‘What is the world coming to?’ Johnny said as he strained the vegetables, adding some of the water to the gravy as he did so. He uncovered the resting pork and began to carve.
‘Last time the pub closed for refurbishments, I once went a whole week without talking to another person. Not a single word.’ Margery’s cheeks flushed pink at the memory. ‘I felt sure I must have done something wrong with my life to have ended up in such a pitiful state.’
‘Oh Margery,’ Helena couldn’t help welling up at the thought.Her heart went out to her. It was so hard to admit to feeling lonely. ‘A whole week? You poor thing.’ She could see, now, how easily that could happen.
‘I hope you know that it was nothing you did wrong?’ Johnny pulled out a chair for her to sit down. ‘It’s society that’s to blame. Everyone is so isolated these days.’
‘Yes, I do now. Awful, isn’t it?’ Margery took a sip of her wine, a wistful expression on her face. ‘I used to go to the pub every day at lunch for a lemonade and a natter while I did the crossword. I was at a loss without it. Then it moved to only being open in the evenings and weekends, and now… nothing at all.’
Johnny passed Helena a jug full of gravy and handed them plates full of pork and crackling, before transferring the potatoes and vegetables to serving dishes and putting them on the table. ‘Help yourselves!’ he announced.
‘Thank you. This all lookssodelicious.’ She piled her plate high with food, suddenly ravenous. ‘Do you know what Dave’s going to do with the place?’ Helena asked as she passed Margery the apple sauce.
‘I think he’s applying to the council to change it to a residential building,’ Johnny said. ‘That way he can convert the ground floor into another flat and sell it for a lot more money.’
‘Makes sense,’ Helena nodded. ‘It’s just such a shame. A massive loss for Hambleton.’
They chatted about the demise of pubs as they devoured their platefuls of food. Helena and Johnny both had seconds, Johnny even went on to have thirds. Helena felt a bit rebellious as she helped herself to extra potatoes, like a child scoffing sweets while no one was looking. She savoured each mouthful of roast potato. She had forgotten how delicious they were, having not been allowed to cook them for so long, that golden crisp crunch as she bit into them, the soft fluffiness within. It was all cooked to perfection. She realised it was the first time in four years anyone had cooked a meal for Helena where she hadn’t had to lift a finger, not even to buy the ingredients.
With good food, excellent company and a warm, cosy kitchen, she finally felt herself begin to relax. She had forgotten what excellent talkers they both were. They asked so many questions, and they had both led such interesting lives that Helena felt full of curiosity to find out more about them. Johnny showed Helena pictures of a property he had been to view in a nearby village, the Old Rectory, and talked about what he would do to the place if he bought it. The cottage was covered in a rambling white rose, with traditional sash windows and an overgrown garden which Johnny couldn’t wait to start working on. It was her dream home, all original features, the opposite of the neat cream and beige interior Banham Cottage had been, which was much more to Noah’s taste than hers. Unsurprisingly, she hadn’t had much of a say in the matter. She fought back envy at the thought of being able to own a place like that, for no one to be able to kick you out at a moment’s notice. She craved the security that would bring, the roots she could put down somewhere, and wondered whether she would ever be in a position to buy a place of her own. In case the tears came pricking back again, she changed the subject.
‘I saw you’ve got a new logo on your van?’
‘Oh yes, what do you think?’
‘Very nice, I like the gold lettering. What does it stand for?’
‘Johnathan Dean Landscape Gardening.’
‘It sounds very professional, and I am his first client,’ Margery said proudly. ‘Oh, you must tell Helena about the witch.’
‘Witch?' Helena asked, intrigued.
‘Ah yes, Malcolm,’ Johnny said, a twinkle in his eye. ‘A new client of mine. He has purple hair.’
‘A male witch? I didn’t know such a thing existed!’ Helena laughed.
‘Apparently so. And I’d better watch out… he specialises in love potions,’ Johnny winked.
Helena couldn’t help doubting Johnny would ever need one of those. Despite his rumpled appearance and a fondness for extrapotatoes, she could tell he would make someone a wonderful partner. ‘How hilarious!’
‘He’s got a massive following online: @MagicMalcolm if you’re interested.’
‘Oh what nonsense,’ Margery laughed. ‘Next you’ll be telling me he dresses up in a witch’s hat with a cat and a broomstick.’
‘No seriously! He’s got his own YouTube channel. I watched a couple of his videos. He’s got nearly a quarter of a million followers.’
‘A quarter of a million?! Bloody hell, I’ll have to check him out,’ laughed Helena.
‘Don’t tell me you believe in all that nonsense?’ Margery asked.
‘Not really,’ Helena said. ‘But my mother was as “woo-woo” as they come.’ She smiled. ‘He would have been right up her street.’ Helena paused momentarily, deciding whether to tell them about her own experience with the psychic reading. ‘I did see a medium once, actually.’
‘No!’ Margery leant closer. ‘Were they any good?’
‘I’m not sure. She predicted I’d meet a handsome stranger and have a curly haired child…’
‘Noah and Raffy?’ Margery gasped.
