Page 6 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a man in a suit called out. ‘If you would like to take your seats, the wedding breakfast is about to be served.’

As Ceri made her way to the high table where the bride and groom were already seated, she couldn’t help wondering why a meal that was being eaten in the middle of the afternoon was called a breakfast.

Oh, who cared what it was called. The joy on her brother’s face and that of his new wife was all that mattered.

Let the celebrations begin!

Chapter 2

It was dusk by the time the car that Frank had organised to take Damon back to Foxmore trundled down Willow Tree Lane, and some of his tension eased. He let his head rest on the back of the seat and breathed deeply, waiting for the house to come into view. He’d chosen to sit in the front seat, not the back, despite Winston, the driver, giving him an odd look. So when the man slowed the car to a crawl and Damon saw him wince as it scraped underneath the overhanging branches of the trees lining the lane, he realised he should have had them cut back. But considering this house was the only property on the lane and the road was effectively a dead end, he hadn’t seen the point. However, he supposed he better had, if he was going to stay here for a while.

He had been living in the house for the past two weeks, having fled to Foxmore as soon as the post-mortem and police report had been released, only venturing back to London yesterday for the funeral. He’d spent last night in his flat in the city, not wanting to travel down this morning, and he didn’t know when he would next return. Right now, he didn’t care if he never saw it again, because everywhere he looked reminded him of Aiden.

Except Foxmore. Aiden had never visited him here.

Heck, in recent years Damon hadn’t visited much, either; his life had simply been too busy. It was a major regret of his, that he hadn’t seen as much of his gran as he should before she’d passed away. It was over eight years since she’d died and he’d only been back to Foxmore a handful of times.

Damon’s attention was caught by activity in the field bordering Willow Tree House. A couple of days ago, he’d noticed a marquee being set up but hadn’t paid it much attention. Now though, he could see that some sort of event was taking place, and guessed it might be a wedding. People were milling around outside, the men mostly in shirt sleeves and suit trousers, and the women resembling colourful butterflies in their finest dresses. Fairy lights twinkled around the entrance, and he noticed figures sitting in the grass. He even caught a glimpse of the interior and people dancing, and he craned his neck as the car drove past. Seeing the smiles on their faces and the drinks in their hands, he wondered how much longer the party would go on. The field was just behind his grandmother’s house –hishouse, now – and he felt aggrieved that the peace he so desperately craved might be disturbed.

‘Better him than me,’ Winston said, with a nod to the marquee and the old church beyond. ‘Been there, done that, got the decree absolute to prove it.’ He gave Damon a look. ‘You’re not married, are you?’

‘Er… no.’ He wondered why it always came as a shock to realise that his private life wasn’t as private as he would like. He should be used to it by now.

‘Ever come close?’ Winston asked, gingerly pulling onto the weed-infested gravel drive at the front of the house.

‘Not really.’ Damon unclipped his seat belt and reached for the door handle, debating whether to ask the man in for a coffee and a comfort break before the return journey to London. The poor bloke had a long drive ahead of him.

Before he could offer, Winson said, ‘Don’t blame you, not with all those groupies. Why settle for one when you can have a different girl every night?’

Damon sucked in a sharp breath. It was one of those girls who had caused Aiden’s accident.

Winston must have realised what he’d said, because he turned stricken eyes to Damon, and began to apologise. ‘Sorry, I—’

Damon cut him off. ‘No worries. Do you want to come in for a quick break before you go?’

‘No thanks, I’ll be on my way. Sorry,’ he repeated, not meeting Damon’s eyes.

‘Don’t sweat it. Have a safe journey.’ He watched as the car reversed and drove off, and breathed a sigh of relief to be home.

This house in Foxmore had always been his home. While he was growing up, his address might technically have been the large house in Shropshire that his parents owned, but his heart had never resided there. Over the years he had spent more time at his grandmother’s house in Foxmore than anywhere, except for the boarding school that he had been packed off to at eleven years old. Since then, he had bought a place of his own – the flat in London, a penthouse that he sometimes referred to as ‘home’ but which felt nothing like it. His true home was this house on Willow Tree Lane, and deep down it always had been, despite his gran no longer being here. The house held his happiest memories, and it was the place he felt safest. Within its peaceful and tranquil walls, he knew his aching heart would have time to heal.

But there would be no peace or tranquillity tonight, because as he walked towards the front door, Damon became aware he could hear music. It was coming from the marquee, drifting on the faint breeze.

He didn’t mind, though; to him, music was everything. It was in his blood, and he could no more live without it than he could live without oxygen. But since Aiden’s accident, he hadn’t touched his guitar. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to, and he was harbouring a secret fear that he might never play again.

Recognising the song as one of Aiden’s favourites, as the familiar raw notes of “Love Conquers All” filled his mind, Damon closed his eyes and let the tears fall once more.

It was hot in the marquee, the air barely moving despite the slight breeze tugging at the fabric walls. The lights were dim, and couples swayed and shuffled on the dance floor to the slow music. The guests had thinned a little, but many still remained, and laughter swelled the music.

Ceri fanned herself with one of the place cards, but it did little good. For mid-May, the weather was unseasonably warm, but she was glad it had been such a glorious day. It wasn’t just the weather that had been wonderful – everything had been perfect, apart from her aching feet. But she had remedied that several hours ago when the dancing had started and she had kicked off her shoes, not bothering to go home to collect her daps. Ceri had no idea where her posh shoes were now, and to be honest she didn’t care if they never turned up at all. She was hardly likely to wear them again.

With an indulgent smile, she watched Huw and Rowena on the dancefloor. They were holding each other close, Rowena with her head on Huw’s shoulder and Huw’s face buried in his wife’s hair. Both of them had their eyes closed and wore blissful expressions. Not for the first time, Ceri thought that they were made for each other, and envy gave her heart a quick squeeze. One day, she hoped to have what they had. But she wasn’t in any hurry – there was so much going on in her life right now which was new and exciting that putting love and romance on the back burner for the time being wouldn’t be a hardship. In fact, it was probably a good idea, especially since there was no hint of a suitable guy on the horizon.

Ceri let out a huge yawn, catching her unawares, and she wondered if it would be OK for the maid of honour to leave the reception before the bride.

Did she have any more duties to perform, or was she done for the day? Having never been a maid of honour (or even a bridesmaid) before, she had no idea if anything further was expected of her.

With Rowena enfolded in Huw’s arms, Ceri hoped it would be safe to escape for a while, so, desperate for some fresh air and a few minutes alone, she slipped outside.

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