The next Friday when he arrived at the baths a fifteen-year-old Vauxhall Astra was parked outside, with three men standing around its open bonnet. One was immediately recognisable as the Colossus of Rhodes but the car seemed to belong to the short bloke in the blue jumper who had the top half of his body bent over looking at the engine.

  Joe hesitated for a moment – but once a mechanic always a mechanic.

  ‘Can I take a look?’

  ‘Be my guest.’ Shorty stood up. ‘I’d just pulled up when it gave a kind of hacking cough and a spitting noise.’

  Joe hid a smile at the description. But he knew what was wrong before he checked inside. There wasn’t anything he could do – the car would have to be towed to a garage. He conveyed this news.

  Shorty kicked a wheel gloomily. ‘Stupid thing. Why did I ever sell my bike?’

  Something about him suddenly seemed familiar to Joe. ‘Dave?’ he asked. ‘It’s Joe Taylor. We used to be in the motorcycle club together way back.’

  ‘Joe! How are you, mate?’

  ‘Jogging along,’ said Joe. ‘So, you come swimming here, do you?’

  Dave nodded. ‘With my pals.’ He indicated the Colossus. ‘That wee chap’s Frank, and this is Pete. We worked together.’

  Frank held out a huge hand. ‘Good to meet you, Joe.’ He looked rather embarrassed. ‘I’ve seen you in the pool, haven’t I? Swimming up and down?’

  Trying to swim would be more like it, thought Joe.

  ‘We’d got used to having the pool to ourselves Friday mornings,’ Frank said. ‘Me and my missus and her sister, and Dave and Pete. We cramp your style, eh?’

  Joe grinned at him. ‘I can easily come another time,’ he said. Well, it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do.

  ‘It’d be good to catch up, Joe,’ said Dave. ‘We always have a snack after being in the pool – in the leisure centre café. Fancy joining us this morning?’

  Some weeks later Wendy looked astonished when she called in and found Joe wearing an apron. A cookery book was on the table – not the one she’d suggested he buy but a big glossy one. There were enticing smells coming from the oven.

  ‘Got some friends coming round this evening,’ said Joe casually, as if it was quite a usual occurrence. ‘After we’ve been for a walk round the country park.’

  He put the kettle on to make them coffee. He owed his sister big time. It was thanks to her that swimming for one had turned into cooking for six.

  Swimming for One was published in The Weekly News.

  HISTORY LESSONS

  The roar of the Highland charge, the clang of steel on steel and the sun glaring down from a cloudless sky all combined to make Lucy’s head feel as though it was on fire.

  She should have packed her floppy hat, she thought, as she sat with her back against a tree, the bark pressing through her thin t-shirt. There was nothing more comfortable to lean against but at least it was an excellent vantage point from which to admire Cameron in his tartan plaid as he cut a swathe with his sword through the Hanoverian army. She took out her drawing pad and began to sketch the battle.

  Of course she could get up and join the non-combatants if she wanted, like she had the last two Sundays when she, another women and a man sat at weaving-looms – but, really, she couldn’t face pretending to weave the same piece of cloth over and over again. Nor did she want to ‘tend the dying’, as someone had suggested today. The thought of wandering around all afternoon with a dramatically anguished expression made Lucy want to laugh, or cry, she wasn’t sure which.

  Her mobile rang suddenly. She glanced at Cameron before answering.

  He took all this so seriously. Cameron, dark-suited accountant during the week – she’d never have guessed when her brother introduced her to his new colleague that he was one of the main players in History Repeats Itself, a group that enacted battle scenes for tourists.

  ‘Lucy?’ It was her friend Gabrielle. ‘That rom com we were talking about? Are you free to go tonight?’

  The film had one of Lucy’s favourite actors but after the ‘battle’ the Jacobites and Hanoverians were putting down their swords and porridge-coloured bits of weaving and going out for an Indian meal, and Cameron would be expecting that she’d go too. The prospect of a noisy restaurant and hot, spicy food was not appealing. And she’d have to make conversation with Cameron’s friends who seemed quite fun but would no doubt spend the evening endlessly analysing this afternoon’s performance.

  When they started going out last month, at the beginning of the tourist season, Cameron had told her that this was how he usually spent Sunday afternoons over the summer and, wanting to be with him as much as possible, she was only too keen to come along. Plus it sounded much more interesting than watching someone playing football.

  But there didn’t seem to be any way she could contribute. She didn’t want to be one of the soldiers either (the thought of being in the middle of the action was just too scary) – and watching them perform three times was enough, thrilling as it was to see her lovely new boyfriend dressed as though he had strayed in from an episode of Outlander. It was more exciting than standing by a muddy football pitch but that was hardly an endorsement.

  It had been a great relief to find out that Cameron wasn’t interested in the usual sports, either playing them or watching them. So, until he told her about his combined loves of history and acting, she’d imagined them spending weekends wandering around art galleries or having leisurely walks by the river.

  Why was it she never got to do what she wanted on Sunday afternoons?

  Suddenly she made up her mind about the cinema. She could see Cameron tomorrow night.

  ‘Yes, I’d love to go,’ she said to Gabrielle.

  The cinema would be cool and dark; she might even have a little nap. And Gabrielle, an English teacher at the school where Lucy taught art, was a relaxing person to be with.

  As Lucy hung up there came the sound of applause and Cameron’s voice thanking the audience for their attendance. She got to her feet and started to help tidy up; at least she could do that. She glanced over at Cameron and found that he was looking at her, smiling. Her heart gave a somersault. Did she really want to spend the evening with Gabrielle? Well, it was too late now.

  When the lights went down two hours later, all Lucy could think about was the look in Cameron’s brown eyes when she’d told him that she’d made other plans.

  ‘Oh, I hoped you’d come to the restaurant. We have a meal together every so often – and we do talk about other things, not just battle plans!’

  ‘Sorry. I’ve told Gabrielle now I’d go to the cinema.’

  He’d kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll text you, and see you next Saturday then? I won’t be back from York until late on Friday.’

  Lucy’s heart plummeted. She’d completely forgotten that Cameron was going away on Monday morning, sent by his firm to work in one of their other branches for a week.

  And then he had to turn away from her, to speak to the youngsters who wanted to know how to hold a sword and to show some American tourists how to put on a plaid. All female, Lucy noted. The way they were crowding round him they probably did think he was from Outlander.

  He would have got entirely the wrong message – it must have looked as if she didn’t care about not seeing him for five days. Get yourself sorted out, she wanted to shout at the lovelorn heroine on the screen, advice she realised she was really giving herself.

  In the row behind them, a party of people were evidently passing round a bag of boiled sweets – Lucy gave up trying to concentrate as they rustled wrappers. Her head throbbed and she still felt hot, despite the cinema’s air-conditioning.

  ‘I really enjoyed that – apart from the sweetie papers,’ Gabrielle said, as the credits rolled. ‘My other half didn’t want to see it – no car chases or saving the world! I’m glad you could come. So was Cameron doing something else tonight then?’

  ‘Er, yes. That group he belongs to – they were going out for a meal.’

  ‘Not including you?’

  ‘Yes, I could have gone but – I don’t know, Gabrielle. Cameron’s great but you know what it was like when I was going out with Neil? Every Sunday afternoon down the park cheering his team on … ’

  ‘You didn’t have to go,’ Gabrielle said gently.

  ‘I thought that’s what I should do, be a good girlfriend. Be supportive. And I tried to follow the games, I really did. But I always seemed to be looking the other way when he scored a goal and he was fed-up that I hadn’t seen it. And then … ’ Her voice trailed off.

  Gabrielle knew about the awful day when some other girl turned up at the park and it was clear that Neil had been seeing her too.

  ‘I’m sure that won’t happen with Cameron,’ she said. ‘I’ve just met him once but he seems such a nice guy.’

  ‘He is,’ Lucy said. ‘But do you think he expects me to turn up every Sunday afternoon?’

  ‘The best person to answer that is Cameron himself,’ said Gabrielle. ‘But even if he does you don’t have to, you know. Set some ground rules. Don’t let – ’ she stopped.

  Lucy couldn’t help laughing. ‘Don’t let history repeat itself, that’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Gabrielle. ‘I’m sure things will work out, Lucy. Any relationship takes a bit of shaking down at the beginning. Do you want to go for a drink?’

  ‘No thanks; I think I’ll head home. I’ve got a headache. Thanks for suggesting the film, and for listening to me.’

  Gabrielle had been reassuring, Lucy thought. But on the other hand, she probably couldn’t remember what a new relationship was like – she and her ‘other half’ had been together for donkeys’ years.

  The sky was still light but the cool ten o’clock air was refreshing. A poster caught Lucy’s eye as she waited at the bus stop. Under the heading of ‘History Repeats Itself’ (in a rather inappropriate typeface she couldn’t help thinking) was a blown-up photo of the group. She peered at it, trying to pick out Cameron.

  ‘What’s that all about?’ a man beside her asked, his accent marking him out as a visitor to the area.

  Lucy hesitated. Where to start? ‘Have you heard of the Jacobites?’ she asked. She might have had more than enough of the subject for the day, and have a throbbing head into the bargain, but the teacher in her rose to the challenge.

  The man shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie?’

  ‘Nope, sorry.’

  ‘Have you seen those tins of shortbread in the tourist shops? With a man in the kilt on the lid?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sure. I love your shortbread cookies!’

  ‘That’s him. He fought the Hanoverians, the king’s army, for the British throne, 1745, 46. One of the battles was here – well, just outside the town. This group does a re-enactment of it.’

  ‘Did he win?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘You’ll have to go along on Sunday and find out.’

  ‘I might just do that,’ he said. ‘I think my kids would enjoy it. And my wife will too. She’s trying to persuade me to get a kilt while we’re over here. Some book she’s reading – it would be so romantic, she says. I think she’s kidding!’

  As she got on the bus Lucy reflected that at least she’d given the group a plug, done something for Cameron. The thought gave her a little comfort.

  A kilted man stood at the side of her bed throwing giant boiled sweets into the air. Lucy tried to catch them but they floated out of reach. She watched them grow until they exploded with the noise of gunfire.

  Lucy sat up in fright. Her head still thumped and she felt hot and uncomfortable. Too much sun – not usually a problem in this part of the world – plus she’d probably picked up something, yet again, from standing in front of germy children every day. She tottered through to the kitchen where she drank a large glass of cold water.

  Back in bed all sorts of thoughts jumbled up in her head. Cameron. Bonnie Prince Charlie. The poster. Tourists. Kilts.

  This was hopeless. She sat up and reached for her phone to see the time. She’d switched it off before the film started.

  Two o’ clock.

  And a text from Cameron, sent at half-past seven.

  Missing you. I could meet you when the film finishes? Cameron x

  Too late to phone back now. She’d have to call him really early before he left for the station. But what should she say, do? Should she ‘set some ground rules’ as Gabrielle had suggested. That sounded so bossy, selfish even. She didn’t want to clip his wings or stop him seeing his friends. But neither did she want to sit under a tree every single Sunday …

  Neil had refused to accompany her to her parents’ silver wedding party because it clashed with an ‘important match’ in the county league. There were no other such occasions imminent but what would Cameron do, Lucy wondered, if one arose? No answer came to her. She set the alarm on her phone for 6.30 and concentrated on counting sheep. It had never worked before but maybe it would this time …

  It seemed just a minute later that there was a loud noise close to her ear but it wasn’t the alarm; it was the phone actually ringing.

  ‘Lucy? It’s Cameron. Sorry to wake you. I’m outside your door – I’ve got a taxi waiting to take me to the station. Can I see you for a minute?’

  ‘Urrgh, I mean, yes, hold on.’

  Lucy grabbed her faithful old dressing gown from the back of the door and wrapped herself in it. Quite wrong for the season – it felt hot and scratchy, but it covered her up. In the bathroom she swirled some toothpaste round her mouth and ran her fingers through her hair. She must look a complete fright but there was no time to check.

  In the dim light of the hall, one hand on the lock, she glanced in the mirror and had just time to register that something didn’t look right before she opened the door.

  Cameron reeled back, almost falling off the step, his eyes wide, his smile fading.

  ‘What is it?’

  Surely she didn’t look that bad.

  ‘Lucy, you’re … can I come in?’ He turned to the taxi driver and held up five fingers before taking her arm gently and stepping inside. ‘Is it chicken pox?’

  ‘Is what … ?’ Lucy turned to the mirror – and screamed. Angry red blisters covered her face.

  ‘It looks like it – my little nephew and my sister got it last year,’ Cameron said. ‘Haven’t you had it?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Lucy tried to calm down. ‘It’s going round the school though.’ So that’s why she was feeling so out-of-sorts yesterday. She stepped back from him. ‘I don’t want to give it to you.’

  ‘I’ve definitely had it. Although I don’t think I was as spotty as you!’ Cameron took her hand which mercifully seemed to be spot-free. ‘I wish I could look after you but if I don’t get this train I’ll miss my connection. Will you be OK?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘I’ll let the school know. And Gabrielle. Oh, what about everyone I saw yesterday? What if … ‘

  ‘Don’t worry, they’ve probably all had it. But I only care about you,’ Cameron said. He hesitated for a moment. ‘That’s why I wanted to see you. Yesterday I thought – I thought you were trying to tell me we were finished.’

  ‘No! Of course I wasn’t. I … ’ She’d had no time to think it through, to find the right words, but now was her chance to say to him what she’d said to Gabrielle yesterday.

  ‘About next Sunday… ’ she began.

  ‘You’ll probably not feel like going out. Chicken pox takes a while to get over when you’re an adult – my sister found that anyway. Shall I bring the popcorn and we can catch up on some films?’

  He was still holding her hand and looking at her very tenderly.

  ‘But what about the re-enactment?’

  ‘What about it? You’re more important. And the Sunday after that, I was wondering if … ’

  Uh-oh. How could she say no when Cameron suggested she join the weavers again, or tend the wounded, or knit claymores, or whatever else had to be done? Although the artist in her would love to have a go at redoing that poster.

  ‘ … you’d like to come to my nephew’s fourth birthday party? My family wants to meet this wonderful girl I’ve been telling them about.’

  ‘Mate, we’re going to miss this train,’ the taxi driver called.

  Cameron put his arms gently round her and although it felt painful Lucy hugged him back.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said.

  It looked like history wasn’t going to repeat itself after all.

  History Lessons was published by The People’s Friend.

  TO THE MOON AND BACK

  Mike set down the joint of beef and allowed himself a pat on the back. True, lunch was an hour late and didn’t look nearly as good as when Patsy made it, but it was there, on the table – the beef, gravy, slightly greasy roast potatoes, boiled carrots and two odd-looking Yorkshire puddings (not enough to go round but the rest were too burnt to serve up). There wouldn’t be apple crumble to follow as he’d promised (how did Patsy manage to make pudding on time as well as everything else?) but there were choc-ices in the deep freeze.

  He called through the open window, ‘Kids! It’s on the table!’

  They’d been in the garden a minute ago – Linda had been playing hopscotch by herself on the path while Neil and his friend from next door swooped around pretending to be astronauts. Or maybe it was more than a minute – he’d got distracted by updates on the wireless about the Apollo 11 expedition.

 

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