“One violin is toast!” I call.
“This can’t be happening,” says Gus wildly, as he gets out. “It cannot be happening. How did I leave them on the car?” At that moment his phone buzzes, and he winces as he glances down. “It’s Romilly. She says, if I like, I can stay to hear the lesson.”
“It’ll be tuneful,” I say, biting my lip.
“Oh God.” An almighty roar of laughter breaks through Gus, as though months of unbearable tension are being let out, and he clasps his head tightly in his hands. “Oh God.”
As we’re standing there, a car pulls up on the verge, and an old lady gets out, followed by a teenage boy.
“We saw it all!” she says. “So distressing!” She pats Gus’s heaving shoulder as though to console him. “But luckily my grandson was able to salvage some pieces.”
“There was a gap in the traffic,” says the boy. “I picked up what I could.” He thrusts a bundle of pulverized bits of twirly wood and dangling strings at Gus, who stares wordlessly at them.
“Thank you,” he manages at last. “Very helpful.”
“Perhaps it could be mended?” suggests the old lady earnestly. She plucks at one of the strings, which gives a dismal twang. “They can do wonders these days.”
“Maybe.” Gus seems about to explode again. “Well…we’ll deal with it. Very helpful of you.”
As the woman and her grandson drive off, we sink down on the grassy verge. Gus dumps the assortment of shattered wood fragments and strings on the grass and stares up at the sky.
“Well, there we are,” he says. “I guess it really is over now.”
“Guess so.” I pat his shoulder, just like the old lady did. “Now, go on. Make the call.”
Half an hour later, we pull back into the drive of Greenoaks. Gus parks the car and we both exhale.
“It could have been worse,” I say after a moment. “Imagine if we’d driven to Clapham. She might have actually torn your head off and fed it to the wolves, rather than just threatening to.”
“I need a drink. Or two.” As he turns toward me, Gus looks a bit giddy. “Effs, don’t ever let me do that again, OK? Ever.”
I don’t know if he means drift into a terrible relationship or drive off with two violins on the car roof, but I nod and say, “Of course. Never again.”
“I feel like I’ve got out of prison,” he says fervently. “I feel…light. Life’s good again. The sun’s shining!” he adds, as though only just noticing. “Look! It’s a beautiful day!” A smile sweeps across his face, and it’s such an unfamiliar sight, I give him an impulsive hug.
“Yes it is,” I say. “Beautiful.”
“I’ve been in such ridiculous denial,” he says slowly. “I’ve spent the past six months focusing on everything but the emotional stuff. On the plus side, my work is going splendidly,” he adds, his eyes gleaming with his old sense of humor. “So. Silver linings.”
As we get out of the car, I automatically look around to see if we’re being watched, and Gus shakes his head incredulously.
“You’re not still hiding from everyone, are you? Come to the brunch.”
“No thanks,” I say. “Anyway, I’m busy. I’m going to check the tree house for my Russian dolls.”
“OK.” He nods. “But don’t disappear, will you, Ephelant? Touch base before you leave?”
“Sure.” I nod and squeeze his arm. “Have fun at the brunch.”
I look around again, to check that we’re not being observed, then cautiously make my way toward the boundary of the field. I’m dodging from car to car, trying to stay concealed, although there aren’t many cars left parked on the grass. Behind me, I can hear Gus singing the Mission: Impossible theme tune. Ha. Hilarious.
As I emerge through the hedge into the big field, I feel free, just like Gus did. Finally I can stride. Stretch my arms, without fear of being seen.
It’s a beautiful day, the sky a cloudless blue, and as I walk, my mind is full of memories of running over this grass, toward the tree house. As a small child, full of joyful anticipation, desperate to clamber on the rope ladder and swing on the trapeze. Then later with Temi, giggling, holding rugs and illicit bottles of wine.
And then of course there’s that dark, painful shadow which stretches over everything.
I vault up the ladder easily, my muscle memory coming back, then pause on the wooden platform, my gaze sweeping the horizon. I’m suddenly glad I came back to this familiar place one last time. Glad I’m here, looking at this view, breathing in the summer air. And I’m about to climb the steps to the upper level when I hear a creaking sound above me. I freeze uncertainly and look upward. Is someone else here? If so, it has to be Bean, surely. No one else would come here.