Wildflower Park Series. Bella Osborne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ found a farm who have converted a barn into hostel-style accommodation and they teach dry-stone walling but I think we can make the best of it.’

      ‘Sounds like fun.’

      Anna felt they would have to add quite a bit of alcohol to get it to that level but she was willing to give it a go, though she was more concerned about the motivations of senior management in sending them all off on something like this – now Hudson had sown that particular seed.

      ‘I hope I can cope with being in a confined space with Hudson,’ said Sophie, looking both worried and dreamy-eyed.

      ‘You still having improper thoughts?’ Anna tried hard to hide a smirk. It was funny to think of her having a crush on someone at her age.

      ‘Stop it.’ Sophie gave her a playful swipe. ‘All the time. If anything it’s getting worse. I can barely take in what he’s saying because I’m concentrating hard not to grab him and snog his face off.’

      Anna’s expression conveyed her alarm. ‘Bloody hell. Really?’

      ‘Really,’ said Sophie, sounding miserable. ‘I wish I could stop it but I’ve tried and I can’t. I’ve tried imagining him sitting on the loo and kissing his partner … not at the same time … but even at the same time, nothing works. Whenever I’m near him there’s this electricity, this magnetic attraction. He helped me put my coat on the other day and I was actually aroused.’ Sophie was deadly serious.

      ‘You poor thing. Did you go home and shag Dave’s brains out?’

      Sophie recoiled. ‘Goodness, no. Why would I do that?’

      ‘Because he’s your husband.’

      ‘But it’s not him who’s turning me on,’ she said and her face returned to its disappointed resting state.

      Anna went off to visit Bert. She stopped at the paper shop on the way to pick up some toffees and a big Sunday paper; she wasn’t sure if he was a broadsheet kind of person but she didn’t want to look like a cheapskate.

      ‘Hello again,’ said the carer, coming through reception. ‘Bert’s in his room.’ She pointed back up the corridor.

      Anna walked past the television room, past two closed doors with the number five and six on before coming to one with an open door. She gave a quick squiz round the door, unsure of what she’d find. Bert was sitting in an armchair staring out of the window.

      ‘Hello, Bert, I brought you a paper,’ said Anna, walking in and plonking the paper on his lap and herself on what she supposed was a footstool.

      Bert glanced at Anna and then at the paper on his lap. ‘Didn’t think I’d see you again.’

      ‘I said I’d come back. And I got you these,’ she said, putting the toffees onto a small table in front of him. He squinted at them and then returned to looking out of the window.

      ‘How’s Maurice?’

      ‘He’s great,’ said Anna with gusto, ‘but he’s still missing you,’ she added hastily.

      Bert’s shoulders jumped as he gave a short laugh. ‘I bet he’s forgotten me.’

      ‘I doubt it. Maurice forgets nothing. I gave him his food on a saucer because his two bowls were both in the dishwasher and now he expects every meal on a china saucer. You do something once and that’s it.’

      Bert chuckled. ‘You’re right. If he likes something he expects it all the time. I once left a cardigan on the sofa and that was his bed for weeks.’

      Anna got out her phone. ‘I’ve got some more photos of him,’ she said, flicking to the right pictures and handing the phone to Bert. He returned to looking out of the window. ‘It’s all right, I’ll remember him how he was.’ Anna switched off her phone and put it back in her pocket.

      ‘Has he brought you any presents yet?’ asked Bert. There was a twinkle in his eye.

      ‘No. He’s not a bird catcher is he?’ Anna was enjoying watching the birds flitting in and out of the park while she had her morning coffee; she didn’t like the thought of having to deal with any in kit form.

      ‘No, he doesn’t catch birds. He brings in other things. The occasional mouse.’ Bert looked off into the distance again and Anna checked her watch; it was too soon to leave without seeming rude. She surveyed the room. It was nice enough but there didn’t appear to be anything personal in it. The picture she had given him of Maurice was propped up on his bedside cabinet next to a black and white wedding photo. ‘Is that you?’ she asked, nodding at the photo.

      ‘Is what me?’

      Anna got up to have a closer look. ‘This photo of a strapping young groom and his beautiful bride.’ She studied the two beaming faces staring back at her. From the style of clothes they were wearing she guessed it was probably the Sixties.

      ‘Me and my Barbara. Tenth of July nineteen fifty-nine.’

      ‘She’s beautiful, Bert.’

      Bert sniffed. ‘She was that. No one like her.’

      ‘Can I ask what happened?’ asked Anna, replacing the picture and sitting back on the stool.

      ‘Barbara died four years ago. We were doing the washing up and she said she had a headache. I teased her for trying to shirk doing the drying up – she hated doing the drying. She went for a lie-down. I finished off and made her a cup of tea and when I took it into her … she was gone.’ Anna swallowed and Bert let out a sigh. ‘Massive brain haemorrhage apparently – she wouldn’t have known much about it.’

      Anna reached out and patted Bert gently on the hand. He flinched at the touch but let his hand rest beneath hers just for a moment, before pulling it away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, meaning it.

      ‘Our Maurice called for her for days, wandered the house making this pitiful meow, because he couldn’t understand where she was. He was her cat really. She was a big Bee Gees fan you see,’ he said, glancing at Anna, his eyes weighed down with sadness.

      Anna nodded. ‘Maurice Gibb.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Bert, revealing a proper smile. The stories of Barbara, him and Maurice flowed until Anna checked her watch and an hour had gone by.

      ‘Bert, I need to make a move, but I’ll see you next week. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to bring? Different paper, biscuits?’ She almost offered something alcoholic but guessed that wouldn’t be allowed.

      ‘Assuming you can’t smuggle in a Guinness, I’d love a proper coffee. Americano with hot milk they call it. Sounds fancy but tastes bloody marvellous. They have instant here and it’s not the same. Here, let me pay you for it.’ He put his hand onto the table next to him and picked up a coaster and then put it down again quickly. ‘Now, where did I put my wallet?’

      ‘It’s okay, Bert, you can pay me when I bring it. Take care of yourself.’

      ‘Say hello to Maurice for me.’

      ‘I will,’ she said and she left. Bert had another СКАЧАТЬ