Page 74 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘Actually, I don’t think he would care one way or the other. I think it’s probably better to let sleeping dogs lie. It’s ancient history and although it’s fascinating to read my gran’s journals, I should be looking to the future and not the past. And on that note, I’ve got to go to London tomorrow. Luke is back in the UK, and we need to put the album to bed.’

Ceri froze. Pain shot through her and suddenly she didn’t feel hungry anymore.

There were tears in Ceri’s eyes, and she was utterly mesmerised as Damon played for her. The music swirled and swooped, making every cell in her body sing. She had listened to some Black Hyacinth tracks (of course she had) since she’d discovered who Damon was, but they hadn’t appealed to her, although she would never admit it to him. “Dark Dimension” was the only song she liked, but it faded into significance compared to what he had played tonight.

Damon hadn’t as much as picked up a guitar in her presence before, but this evening he had asked her if she minded. Not knowing what to expect, she had agreed.

And she’d been utterly blown away.

Finally, after he had wrung her out emotionally with the beauty of his music, he stopped strumming and put the guitar down.

Ceri was speechless, but she hoped the tears trickling down her face portrayed how deeply it had touched her.

‘What do you think?’ he asked. His uncertainty was so acute, that she scooted over, put her arms around him and smiled into his eyes. ‘Beautiful. Totally and utterly beautiful. It was like “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, “The Sound of Silence” – the Disturbed version – and Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon”,all rolled into one.’

‘Thank you.’ Damon hugged her, holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, and after a few moments she wriggled free.

‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said, his eyes dark, his expression sombre.

Not as much as she was going to miss him. Being back in London, picking up where he left off… he would soon forget her and Foxmore, as he lost himself in his music once more.

Her tears tonight hadn’t just been for the songs he had played for her – they had been for the life they could have lived, the love they could have shared if he had simply been Damon Rogers and not the lead singer of a famous rock band.

‘I would suggest you come with me,’ he was saying, ‘but it won’t be any fun for you. I’ll be in the recording studio for hours on end, and when I do come out for air I’ll be knackered and drained. All I’ll want to do is eat and sleep. You’ll be bored out of your mind. Anyway, you’ve got work.’

That he had thought about taking her with him at all made her feel sick. She had no idea what his world was like. Her only frame of reference was the occasional documentary she had watched about bands like The Eagles (her dad liked music, especially Sixties and Seventies stuff) and to be honest, what she had seen made her heart sore. Even without the drugs and the alcohol, the lifestyle was a wild one. It must be a heady thing to have fans clamouring for you, both on stage and off, and she imagined the buzz might be addictive.

He had told her he would be back.

She knew he wouldn’t.

She took his hand. ‘It’s late. Can we go to bed?’

All she wanted was to hold him until she could hold him no longer.

She would deal with her heartbreak afterwards, when all she had left of him were her memories.

Their lovemaking was as passionate and tender as ever, and he repeatedly told her how much he loved her; but even so, she had to work hard not to cry.

‘It’ll only be for a few days, a week at the most,’ he said, taking hold of her face in his hands. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’

But no matter how hard he tried to convince her, she knew she would probably never see him again. Music was as much a part of him as gardening was a part of her. He would never be free of it. He would get back in that studio and he would realise how much he missed it and how deeply it ran in his veins.

He was lost to her already, even if he didn’t know it yet.

Curled up against him, Ceri listened to Damon’s gentle breathing, wishing sleep would claim her as easily. She shifted restlessly, trying to get comfortable, and froze when he murmured and turned over.

Worried that she was disturbing him, she sidled to the edge of the bed and carefully slipped out from underneath the sheet.

The night was a warm one and the bedroom window was open, but she closed it softly when she heard the bark of a fox. Guessing it must be in the garden (it sounded as though it was immediately below the bedroom window), Ceri crept downstairs and into the parlour.

The view through the glass doors was of dappled darkness and shifting shadows, with a crescent moon hanging in a clear starlit sky. The fox barked again, fainter this time, and when she opened one of the tall French doors, it had gone.

Something flittered over her head and a bat jigged and swooped silently, so fast it was hard to keep track of, and she quickly lost sight of it against the black background of bushes and trees.

Leaving the door open, she wandered into the kitchen, hoping that maybe a glass of milk would settle her and soothe some of her fears. Hadn’t Damon told her he loved her? Hadn’t he told her he was coming back? She should try to believe him, and not allow her insecurities to overwhelm her. He wouldn’t say those things if he didn’t mean them. Damon wasn’t a liar, despite withholding the truth about who he was and what he did. He’d had his reasons for doing so, and she accepted that.

Taking her milk with her, Ceri returned to the parlour. Sipping slowly, she wandered around the room, trailing her fingers across the photos on the dresser, the people in them indistinct in the gloom. Pausing by one, she picked up the silver frame and peered at the image of Hyacinth. She knew from memory that Damon’s grandmother had her head thrown back in this one and was laughing at something or someone beyond the camera, and briefly she wondered who had taken the photo and what it was that Hyacinth had found so amusing. Could it have been the mysterious V who had wielded the camera?

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