Page 24 of A Village Theatre Murder

‘For the cauliflower cheese,’ Sean said, indicating the pile of yellow curls. ‘The chicken’s in the oven. It’ll be half an hour still.’

‘You have been busy! A full day in the rooms, and such a good supper.’

‘Ah well, I’ve got my lad home.’ Sean turned to Jono with a broad smile. ‘And the weather’s turning chilly, so I thought I’d make something hearty. And there’ll be leftovers for a while. We can’t be having frozen pizzas like a couple of saddos, hey, Jono?’ His voice was cheery, but in an unfamiliar way that seemed a little forced, as if he was trying too hard. Hardly surprising, given that father and son had spent so little time together in the past few years.

‘Yeah. Thanks, Dad.’

Sean poured Julia a glass of Merlot, and one for himself. He glanced up at Jono, and back at the wine, and hesitated before putting the cork back in the bottle, hitting it firmly twice with the flat of his hand. It was a moment that seemed to have some heft to it, some unspoken significance.

‘Would you set the table, Jono? The cutlery is in the drawer in the sideboard. ‘

‘Sure.’ Jono patted his thigh once as he exited, and the two dogs followed him, walking calmly at his heel.

With Jono out of the kitchen, Sean seemed to release a little of the tension he had been carrying in his body. Julia didn’t remark on this – it was none of her business and now wasn’t the time – but asked, simply, ‘How was your day?’

‘Busy!’ He smiled. ‘A full day of patients, and then Oscar.’

‘It was kind of you to offer to see him at such short notice. Thank you.’

He smiled and waved her thanks away, saying, ‘He is calmer. We had a good talk, and I gave him some medical advice.’ Julia took this to mean a prescription, but of course Sean wouldn’t say. ‘I sent him home in a taxi. He assured me he had someone to be with for the evening.’

‘As far as I know, he doesn’t have a partner, but I hope he’s got a good friend. He’s dealing with a lot of guilt.’

‘It wasn’t his fault, but still, it’s an awful situation.’

‘I’m sure he appreciated your help. And now, after all that, you’re making a slap-up dinner. You’re a good man.’

‘Well, I try. Not always successfully,’ he said. He sighed, and went back to practical matters. He spoke quietly, knowing Jono was in the next room. ‘I’d forgotten how much young men eat. I made us a couple of sausages and some green beans yesterday and when we’d finished – which took all of about four minutes – the poor chap had to have three slices of toast and peanut butter to fill up.’

‘Hollow legs, my dad used to call it.’

‘Yes. Hence the chicken. I want him to feel at home, and comfortable. And not hungry!’ Sean took her hand and held it firmly. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so absent. There’s been a lot to do, getting Jono settled. Quite an adjustment. He’s very…lost. And sad, I think. Quiet. I don’t know quite what to do with him.’

‘I understand. It looks like you are making a good start. Remember, you’re not alone. I’m here if you want to talk. Or bring him over for supper.’

‘I know. And there’s a lot I want to talk to you about when we have the time and the space. Supper would be good, too. I’ve told Jono about us, by the way.’

‘About us? Oh dear,’ she teased. ‘What did you say, exactly?’

Sean didn’t adopt her joking tone, but looked into her eyes and said seriously, ‘I told him that I’d met a warm and cleverand beautiful woman, and that we are in a relationship, and that it makes me very happy.’

Julia flushed, and stammered, rather inelegantly, ‘Likewise, Doctor.’

He leaned in and kissed her softly. ‘Come on. Let’s go through.’

They took their wine into the sitting room, where Jono was sitting on the carpet. He had a guitar in his hands and was picking a gentle melody, something that sounded jazzy and bluesy and a little mournful, but in a lovely way. Leo’s golden head rested on one of his knees. Jake was tucked in next to him on the other side looking blissful, as if transported by the music. Jake had not hitherto shown any sign of being a music aficionado, so Julia assumed it was Jono’s presence or the warmth of his leg that was transporting him.

Jono stopped playing when he saw his father and Julia appear.

‘That’s beautiful,’ said Julia. ‘What is it?’

‘“The Wedding”, by a South African composer, Abdullah Ibrahim.’

‘Ah, I didn’t realise you were a jazz man,’ she said. ‘For some reason I imagined you played, more, like…pop music.’ She felt about a hundred and four years old saying this, knowing that these were probably not only the wrong words, but out of date by thirty years.

‘My band is more post-punk garage rock, with a kind of alt feel, but I play jazz too, when I’m on my own.’

As she’d suspected, she had only the very vaguest idea what that meant, but it was about the longest sentence she’d heard Jono utter, which she took as progress.

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