The Swallow and the Hummingbird(168)

‘He had some sense then.’ Max smiled as he looked out at the road in front of him. He began to feel nervous too, as if they were both teenagers again. He gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on driving.

They drove through the smart white gates of the nursing home and up the driveway lined with shady yew trees. A magnificent Victorian building loomed up ahead, once the private mansion of a millionaire. Max accompanied her into the hall where the receptionist sat behind a dark wooden desk. He could see the sea through the open French doors in the sitting room and told Rita that he would wait for her out there on the terrace.

‘I won’t be long,’ she said, then turned to the young girl in a nurse’s uniform.

‘I’ve come to see Reverend Hammond. My name is Rita Fairweather.’

The nurse nodded and smiled toothily. ‘Of course, first floor, room fourteen. If you turn right here and walk up the corridor, the staircase is straight ahead.’

The corridor smelt of polish. The original wooden floor shone brilliantly and the walls were hung with brightly coloured paintings of landscapes and boats on the sea. The staircase squeaked as she walked up it, reminding her of Lower Farm, except here it was wider and grander with a vast window letting in an abundance of light. When she got to his room she discovered to her disappointment that he wasn’t there. She waited a while then decided to write him a note instead, leaving it on the bed with the Bible where he was sure to find it.

‘I’m sorry to have missed you, Reverend Hammond,’ she wrote. ‘As you said, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’m now ready to lay the first stone. My thanks, Rita.’ She looked down at the small solitaire ring that seemed to shine with less brilliance and wondered why she had continued to wear it so long after it had lost its significance. There was only one thing left to be done.

With a light step she began to walk back down the corridor, too preoccupied to see the solemn young woman walking towards her carrying a cardboard box. She bumped straight into her, sending the box crashing to the floor. The younger woman fell to her knees. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Rita cried in horror. ‘I was miles away.’ Then she recognized Ava. Ava blinked up at her, knew she had seen her before but couldn’t place her. ‘I’m Rita Fairweather, you must be Ava Bolton. What are you doing here?’

‘My father died yesterday. I’m clearing out his room.’

‘George died?’ Rita repeated incredulously, slowly shaking her head. ‘But he was so young.’

‘Another stroke.’

There was a lengthy pause as Rita digested the news. George is dead? George is gone? ‘I’m so sorry,’ she gasped, bending down to help pick up his things.

‘Thank you,’ Ava replied. ‘It was very sudden, but he’s in a better place. I really believe that.’

‘So do I,’ said Rita, gathering up his books and a pen. To her surprise, although she felt sad, she also felt oddly detached, and realized that the George she had once loved had died years before and that she had already mourned him.

At that moment she noticed the little faded Polyphoto she had given him, carefully protected within a transparent envelope. She sat down and studied it wistfully for a moment, amazed that it was there.

‘Who is this?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. Someone special, I expect,’ Ava replied, putting the lid back on the box. ‘I found it in his breast pocket. He must have always kept it there.’

Rita smiled and handed it back. Ava nodded and thanked her again, and Rita watched her walk down the stairs, her heels clicking on the polished wooden floor. So he had never stopped loving her after all. As he had promised, he had carried her photograph until his death. But it no longer mattered. It would have meant everything a decade ago but she was no longer that girl, she had finally outgrown her. She toyed with her ring a moment then strode purposefully down the stairs.

She found Max outside smoking on the terrace. Without a word she took his hand and led him down the path to the beach. He followed, wondering why her face was flushed and her eyes shone with a light he had never seen before. With her shoes almost in the waves, she turned and looked at him steadily, then pulled off the ring. ‘I should have done this years ago,’ she said and threw it into the sea. They both watched in silence as it fell with a small plop into the water, then disappeared for ever. Max didn’t know what to say. He felt the habitual churning in his stomach, but dared not hope too much. ‘You once asked me to marry you,’ she began and then her voice trailed off. Perhaps she had missed the moment. Perhaps he no longer wanted her. She wasn’t young and pretty like she had been then and, besides, he had Rebecca and Mitzi now. But Max needed no further encouragement. He took her face in his hands and kissed her as he had longed to for almost thirty years. She closed her eyes to withhold the tears and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back.