‘No problem. I’d best get off but you’ve got a house key. Mac’s in the yard and Rusty and the pups are in the back porch. Tool shed key is hung up in there.’

‘Thank you. That’s kind.’

The usual hard Savage façade came back down. ‘Makes no odds to me.’

He reversed the Land Rover and trailer back up to the barn. She waited to wave him off but he drove past without a backward glance. It struck Maggie that Savage led a lonely existence. No wife, no family, just the farm. He’d lived there with his parents all his life, until they’d died a few years back. Set in his ways and with a job that kept him fairly remote he was probably facing the rest of his life alone.

When she thought about it, there were so many people who, for whatever reason, found themselves isolated. Maybe some were happy with that set-up, maybe even Savage was. They lived a stone’s throw from each other but rarely interacted and then only on a superficial level. But perhaps interaction for interaction’s sake was worse than being lonely. She and Savage were totally different people and would likely annoy each other beyond reason if they met on a regular basis. Yes, perhaps she was better keeping herself to herself. Especially now there was a glimmer of hope in Tom’s phone call. Although she wasn’t going to kid herself that his call had been forced by anything other than desperation.

She was shutting the door when she heard tyres on the gravel drive so she waited. The small white Taylor’s Builders van trundled into view. She waved and he pulled in front of the house.

‘You must be Lyle. I’m Maggie.’

‘I’m really sorry about your grandson. He didn’t look. He rode straight in front of the van. I didn’t have a chance. Thank heavens I was slowing down for the corner.’ He was young and gabbled a lot – like Tom.

‘But he’s not seriously hurt?’

‘No. He was shaken up but I just sort of bumped the bike and it toppled over. I didn’t actually run him over.’ There was something mildly amusing about Lyle’s intense need to reassure her.

‘Well. Thank you for getting him to school. He’s doing his GCSEs.’

‘Yeah. He told me that. His bike’s a bit of a mess.’

She followed him to the back of the van, where he lifted the old bike out. ‘And the van?’

‘A couple of scratches but some other guy had it before me and it already had a few bumps. It’s fine, the gaffer won’t even notice.’

They both studied the buckled frame of Tom’s bike. Maybe her offer to fix it had been a bit premature.

41

TOM