like. And someone will pop over from time to time to help keep you stocked up. Unfortunately, I haven’t had the phone line switched back on yet, but I can—’
‘No need.’ Thom patted a jacket pocket. ‘I’ve got my mobile.’
‘Hmm … reception’s not always that good in this part of the world, but I can get Eric to look in on you every morning.’
‘Not necessary, Hugo. I’ll be fine - honestly. The doctors haven’t quite given me the all-clear yet, but they’re amazed at my progress. Besides, I’ll have a physio working me over three times a week in the cottage to make sure I get back to strength. A kind of buy-your-own-torture scheme that the doctors insist upon.’
“Well, if you’re sure …’
‘Hugo, believe me, I am.’ Thom reached out to his friend’s shoulder again. ‘Listen, you’ve been great. You know I appreciate all you’ve done.’
Hugo’s face reddened and for a second or two his already watery eyes became even more liquid. He cleared his throat and looked towards the distant woodlands.
‘Don’t mention it, Thom,’ he said, a little hoarsely. We’ve been pals a long time …’
He left it at that and Thom grinned. Who else would put up with you?’ Thom said, dropping his hand away. He, too, looked towards the lush woodlands in the distance. ‘Best be on my way. I’ve been looking forward to this.’
‘I can imagine, laid up in hospital like that. You still love the old place, don’t you, Thom?’
He hesitated. ‘I’m not sure if that’s true. There was a time when I hated it.’
“When Bethan …? Hugo brought himself to a halt. Insensitive though he could be sometimes, even Hugo understood how hard the premature loss of his mother had hit Thom all those years ago; so hard, in fact, the grief had not yet faded entirely. He reached into his trouser pocket and drew out a long, worn iron key, which he thrust at Thom. Its rounded head was made up of three simple, flat circles resembling a metal shamrock. The bit was hidden behind Hugo’s fleshy fingers, but Thom easily remembered the solid plain pattern of its ward cuts.
Thom reached for the key and, as he did so, felt a frisson of … of what? He couldn’t be sure. Excitement? Yes, there was that, but there was something else also. Relief? Yes, that too. But this, paradoxically, was mixed with … it couldn’t be fear, could it? No, not quite that. Apprehension was more correct. For just a moment, he had experienced a fluttery nervousness in his stomach, paranoid butterflies with hard-edged wings. Could he really be nervous of going back to the home he had loved so much as a child? Was it the thought of its emptiness, the absence of the mother he had lost so many years ago? Since the illness Thom had realized that his emotions were more frail, that tears seemed never far away, and he had assumed it was because of a barely suppressed self-pity. Well, maybe it was exactly that. Yet this … this apprehension … seemed to emanate from outside himself, as though it tainted the very air between the two outstretched hands.
Then he had the long key in his palm and the disquiet dissolved, was merely a passing sensation.
The key seemed to become warm against his flesh as he looked at it and something inside him … his spirit? … lifted once more. Bemused, he smiled at Hugo.
‘It’s good to be back,’ he said.
And at that time, he honestly meant it.
A WALK THROUGH THE WOODS
HE WALKED away from the Big House, descending the gentle slope to the wide path that led towards the river and concentrating on keeping his left foot from turning inwards, another symptom of the damage he had suffered. At this stage, his walking-cane was merely a prop; before he completed the journey to the cottage, however, and his left leg was even more wearied, it would become a necessity. Half-way down the hill he turned to see Hugo still watching him, hands in his pockets, the distance too far to read his expression. He waved the