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Mike takes the broom handle.
‘Now jump,’ Dominic says. ‘Be light like a cheetah. Be strong like a lion.’
My neighbour gives a little jump and I burst out laughing. ‘That was hefty like a hippo.’
‘Shut your face, Johnson,’ he says affably and jumps some more.
Now I fall about, giggling until my sides hurt.
Dominic soars gracefully into the air, a good two feet or maybe more from the ground, and he chants and whoops as he does. Mike huffs and puffs along with him good-naturedly, clutching his stick and risking the occasional strangulated yelp.
‘Very good,’ Dominic says encouragingly. ‘You are very good.’
‘This feels great,’ Mike admits. ‘Makes me wish I’d been a punk rocker.’ Puff, puff. ‘All that pogo-ing.’ Puff, puff.
Frankly, I’d love to join in, but I want something that just Dominic and Mike do together, something that will cement their friendship. If it proves to be cooking or jumping, then so be it.
While I watch and clap along, Dominic and Mike jump together, bouncing on the grass, chanting, whooping. The sun drops behind the fence and the night starts to creep in over the hedges. Lights start to come on in the cottages around us.
I think that Dominic could jump for ever but Mike is going redder and redder in the face. Sweat pours from his brow. Before my friend has a heart attack, Dominic quite wisely brings the jumping session to a halt.
‘That was brilliant,’ Mike enthuses as he gets his breath back. ‘I feel quite liberated. Quite carefree.’
He looks like he needs another lie down on the sofa.
‘I’ve not had so much exercise in years,’ he pants as he mops his brow with his handkerchief.
‘I’ll make us some tea,’ I say and move my chilled bottom off the wall.
‘We should do that again,’ Mike says, still breathing heavily.
‘I jump every day,’ Dominic informs him. ‘I would consider it to be an honour if you would join me.’
‘If you can wait until I get back from work then, yes, I’d love to.’
‘Enjoy that?’ I ask Dominic
‘Very much, thank you.’
‘Good. Because if you are happy, then I am happy.’
Dominic’s beautiful smile beams back at me. ‘I am happy, Just Janie.’
And you don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
On Monday, I’m back to work. As I’m rushing around to get out of the house on time, Dominic is eating his porridge while watching his favourite early morning show learning how to blend pastel shades to modernise the living room. His eyes are wide in disbelief.
‘I have to go,’ I say, pecking his cheek. As I head for the door, the telephone rings. Out of habit, I pick up. ‘Janie Johnson.’
On the other end of the phone is Mr Codling-Bentham – the closest we have to a village squire. ‘Wonder if it would be possible for Dominic to help us out in the gardens?’ he asks. ‘Our gardener’s gone off sick and we’re a bit stuck. There’s some leaf clearing to get on with, a bit of cutting back. We’d be frightfully grateful.’
‘I’ll ask him,’ I say and cover the phone with my hand. ‘Fancy a bit of gardening?’
He tears his eyes away from the tempting palettes of pale heather, mink, pistachio and duck-egg blue. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s for the Codling-Benthams.’
‘The big house?’
I nod. ‘They can’t pay you,’ I remind him. ‘It would have to be on a voluntary basis.’
‘I like to be busy,’ he says. ‘I will go there right away.’
Turning back to the phone, I say, ‘Dominic will be with you very shortly, if that’s all right.’
‘Champion.’ Mr Codling-Bentham sounds thrilled.
‘You can’t pay him though. He’s not allowed to work legally until he’s been here for six months.’
‘I’m sure we can sort something out,’ Mr Codling-Bentham assures me.
I hang up. ‘There you go. A job for the day. Now I really must run.’ I kiss Dominic again and fly out of the door.
When I get to work, there’s no time for a sociable coffee in the staffroom, which is perhaps just as well. At the moment, I’m still pissed off with my colleagues and I’m not in the mood to play nicely with them.
I get straight to work on my first client. ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ Mrs Yates says. She looks knackered.
‘The twins?’
‘I survived the terrible twos,’ she says with a careworn sigh. ‘No one told me that three was ten times worse.’
