The Man I Fell In Love With. Field Kate

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       Chapter 4

      The envelope arrived on a cold day in late March during the Easter holidays, landing on the doormat with a thud that I heard from the kitchen, and which seemed to shake the entire house. I didn’t need to open it to know what was inside. I didn’t want to open it and make it real. I left it on the hall table, pulled on a coat, hat, and wellies, and took Dotty for a walk.

      The footpaths around the village were quiet as I trudged through the slushy remnants of the snow that had fallen earlier in the week. It was mid-week: work would have deterred some of the usual dog-walkers, the bad weather many of the others. But Owen Ferguson emerged from the front path of a neat stone terrace as I passed, and hesitated, as if deciding whether to force his company on me or to turn in the opposite direction. I smiled and he must have made up his mind, as he fell into step beside me as we headed towards the centre of Stoneybrook.

      He was wearing a black beanie hat, very much like one I had bought for Leo a couple of years ago. It suited him. His greyhound was wearing an extraordinary hot pink quilted coat, with a zebra print trim.

      ‘It wasn’t my choice,’ he said, acknowledging my vain attempt to disguise my surprise. ‘I inherited it.’

      ‘A dog jacket? That wasn’t a generous legacy. Lucky you had a dog it fits.’

      ‘I inherited the dog too. It was a complete package.’ He quickened his pace to keep up with me; Dotty was either eager to complete our circuit and get home, or determined to beat a greyhound. ‘My neighbour adopted her from a greyhound rescue charity, but then was diagnosed with a terminal illness. I agreed to take on Lucilla.’

      ‘Lucilla?’ I tried not to laugh: it was a perfect name for the aloof animal, but I couldn’t imagine Owen calling for her in the park.

      ‘She won’t answer to anything else. Or wear any other coat.’

      ‘What colour did you want her to wear? Navy blue like the Broadholme uniform?’

      He grimaced. ‘Anything but that. Are your children not with you for the holiday?’

      ‘Ava’s at Pony Club, and Jonas is revising with a friend,’ I said. ‘Do you have children?’

      ‘Two boys. They live with my ex-wife in Scotland. I’ll have them next week.’

      It occurred to me, then, that I had misunderstood Owen’s question. He hadn’t meant were Jonas and Ava with me today; he had meant were they living with me this week. It was the question of a divorced parent – from one to another. It didn’t matter whether I’d opened the envelope or not. I was one of them now.

      ‘I think someone’s trying to get your attention,’ Owen said, and gestured towards the semi we were passing. Daisy was standing in the front window, banging on the glass and then beckoning inside with both arms.

      ‘It’s Daisy. Mrs Flood,’ I added, in case he needed her parents’ evening name to place her. ‘I’d better see what she wants. Enjoy the rest of your walk. And enjoy next week with your boys if I don’t see you before then.’

      ‘I will.’ The words were heartfelt, and his face transformed at the mention of his children, in the same way that Leo’s did. I pulled Dotty back down the street and walked up Daisy’s front path. Daisy opened the door before I was halfway there.

      ‘I need your tongue!’ she cried, in a voice of loud melodrama that must have carried as far as Owen, as he turned and looked back at us before walking on. ‘Mine’s exhausted, and I still have over two hundred envelopes to lick.’

      Daisy and I had been friends for years, since our daughters had started in Reception class at Broadholme at the same time. She had a part-time job working as an admin assistant for our local MP, who spent a lot of money on printing leaflets saying how fabulous he was, leaving him with no money left for self-seal envelopes. It was a thankless job – quite literally, as I had seen for myself that the MP barely knew Daisy’s name – and it paid a pittance, but she needed every penny. Her ex-husband had backed her into a financial corner, offering to pay for their daughter to stay on at Broadholme only if Daisy accepted a meagre maintenance payment for herself. I was lucky, by contrast; something I tried to convince myself every day.

      ‘What’s all this in aid of?’ I asked, picking up one of the leaflets that lay in a pile on Daisy’s dining table. ‘The СКАЧАТЬ