‘That sounds awful. I hope she’s been to the doctor.’
Joan simply shrugged, refusing to meet my eye. Taking the hint, I moved over to the fridge.
‘Are you going to keep me company for tea, then? We could do… let me see… how about tacos?’
‘What-os?’
I handed her a packet from the cupboard.
‘I’ve never had them before.’
‘Neither have I.’
‘Um… they look a bit dry.’
‘That’s because we haven’t stuffed them yet.’
‘What do we stuff them with?’
I grinned at her. ‘Whatever we want!’
I sent Joan home around seven, with a plastic box full of ‘leftovers’， conveniently leftover due to me making enough for at least five people, as well as half a dozen muffins. I then switched into leggings and trainers and took advantage of the late evening sunshine to explore some more of the enchanted forest behind my hedge.
The park officially closed at eight this time of year, and it already appeared deserted. I might have felt nervous, a woman walking alone in the woods, but the air was sweet with the promise of summer, the butterflies were dancing with the wildflowers and the birds’ evensong buoyed my spirits. I rambled for a good hour, in and out of clusters of bright green deciduous trees, before weaving along tiny dirt footpaths through the darker pines. Every few minutes I came upon a clearing, or a stream, or the crest of a hill with a view across the fields beyond the forest. I felt drenched in beauty, and surrounded by wondrous life in all its fullness, and had to keep stopping just to soak it up and breathe it in.
I would have missed all of this, if I’d listened to the guilt and the fear. Spent my evenings watching other people out there enjoying the world. Interesting people. With lives and dreams and minds of their own.
And now I was one of them.
My final treat came about half a mile from home, when I broke out of a particularly overgrown path into a clearing. The last rays of the day bathed the oak trees in soft gold, and a blackbird pecked amongst the scrubby grass. The air was utterly still, as if the trees were holding their breath. And then, a flicker of movement opposite me, and I saw her: the dappled coat and twitching ears of a deer, in the split second before she turned and slipped into the shadows.
I felt a fleeting pang of regret that I had no one to share this with, before shaking my head at the concept that you have to share something in order to fully appreciate it. I’d experienced a moment of magic, and that was something to treasure.
I was making a mug of herbal tea the following night when I heard a THUD outside the kitchen window. Grabbing my frying pan from the draining board, I zipped up my hoodie and slowly, slowly crept over to the door.
More scuffles accompanied frantic whispering loud enough to be heard through a pane of glass.
Wondering if Ebenezer might be up to more secret odd-jobs, I slowly pulled back the bolt, unlocked the door and then whipped it open.
‘Oh!’ a familiar voice cried out, accompanied by a louder thump as Joan toppled back into my overturned wheelie bin, landing in the mush spilling from a split bin bag.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, unable to hide my shock. I’d suspected that Joan and Leanne were struggling, but resorting to pawing through my rubbish was horrendous.
‘I was… looking for something,’ she said, breathless with panic. ‘I dropped it earlier and thought it might have fallen in your bin.’
‘Joan.’ I moved closer, offering a hand to help her up. ‘Are you looking for food?’
Eyes downcast, she nodded, miserably.
‘Does your mum know?’
A slow, sorry shake.
I squatted down to look at her properly, still holding on to her hand. ‘Have you run out of food?’
A scrabbling sound interrupted us from behind the bin, immediately followed by a high-pitched whine. Joan’s eyes grew round with alarm, darting to one side before she resumed her forlorn expression.
‘What’s that?’
‘What’s what?’ This girl was no actor, that’s for sure.
I dropped her hand and took a tentative step towards the bin, lurching forwards and banging it with the pan a couple of times before jerking back again.
‘STOP!’ Joan cried. ‘You’ll scare him!’
‘Scare who?’ I folded my arms as she shuffled and fidgeted and decided whether or not she could trust me.
‘Nesbit,’ she finally muttered.
‘And who – or should I say what – is Nesbit?’