Page 20 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

His voice is just like his dad’s and I can’t help the smile spreading across my face.

‘Hello,’ I say brightly. ‘I was looking for Will, William I mean. Your dad? Have I got the right place? Is he here at all? My name is Connie Fitzgerald.’

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops before any words come out when something seems to catch his eye over my shoulder.

‘Lady Constance!’ A voice booms behind me on the front path, and I spin round to see a tower of a man with a thick white and ginger beard and wild curls trying to escape the hat he has pushed down onto them. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ He steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug, as if this is a usual occurrence for us. I sigh.

‘Please don’t call me that.’

*

Morag, William’s wife, pours us glasses of lemonade loaded with ice as we take seats outside on the sunken patio. The sun is still rising overhead, but the trellis that surrounds us, covered in trailing and climbing flowers and foliage, offers some shade. Morag is a tiny woman with cropped silver hair, a warm expression and a comfortable smile. Despite her slight frame, she looks strong. Her arms are defined in a way that mine are not. Yoga has helped me to keep fairly fit over the years, but Morag has spent her life working outside. Her skin is tanned and her hands are weathered.

‘You’re a farmer now, Will. How long have you been farming?’ I ask.

‘So, it was my father’s brother’s business and him and his wife had no children, so I took over when they passed on. It’s been ’bout thirty years, but mostly my lads run things now. I still can’t believe it’s you,’ he says. ‘So, what does bring you back here after all this time?’ William slurps his drink, the ice cubes clattering against the sides of the tall glass.

‘I was just travelling around in my van and saw that Alex had an exhibition on and thought I’d drop in,’ I say as casually as I can while lifting my own glass to my lips to hide the burn in my cheeks.

‘Oh aye? Just happened to be passing by after all these years?’ He smirks. ‘And how did that go down?’

I lower my glass back onto the table and my shoulders slump. ‘It went down really badly.’

‘You broke her heart, Constance. You do realise that don’t you?’

‘Connie,’ I remind him. ‘It was a long time ago; we were just kids.’

‘She came to see me; we had an argument. She accused me of… well to be honest I don’t really know what she accused me of. Said I was supposed to be your friend, and what sort of friend was I? She was right mad wi’ me. I guess she didn’t like me taking you back to the station to catch your train. She thought I was helping you run away. Seems a bit mad now, but she’s not really spoken to me since.’

‘You see her though?’

‘From time to time, but she’s always kept to herself like. We all just went off in different directions. But, Connie, that summer, it was good times wasn’t it.’

‘It was, it was the best time.’ And I do mean this. I sometimes think what my life would have been like if I’d never had those six weeks in Scotland. My parents had a plan for university; they also had their eyes on Jonathan Highcliffe if the uni place didn’t come off. Me, settled in a career or reputably married with children. What they didn’t factor in was my pregnancy. What a huge disappointment I was to them. Who am I kidding…already pregnant, Scotland or not, my life would have been exactly the same. I just wouldn’t have been able to carry that bittersweet memory of Alex through it.

‘You and Alexandra were a couple?’ Morag asks me.

‘No, we were never that. We were just eighteen,’ I say, as if that explains it all. I look over at William who’s rolling his eyes.

‘I’m leaving anyway, just popped in to say hello, and then I’m heading home.’

‘You can’t just go again now. Go and see her, tell her why you left, make amends.’

‘I doubt she’ll talk to me. I don’t really want to put myself through it to be honest.’

‘She might if you give her another chance.’

‘When was the last time she spoke to you? She’s a holder of grudges. It was a mistake to come; it’s been too long.’

‘She’s ill. Did you know that?’ Morag says and we both turn to her, our heads snapping around at her words.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ I ask, but Morag just shrugs.

‘I don’t rightly know. I have to say it was just something that Hilda told me. Said she’d seen her going into the doctors a fair bit. And one time in the car park she told someone she’d had devastating news. But Hilda had none of the particulars. She hobbles,’ she adds, as if that explains it.

I don’t remember her hobbling last night, but then I’d been a little in shock.

‘No one knows much about her. She keeps herself to herself and always has.’