Five Winters(26)

“Punting?”

“Yeah, you know, one of those flat-bottomed boats you propel along with a pole?”

I whacked him on the arm, knowing he was being sarcastic. “I know what a punt is, silly. You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

He laughed. “Well, anyway, I thought we could punt to Grantchester to have tea. There’s a tea shop with tables in the old orchard. You’ll love it.”

It sounded wonderful. But did we have to go today? Right now?

Apparently, we did, because Jaimie was soon in full waggy-tailed golden retriever mode, tipping me out of the hammock, chasing me indoors, and booking both the punt and the tea on the internet while I showered and got changed.

It was a glorious afternoon, and as Jaimie punted us along the river, plunging the pole confidently into the water to propel us past the magnificent architecture of the famous colleges, I admired his muscular arms, watched the ducks and swans, and smiled at the antics of the punts filled with university students. One young lad, clearly trying to impress his girlfriend, pushed his pole into the riverbed a little too hard and almost left himself dangling from it when it wouldn’t immediately come free. “Take care, Freddie,” his girlfriend laughed. “I don’t want to have to rescue you.”

I smiled, struck by a chord of memory. Hadn’t Mark fallen into the river when he was punting once? Yes, he had. I could distinctly remember his girlfriend at the time—had it been Sue? Mary?—telling us about it over dinner at Richard and Sylvia’s. How Mark had had to climb out onto the bank because he couldn’t get back into the punt, and had emerged covered in slimy green duckweed.

“What’s funny?” Jaimie asked me.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just having a good time, that’s all.”

“Another ten minutes and we’ll be eating strawberries and cream in the orchard at the tearooms.”

“Sounds utterly blissful,” I said, tucking the memory about Mark and his slimy duckweed away and settling down to enjoy the view.

I didn’t see Mark until early June, when he came up—with Grace, of course—for the Ely Folk Festival. The Folk Festival was an annual event held in the field where Milo liked to chase the trains. Apparently, Grace was a big folk fan and had been coming to the festival for years. I wasn’t so keen on folk music myself, but Jaimie liked it, so I didn’t mind.

“Jaimie!” said Grace as she got out of the car at ten o’clock on the dot, arms spread wide.

“Hello, Grace,” Jaimie said, beaming, giving her a hug. “Hi, Mark. Great to see you.”

When he emerged, he had Grace’s red lipstick on his cheek, and she made a show of wiping it off for him before she turned my way.

She looked me up and down. “Hi, Beth,” she said, with a kiss, kiss on both cheeks. “Look at you in your folksy dress. You don’t see many like that in East London.”

Grace herself was wearing skintight white jeans I would never in a million years have had the courage to wear and a skimpy red vest top. She looked amazing.

“Well,” I said, probably sounding defensive, “I live here now, not East London.”

“So you do,” she said, patting my arm and walking past me as if she owned the place. “And it’s good to see you here. Jaimie, I’d murder a cup of coffee before we set off. Is that all right? I didn’t want to stop in case we got caught up in the traffic. And I’m desperate for the loo.”

I turned from following her progress, and there was Mark.

“Hi, Beth.”

“Hi.”

He was wearing a crumpled blue shirt that made his eyes look sea green. I’d always liked him in forget-me-not blue. But I could have done without the gaping, tonsil-revealing yawn he was currently subjecting me to.

“Sorry,” he said. “I slept nearly all the way here. Grace was listening to some work thing. You look lovely, by the way.”

“Folksy, Grace just said.” I wasn’t even sure what that meant. Little old ladyish? Like a milkmaid?

He considered me, head tilted. “No, not folksy. Pretty. You look pretty.”

I had never known how to take compliments from Mark, so I turned my back on him and led the way into the house. “Well, er, thank you. Shall we go in?”

“Better had. Grace and her coffee. She needs to get a main line set up. I’m going to hold out for a beer myself. There will be a beer tent at the festival, I assume?”

“I think so.”

“D’you remember Paul and Rosemary, who ran the Student Union bar?” Grace asked Jaimie when we were sitting round the kitchen table and she was sipping her precious coffee.

“Once met, never forgotten,” Jaimie said.

It was curious, watching him interact with Grace. I’d seen him talk to her at Richard and Sylvia’s party, of course, but it was different here in his home. Our home. He was all smiles and bounce, the host with the most. But then we hadn’t had any other chances to socialise with guests, so maybe this was just how he was. It was kind of cute.

“They were the oddest couple,” he told me and Mark. “Both bodybuilders. Paul raced pigeons too. Gave them all strange names.”

“What sort of names?” asked Mark.

“I don’t know—ridiculous things, like Hercules.”