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You visited the town of Denbrook once a week. Your route in the mobile library took you around any number of villages and towns but this was your favourite. You lingered there longer than you really needed to but no one seemed to mind. You saw a steady stream of people during the day but you were always on the look out for one in particular. The pile of books that sat on the counter were for him, for his approval. No one else touched them.
As the day drew on you began to wonder if he was actually going to show. Normally he would appear around lunch time, stay for a chat and a cup of tea and then head back home. But today he was nowhere to be seen.
You stood outside the van and peered up and down the road.
‘Looking for someone?’
You turned to see the local policeman, Tim Derry, waving at you from across the street. You waved back and he wandered over. He was a sweet man but largely useless.
‘I was just wonder where George was today,’ you said, ‘he’s normally been in by now. Got a nice stack of whodunits for him to have a look at.’
‘Oh,’ said PC Derry, ‘I saw him earlier. Drove past his paddock. He looked busy.’
This was hardly news. George was always busy but at least you knew he was around and hadn’t gone off for the day.
‘Okay, thanks,’ you said, ‘maybe I’ll pass by on my way home.’
PC Derry smiled.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ he said and headed off through the village.
***
You didn’t normally leave the village past George’s farm but you made an exception. Parking on the side of the road, you collected the books into a bag and walked through his field up to the caravan. The sheep milled around, the lambs running pell mell around the older sheep. They made you laugh. You noticed a smaller one tagging along with them. You’d not seen him before. The other lambs ran around him and gave him gentle head butts. A sign of affection you knew, thanks to George. You smiled and walked on towards the caravan.
You were just about to knock on the door when you heard a noise inside. You edged closer and heard it again. Laughter. Not George’s. This was lighter, feminine. Then you heard George laugh. Oh. Your hand was still raised ready to knock but you lowered it then and stepped down off the deck back onto the grass. You hugged the bag of books to you and contemplated leaving them but no, you couldn’t. You walked quickly back to the van, got in and drove away.
***
It was ridiculous to be upset. There was nothing between you and George Hardy beyond you being the person who drove the mobile library he borrowed books from. He was pleasant company of course but he’d never given any indication that he expected more from you. You sighed as you placed some returns back on the shelves. Your Denbrook day was coming up and you’d been in a mood all week. Even your colleagues had noticed when you’d stopped in at the main library. You didn’t tell them why as you were sure they would nor understand. You were being a silly romantic fool.
You parked the van in your usual spot and sat behind the desk, head rested on your fist as you listlessly flicked through a book. You smiled weakly at a few customers and then slumped back in your chair. Maybe you’d finish early today, go home, open a bottle of wine, put on a rom com, have a little cry…oh.
Coming along the road was George. He liked the same as ever, cap firmly stuck on his head, that damn blue medicine he could never seemed to get rid of staining his fingers. Except this time, he was not alone. Beside him, no, with her arm looped through his, was a young woman. Very pretty, long dark hair, laughing. You recognised that laugh. You swallowed hard and pretended to tidy the desk. You noted the books George had in his other hand.
They stopped outside the van and George spoke to the woman briefly. She gave him a quick hug and turned to walk off. George watched her go. The look on his face was…
‘Morning!‘
You jumped a little in your seat. George was standing in the van, in front of you, the pile of books now on the desk. You stood up.
‘Good morning, Mr Hardy,’ you said briskly.
He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
‘That’s very formal,’ he said.
‘Well,’ you smiled thinly, ‘we must maintain proper decorum. New…rules. From head office.’
‘Oh,’ he said, then pushed the books towards you, ‘should have returned these last week but I was busy.’
‘Of course. There will be a fine,’ you said.
He nodded.
‘Of course.’
You watched as George moved away to the shelves, heading to the crime section. He was such a large man in such a small space. You didn’t want to watch him as he perused the books, sleeves rolled up, forearms thick and corded with muscle. You’d seen him in the fields once assisting with some lambing, his shirt discarded on the grass. He truly was a sight for sore eyes, sturdy and muscular, hair on his chest, his stomach, the way his muscles moved as he worked. You’d woken from a fair few dreams in the weeks that followed, sweating and aroused.
Ridiculous! You shook your head and sat back down. Clearly George had found himself some young thing and was more than content to flaunt her around the town. Why would he look twice at you?
Said young thing was walking back towards the van, a box in her hands. George turned at the sound of her footsteps.
‘They had some?’ He asked her.
She smiled and nodded.
‘Three,’ she said.
‘Perfect!’ George helped her into the van, then turned to you, ‘I’d like to introduce you to someone.’
‘Really?’ You said smiling perhaps the fakest smile you’d ever smiled.
George put his arm around the woman and smiled at her.
‘This is Rebecca,’ he began, ‘she’s…she’s my daughter.’
***
The silence was deafening. Both George and the woman, Rebecca, stared at you. You thought you were saying something but evidently the words were not finding their way out.
‘Are you okay?’ Rebecca asked, sounding concerned.
‘Um..yes!’ Your voice was high pitched and too loud, you coughed, ‘yes yes I’m fine. I was just not…your daughter?’
George looked at Rebecca, smiling. He looked happy, joyous even.
‘Yes. It’s a long story, but...I’m glad that she’s here now.’
‘So am I,’ Rebecca smiled back, then turned to you, ‘George...was telling me about you and I wanted to meet you.’
‘Me? Whatever for?’
She put the box she was holding down on the desk and smiled at you.
‘To thank you for being such a good friend to him,’ she said, ‘for giving him the courage to finally reach out to me. For helping to bring us together.’
You looked at her, confused.
‘But I haven’t done anything?’ you said.
George smiled at you.
‘You have. You did. Even if you didn’t know it. You’ve always been here for me, a friend, a...’
To your shock, George took hold of your hand that was resting on the desk. You looked at him and then at Rebecca, who was beaming from ear to ear. She reached over to the box and opened it.
‘I was going to stick around for a cup of tea but I think I'm going to take this and eat it while I explore,’ she said, taking a cream bun from the box.
She smiled again and walked off, taking a bite of the bun and closing her eyes in delight. You watched George watching her. He looked so happy, like he had finally found a missing piece of himself. He was still holding your hand.
‘I know you came to the caravan last week,’ he said turning to you.
‘Oh.’
‘And I know what you probably thought.’
You looked down at where your hands were still clasped and felt a blush rising.
‘I should have told you she was coming.’
‘It’s your business not mine,’ you mumbled, then looked up at him, ‘when?’
He sighed and took a seat in the chair you kept for the customers.
‘Long time ago. My wife died and I just couldn’t take care of...’ he glanced out of the door of the van, ‘I regretted it every day since. But now we have found each other again.’
‘I’m still not sure how I helped?’
‘How many years have you been coming to the village?’
You thought for a moment.
‘Five or six, I think.’
‘And how many cups of tea have we shared? How much time have we spent chatting?’
You laughed a little.
‘Probably more than we should.’
George smiled.
‘You told me once how taking the first step was the scariest thing in the world, but each step since then has been easier and easier.’
You did remember. You had left your husband, an awful brutish man. He never hit you but he didn’t need to, he hurt you in a hundred other ways. The day you got the courage to walk away from him was the start of the rest of your life.
‘I thought if you could do something like that, something so brave and so terrifying, then what was stopping me from reaching out and contacting Rebecca? You inspired me.’
You swallowed hard. You didn’t think you were capable of any such thing but George spoke with such sincerity, you couldn’t help but realise that he was telling you the truth.
‘So I wanted to thank you for that. And also to ask you something.’
‘Oh?’
He looked down at his hands, shy now.
‘I was talking to Rebecca, telling her about you and she wanted to know why I hadn’t asked you on a date.’
‘A date?’
‘Hmmm.’
‘She said that it was very obvious how much I liked you and I was wasting time.’
‘She did?’
‘She did. What would you say if I did, maybe, ask you to dinner?’
‘Oh...well...George that, I couldn’t...’
You looked at him and George raised an eyebrow.
‘You couldn’t?’
You shook your head.
‘No...of course, I can! I would love to,’ you said.
George smiled and stood up. He took your hand and kissed it. You felt a little dizzy.
‘How about I put the kettle on, then we can eat our buns and decide where to go?’ he said.
You simply nodded.
George turned to the small kitchen and busied himself while you sat heavily back down in your chair. As you sat there, hearing the noise of the kettle boiling you looked up and out of the door. Rebecca was walking back down the road. She looked up and raised an eyebrow. Exactly the same way her father did. She then put her thumb up, then down. You smiled and put your own thumb up. She clapped and spun around, walking back the way she came. George placed a cup on the desk in front of you, then placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.
‘You seem very happy,’ he said.
‘I am,’ you replied.