As they walked the streets of Bourton, every person she passed who had a dog on a lead, no matter how grand or ugly the dog was (indeed, she lavished more affection on the ugly ones), she would stop the owner with a joyful cry and beg, “Can I pet your dog?” Unwilling, or more likely, unable to decline her friendly request and her sunny smile, the owners would acquiesce. She’d then crouch, ruffle the dog’s fur and accept sloppy kisses all over her face and hands. All the while she cooed at the dogs and she and the Godwins would engage the owners in friendly conversation about any subject that came to mind – the unseasonably warm weather, the beauty of Bourton, dogs and what they thought of the ever-increasing danger of the greenhouse effect.
Then they’d stopped at a tea shop for cream teas on the way home. As they were all relaxing over their scones, clotted cream and jam, Sibyl was staring out the window with rapt attention. Moments later, without a word, she abruptly ran from the table and out into the sunny back garden. As she approached she startled a family who were lazing in the warm day at a picnic table. She was talking intently and gesturing carefully and then she herded them solicitously into the tea shop. To Colin’s stunned surprise, the family joined Colin and the Godwins for tea, crowding around a too small table, while they thanked Sibyl profusely for warning them of the beehive that nestled in the tree above their picnic table.
Not done, Sibyl sought out the owners of the tea shop to inform them of the hive. Then she stood outside in the garden with the owners, Bertie and Mags, discussing (at length) what was to be done about the beehive while Colin sat with Scarlett, his legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles, as he took in the scene. He was prepared, if necessary, to haul Sibyl, kicking and screaming (he had no doubt), to the car if she tried to climb a ladder and see to the hive herself.
“Nothing to say?” Colin offered Scarlett her opening, not taking his eyes from Sibyl.
“Not right now,” Scarlett answered, not taking her eyes from Colin.
Sunday he went to work in the morning and at noon he left to meet Sibyl and the Godwins on the seafront. When he arrived he found Bertie seated on a blanket in the grass with the remains of what appeared to be a vegetarian picnic. Mags was five feet away, talking animatedly to two women who both had babies in prams. Colin took in Mags, her red hair not faded but streaked with comely shafts of white, wearing a bright, gauzy concoction that looked delicate enough to disintegrate at a hint of wind.
After greeting Bertie, Colin asked, “Where are Sibyl and Scarlett?”
Bertie tilted his head across the green and Colin saw both sisters (Sibyl wearing a tight-fitting, faded, oft-worn Grateful Dead t-shirt and her daringly torn jeans, Scarlett wearing a pair of black capri pants and an emerald green fitted, scoop-necked t-shirt) playing Frisbee with five men.
Colin watched for precisely thirty-eight seconds (Bertie timed him). Then he saw one of the men semi-tackle Sibyl, wrapping his arms about her middle and whirling her away from the Frisbee she was trying to catch. Her deep laugh filled the air at what she thought was friendly frolicking and Colin knew was anything but.
Without hesitation, Colin prowled toward them and Sibyl caught sight of him.
“Colin!” she cried as she smiled and ran to him, skidding to a bare-footed halt inches away, her golden hair flying in an attractive mess about her shoulders. She touched him with a hand at his waist, hooking her thumb in a belt loop at the side of his jeans and leaned in to ask playfully, “Do you want to play Frisbee?” and she asked this as she pulled her heavy, gorgeous hair away from her face with her other hand.
“No,” he stated shortly.
Her face fell and he ignored it, dragged her against his body and kissed her hard on the lips.
When he lifted his head, she stared up at him, stupefied.
Then she breathed, “What was that for?”
Colin looked about the green at five crestfallen male faces and Scarlett’s knowing one and said, “Just making things clear.”
He dropped his arm, not waiting for her reply, turned and walked back to Bertie, settling down beside him on the grass, one leg stretched out, one knee bent, his wrist dangling on his knee.
Bertie was silent for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Welcome to my nightmare.”
Colin’s eyes reluctantly left Sibyl, slid to her father and he asked, “I’m sorry?”
Bertie again indicated his two daughters playing what was now a far more lackadaisical game of Frisbee and Colin glanced that way. Regardless if the men took Colin’s possessive gesture in the spirit it was intended and backed off entirely, that didn’t mean the magnificent sight of Sibyl and Scarlett racing around after a Frisbee wasn’t the height of entertainment for most of the men on the seafront.
“I must say, Colin, I’m happy to have you around,” Bertie told him.
“Why’s that?” Colin enquired, giving Sibyl’s father his full attention.
“A problem shared is a problem halved, in my case, literally.”
At his comment, Colin threw his head back and laughed, as did Bertie.
When he’d controlled his hilarity, Colin told the older man with a hint of admiration, “I can’t imagine how you did it for all these years.”
“I’ve lost three inches and all my hair, so count yourself warned,” Bertie stated then asked, “Do you have a plan?”
“I’m taking it day by day,” Colin answered on a smile.
Bertie nodded with approval. “That’s a good plan.”
“What are you talking about?” Mags queried as she joined them.
“Nothing,” Bertie replied after he accepted a swift, but rather ardent, kiss from his wife.