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“Yes.” She’d certainly been reminded of the importance of family, and not letting the little things get in the way of loving those around you.
“So how is the Bluebell Inn?” John asked. “Or Family Bed and Breakfast, as it was called on your website, I think? Looked like a beautiful place, from the photos.”
“It was all Ellie’s idea, to make it more of a family destination,” Gwen replied. “Game nights, helping in the garden, that sort of thing. And it’s worked so far—everyone pitching in, enjoying themselves. They seem to, anyway, and we’ve had a few families come back for a second or even third time.”
“Sounds like you’ve really made something extraordinary of it,” John remarked warmly.
Gwen hesitated to reply as she suddenly recalled the financial trouble the inn was in.
“Well, sort of,” she said after a moment. “The truth is, we’re not actually making a profit. If we don’t make some changes to how we do things, we might have to close our doors, which would be a shame, considering we’ve only been going for a little over a year.”
“That would be a shame.” John frowned. “I suppose it’s a tough market these days, what with the cost-of-living crisis and inflation and all the rest.”
“Yes… we’re hoping to do a big splash at Christmas, to raise some interest. My daughter-in-law contacted a national newspaper, and they’re going to come and take some photos, do a write-up.” She gave a little grimace. “We have a lot of work to do, to get the place ready for Christmas by the end of October. They’re coming in less than two weeks!”
“Well, if I can help in any way…” John offered hesitantly. “I’m just kicking around Monmouth for the next few weeks. Izzy’s working right up until her due date, so I haven’t got much to do. I’m not sure why I came so early, to be honest, but she insisted, and I did want to see her.”
“Oh, well…” Gwen wasn’t sure how seriously to take his offer. Was it just the kind of thing someone said to be nice, or did he really mean it?
“Of course, I’m sure you have it all in hand,” John continued quickly, giving her an easy out—and yet why should she take it?
“Actually, we do need help,” Gwen told him. “We’re all running around like headless chickens at the moment, not sure where to begin.” John, she recalled, had run his own landscaping business before he’d retired. Perhaps he could help in the garden? “We need to do something Christmassy with the outside space, and I don’t know what to do, besides stringing up some fairy lights.”
“You were always good in the garden,” John protested, smiling. “I remember how you could identify every single plant and flower whenever we went on a hike, back when we did those caravan holidays.”
“Do you?” Gwen was touched. She had a sudden, piercing memory of walking along the Pembrokeshire coast, pointing out different types of heather and fern to the children, John and David strolling behind, Michelle usually striding ahead, if not breaking into an outright jog, determined to get her steps in. They had been happy times, and yet they held a certain bittersweet poignancy, now that only she and John were left. “Well, if you wanted to give us some advice about doing up the garden for Christmas,” she suggested, “it would be greatly appreciated.”
“I’dloveto,” John replied with enthusiasm. “I could use a project, frankly. Just let me know when and where.”
“All right.” Gwen felt suddenly rather bold and reckless; it was a heady sensation, and one she wasn’t used to feeling. “How about tomorrow?” she asked, and John looked so surprised by her suggestion that she rushed to add, “We haven’t a moment to spare, really, but if you’re busy, I’d completely understand. Izzy probably wants you around, even if she is at work.” She let out an uncertain laugh, not feeling quite so reckless now; John still hadn’t said a word. “Maybe you didn’t expect me to take you up on your offer,” she joked feebly, although she wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.
“No, no,” he finally said, leaning forward, his blue eyes alight. “I’m thrilled, honestly. You have no idea—I’ve been wanting to have something to do, and I’d love to see the B&B. I can’t remember the last time I was there—didn’t Michelle and I come with the kids, a year or so before David died?”
“I think so.” Gwen had a hazy memory of a rushed weekend, trying to spend time with John and Michelle, while also catering for four other guests. Life really did get busy; it was a shame that relationships were often the casualty.
“I can certainly come then,” John told her firmly. He touched her hand again, so briefly she barely felt it, and yet something awakened inside her at the warmth of him, an unfurling of a feeling, a yearning, she’d forgotten about, like a dormant seed finally reminding her of its existence, coming to life.
The realization was incredibly disquieting. In the twenty-two years since David had died, when she’d been only forty-seven, she’d never dated anyone. Had never eventhoughtabout it, because there had been the Bluebell Inn to manage, and Sarah and Matthew to shepherd through their young adulthood, and, frankly, there weren’t too many options in little Llandrigg, not that she’d even looked. A few friends had half-joked about finding her someone, or getting her on one of those awful apps, but she’d always brushed such suggestions aside, never considering them seriously herself. She’d loved David so much, and after he’d gone she’d learned to be happy with her children and then her grandchildren, the Inn, good old Toby, her chickens, her baking, and some decent historical dramas on the telly, along with the occasional gripping novel.
It had all been more than enough, and yet now… Now she felt that little spark of interest, a tiny flare of excitement, right at the center of her, and she didn’t know what to make of it at all, especially when it was with David’s best friend. But maybe she was overreacting, she told herself, as she took a sip of her tea and refocused on their conversation. Perhaps she was just out of practice of socializing in this way.
After they’d finished their tea and coffee, John suggested a walk through Monmouth, and they strolled along the bustling high street, gazing into various shop windows and chatting about nothing important at all, and yet it was one of the most pleasant afternoons Gwen had had in recent memory. She told him about her grandchildren and showed him photos on her phone. He laughed in appreciation at some of Ava’s funny remarks, and how Josh loved puzzles and Jess asked her opinion on various outfits even though, Gwen admitted with a laugh, “I have zero fashion sense. Give me a waterproof mac and a comfortable pair of shoes any day.”
“You look pretty well turned out to me,” John replied affably, scanning her simple skirt and sweater set with obvious appreciation, and she studied a tea service in the window of a charity shop, more discomfited by his easy remark—and his unapologetic admiration—than she cared to reveal. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, it had just been one of those offhand comments, but it had affected her more than she wanted to acknowledge to him, or even to herself.
They ended up on a footpath by the river Wye, strolling along its gently rolling current all the way to St. Peter’s, a little whitewashed church perched right on the riverbank. They wandered through the church’s cemetery, its headstones tumbled and mossy, their epitaphs barely legible.
“‘Here lies Elspeth Jones,’” Gwen read out loud. “‘Beloved wife of William for forty-eight years.’” She let out a small sigh as she considered the unknown couple. “I don’t know whether it’s easier or harder, to have so many years with someone before you lose them. On one hand, you have more memories to treasure, but on the other hand, you’re less used to living life on your own.”
“How long did you and David have?” John asked as he came to stand beside her.
“Twenty-six years,” Gwen replied on another sigh. “We were going to go to Paris for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, see the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre like we’d always wanted to do, but we kept putting it off. We felt we couldn’t leave the Bluebell, and it always seemed as if there would be a better time. After he died, I wished we’d gone when we’d had the chance.” To Gwen’s surprise, she felt tears starting in her eyes. She hadn’t wept for David in many years; time was a healer, in that regard, but talking to John, remembering old days, somehow it made it all feel so fresh again. “What about you and Michelle?” she asked, managing to blink the tears back. She did not want to cry in front of John, not when they’d been having such a lovely afternoon.
“Forty-four years.” He stared at the headstone in front of them, his face drawn into thoughtful lines. “It sounds like such a long time and yet it went by in a blink. And to answer your question—I don’t know if it’s harder or easier. Loss is loss, I suppose, and love is love. Not the most profound of statements, I know, but I don’t think I was ever a particularly deep thinker.”
“It sounds rather profound to me.” She smiled at him, blinking back the last of her tears, and he smiled back. Although it was nearing the end of October, the sun was still warm, the sky a hazy blue as they stood in the forgotten, little cemetery, the only sound the twitter of birds in the trees above. It felt like a moment in time, a snapshot of memory she wanted to keep and to treasure. “Thank you,” she said suddenly, “for reaching out. I’m so glad we’ve been able to meet up.”
“So am I. And I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” John reminded her, “and who knows, maybe even the day after that, and the day after that, depending on how much help your garden needs.”
