”
“I was thinking my wife and I would go down to the pub again, you’re welcome to join us.”
“Yes, of course. But you have heard, haven’t you? Hitler’s gone into Poland.”