He sat down heavily at his desk, picked up the dandelion paperweight and allowed himself to remember.

Gwen Tapper was his childhood sweetheart and the first girl he’d ever kissed. They were fifteen or sixteen. He could still remember those long summer days, the feel of her soft lips on his and her sweet scent.

He thought it would last forever but everything changed when he went up to Oxford and his mother forbade him to ‘fraternise’ with the villagers.

‘It was fine while you were a boy,’ she said, ‘but one day, you’ll be the master of this house. I’m only thinking of you and your future.’

You didn’t argue with Mother but it didn’t stop him feeling rotten about how easily he’d given up his pals in the cricket team. And Gwen.

The last time he’d seen her was when he’d brought some of the chaps home for a shooting weekend. While they were out near Bunker’s Field, on the edge of the copse, suddenly there was Gwen.

She was one of the beaters. The dogs had recognised her and, wagging their tails, rushed up, greeting her joyfully. He should have done the same but, instead, he was aloof and distant. He felt a stab of self-loathing when he remembered how he’d treated her.

‘Hello, Joey!’ she’d said, all smiles.

He’d winced. No one called him Joey anymore.

‘Hullo,’ he’d said, hardly looking at her, and then turned and fired at a bird that had just been flushed. And missed.

His friends had hooted with laughter. ‘Bad luck, chap.’ Someone slapped him on the back. ‘Try again.’

When he looked around, Gwen was gone.

Someone asked, ‘Who was that girl?’

‘No one,’ he’d answered. ‘Someone from the village.’

Perhaps she’d heard him, perhaps not. Either way, he’d felt like a complete rotter.

He sighed now and placed the paperweight back down on the desk.

Then he spotted him; Sebastian, propped up against the cup of cold coffee. But he looked different. He was dressed. His patchy brown fur was covered in a khaki knitted pullover.

* * *

The next day, when Gwen arrived with his coffee and he held the bear up to her, she shrugged. ‘I’ve got spare wool. I’ve been unravelling pullovers.’ She smiled at him. ‘I thought he looked cold, poor lamb.’

Chapter 40

They were going downhill and the tandem was gathering pace. She should be used to this by now but Maggie still had to bite her lip and fight the urge to scream, as bare trees and brown hedges flashed past in a blur.

‘Bump!’ Ray yelled and then ‘Granny!’ as he moved down into a low gear.

Once on the flat, they pedalled in silence, the only sound the swish of the tyres on the road and the spinning chain.