The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(49)

“I think that’s great.” Terry leaned on his mower. “I really do. When my mum died, well, my dad went to pieces. He kind of retreated into himself and gave up. It’s good that you’re getting out and about...making the most of things.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re always welcome to pop ’round to mine for a cup of sugar or a chat. It’s just me so I’d welcome the company. It’s not the nicest thing being on your own, is it?”

“No. It isn’t...”

“And it would be nice to see you at Men in Caves again.”

“Is Bobby still barking commands?”

“Oh, yes. And my woodwork is still as appalling. I still make tortoises that look like cars.”

Arthur raised himself up onto his toes. “Speaking of which...” He narrowed his eyes as he saw movement in Terry’s ornamental grasses.

Terry gave an exaggerated sigh. “Not again.” He strode over and stooped to pick up the escaped tortoise once more. “What is it about my garden that is so attractive to reptiles?”

“Maybe it’s you it likes.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps he just has a sense of adventure. He doesn’t like to stay put, this one.”

*

As Arthur walked to Lucy’s he took in the sights and sounds around him that he didn’t usually notice, stopping occasionally to admire what a beautiful place he lived in. The fields in the distance were a patchwork of greens. He noticed bursts of daisies sprouting from the cracks in the pavement. He was aware of each step he took, from the soreness of his ankle to the thrilling feeling that he was moving closer to his daughter.

The top of York Minster gleamed gold in the sun and Arthur really couldn’t remember the last time he had visited and gone inside. He’d never had a to-do list, taking each day as it came, doing whatever Miriam and the kids wanted to do, but he thought that he might start one.

He arrived at Lucy’s in the realization that he hadn’t been there for months. Lucy always came to them, at Christmas, for birthdays, for her usual weekly visits—before they petered out after Miriam’s death. He wasn’t even sure if she had picked up his message.

The door was freshly painted in scarlet and the window frames were white and bright. When Lucy opened the door he had an urge to leap forward and hug her, as he had done with Mike, but he held back, unsure of what her reaction would be. He wasn’t certain of her feelings toward him any longer.

“Come in,” she said, and opened the door. She was wearing a white apron and green rubber gardening gloves. A smudge of soil ran from her eye to her chin. She turned and for a moment she looked just like her mother. Arthur stopped still. The resemblance was uncanny. They shared the same tilted nose and aquamarine eyes and the same air of serenity. “Dad?” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes. I...well...you reminded me of your mum then. Just for a moment.”

Lucy looked away quickly. “Come in,” she repeated. “We can go through to the garden. It’s too nice to stay indoors.”

Arthur recalled that there used to be beige carpet in the dining room and now there were stripped-back floorboards. A pair of men’s Wellington boots stood at the door. Were they Anthony’s old ones or did they belong to a new man? He didn’t even know if Lucy had met anyone else, or if she was still mourning her marriage.

As if she could read his mind, Lucy followed his gaze. “They’re too big but I wear them for gardening. I’m not giving them back to Anthony but they’re too good to give away. A few pairs of thick socks and they fit me just fine.”

“Good. They look nice and sturdy. I need to get some new boots. Mine have a hole in them.”

“These ones are size ten.”

“Oh. I used to be a ten. I’m eight and a half now.”

“You should take them.”

“No. I can’t. You use them...”

“They’re too big.” She picked them up and thrust them into his arms. “Please have them.”

He was about to protest but then he saw the determination in her eyes. The hurt. So he relented. “Thanks. They’re just the ticket. Maybe your mother has some that will fit you.”

“She was a four and I’m a six.”

“Oh.”

They chatted and agreed that it had been a good year for carrots but not so great for potatoes. They listed the different dishes that you could make with rhubarb and the merits of using wooden lollipop sticks to mark the rows of vegetables. They agreed that there had been a lot of sun that year so far but not enough rain. Lucy asked what kind of savories Bernadette was making at the moment and Arthur said that he particularly enjoyed her sausage rolls but he wished that she wouldn’t bring marzipan cake, as he didn’t like the taste but didn’t want to offend her by not eating it. Lucy agreed that marzipan was by far the worst food she could imagine and wasn’t it strange that it was made from almonds and she liked those. They both thought that Christmas cake would be much better with just a layer of icing.

It was a hot day. Arthur wore his slacks and a shirt with a stiff collar. He wondered how he had ever felt comfortable wearing these clothes day in and day out. He decided that he had never really liked them. Miriam had laid them out for him each day and they became a uniform.

Sweat dribbled down his neck and gathered in a small pool beneath his collar. He found the belt on his trousers cut into his waist as he bent over. “I owe you an explanation about my travels,” he said.