To Love and Be Loved(13)

‘Anyone home?’ he called out as he pushed the lower door open and stepped inside.

‘Up here, lad!’ Ben called from the loft above.

Jarvis painted on a smile and trod the rickety stairs that ran up the side of the internal brick wall. He looked down at the three boats that lived in the shed and the cart next to them, which gleamed.

‘’Bout bloody time!’ the stockily built Robin called out, laughing as he threw Jarvis a can of beer, which Jarvis caught, just. ‘We’ve missed you, Jarv!’

‘Well, I’m here now.’

He sank down into one of the two battered leather armchairs that took pride of place in the loft. Ben, he noted, was dressed up to the nines; he looked quite comical, but also like someone else entirely. He was sitting up straight with the shiny toe of his lace-up resting on the knee of his pressed slacks. It was rare to see him in anything other than clothing full of holes or with wood glue or patches dotting his jumpers and fleeces. Jarvis thought how odd it was that a shave, a smart shirt and a pair of brogues changed the demeanour of a man. Again he thought of Digby, with his soft hands and his well-spoken drawl, who he had seen in the pub on occasion with his la-di-da mates, his expensive shirts hanging outside of his trousers by design. The cold beer felt good as he hurled it down his neck.

‘You might be medicating with that, son, but go easy. I’ve had me own reminder this morning to pace meself. We need you in fine form to drive that carriage and get us to St Michael’s in one piece.’

Ben was right. Jarvis put the can on the rough wooden floor.

‘You sure you’re up to it, Jarv? We can always find someone else to drive if you don’t feel like . . . if it’s too much . . .’ Ben’s tone softened.

Jarvis shook his head firmly. ‘No, there’s no one Mum trusts with Daisy except me. She can be a bit of a temperamental old mare.’

‘Now that’s no way to talk about your mother!’ Ben interrupted, and all three laughed.

‘I’m talking about Daisy the horse, of course!’ Jarvis shook his head.

‘Reckon my girl’s going to like our surprise?’ Ben beamed in excited anticipation.

‘I think she’ll love it.’ Jarvis smiled at the thought of doing one thing to make Merrin happy on her special day.

‘She’d better! We’ve gone to enough trouble!’ Robin shouted, his voice seeming even louder today. ‘But it certainly looks beautiful. I take full credit for the flowers.’

‘You did a good job,’ Ben acknowledged. ‘I’d do anything for that little ’un.’ He sniffed. ‘And it wasn’t as if I was going to pick something off their bloody wedding list. Can you see me giving her a set of pans or a bloody duvet and pillowcases?’ He laughed. ‘No, this is a far more fitting gift from her old dad.’

‘I know she’ll love it.’ Jarvis spoke with confidence.

‘What do you reckon to this get-up, then?’ Ben tugged at his collar. His words invited mockery, but his expression suggested he was actually looking for a compliment.

‘You look like a proper gent, Ben.’

‘I do, don’t I?’ He nodded, seemingly satisfied, as he shot his cuffs. ‘Think I’ll fit in with the Mortimers?’ He lifted his nose.

‘Don’t know why you’d want to,’ Robin shouted, and this time Jarvis didn’t mind, agreeing with the sentiment.

‘You know, lads . . .’ Ben took his time, choosing his words carefully. ‘This is Merry’s choice.’ He sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. ‘We know she’s a smart girl, a good girl, and so we have to trust she knows what she’s doing.’

‘Do you like the boy?’ Robin asked the question Jarvis would not have dared to.

Ben ran his hand over his newly shaved chin. ‘Like is a strong word.’ The boys laughed. ‘I thought it’d be a flash in the pan when it first started, but look at us all.’ He ran the flat of his palm over his lapel. ‘One year on, and they’ve hardly been apart. I’ve got to know the boy this last year, and I have to say he’s always polite, compliments the wife’s cooking and brings me a decent bottle of red now and then, so I can’t grumble. Plus, I trust Merry’s judgement; she’s got her head screwed on and she’s been raised right and so I’m willing to welcome him into my family with open arms if he makes her happy.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’ Jarvis blinked.

This time his words needed no such consideration. ‘Then I’ll throttle the little bastard! Or take him for a ride on Sally-Mae in a pair of concrete boots.’

They all chortled.

‘I’m joking, of course. He seems like a nice enough lad. You seen our Merry today, Jarv?’

Jarvis shifted in the chair. ‘I dropped a card in. She was getting ready. All the girls were there.’

‘Why do you think I’m here?’ Ben chuckled. ‘I’m hiding out.’

‘There’s worse places.’ He took in the view.

As he often did on a day like this, Ben had opened the wide wooden hatch, which was effectively one whole side of the room, and lowered it on its chains. It was as if the loft was in the sky itself, as sunshine and warmth touched it and dust particles danced in the rays of light. It was at moments like this that Jarvis found it even harder to fathom his father’s actions. The man had given up a place on Ben’s boat, a seat at his mother’s dinner table and a view like this on idling days. What was it his mum had said? ‘Love can be fickle . . .’ And in some ways he understood, knowing he would have done anything, gone anywhere and given up everything to have Merrin feel about him as he did her.