used to do as a child. Any time we indulged in alfresco chips, my dad and I would try to match them up to something: the shape of the waves or a windbreaker, the moon or a wonky chimney pot. It makes me realise that I’ve not done this in my adult life. Not wanting to dwell on the past, but next to George, in this moment, I carry on. The chip isn’t a perfect match, so I eat it and try the next one and the one after that. Rather than ask me what I’m up to, George joins in. It takes a while, but we soon have two chips that are the same shape as the moon.
Once I say goodbye to George, I head to bed. On my dresser, I place the two crescent-shaped chips.
If anyone looks close enough, they might think it was meant to be the shape of a heart.
It’s one of life’s simple pleasures, but making Lucy a herbal tea the next morning really defines the meaning. Her not being here has made me more aware of how much I love having her about, even if she is a klutz at times. She’s my klutz.
‘I could get used to this you know,’ she says.
‘And so you shall, for a while. But no milking it.’
‘Do you want some help today? At Clive’s?’
‘No milking it, but no overdoing it either! You need to take it easy now you’re back home.’
‘Spoilsport! I want you to fill me in this evening.’
I leave Lucy with everything she needs and instructions to behave. Hopefully I won’t need to start adding Post-it notes around the house.
On the way to Clive’s, I decide to pop in to the café to see the man in question and find out how Tess is getting on with having him to stay.
As the café isn’t open yet, I join Tess in the kitchen as she carries out the morning prep.
‘Oh my God, that’s so romantic,’ Tess declares when I relay the details of the previous day. It is early, but she is busy making a Moroccan lamb tagine ready to serve on the specials menu. She opens later on a Sunday, but many of the local residents come for a delicious lunch.
‘What’s romantic about that?’ Getting sweaty and dusty doesn’t strike me as romantic in the slightest.
‘You shared a cone of chips by moonlight. If you ask me, that’s the pinnacle of romance right there.’
‘There was a lot more to the day than that.’ I glance towards the door that leads to the stairs and the flat above. ‘Is Clive okay?’
‘He’s fine. He doesn’t like to get up until what he calls a more sociable hour. I don’t blame him, but this place needs an early bird like me to run things. Does this mean the search is over then?’ Tess asks.
I think about the photo. About how I’d not been searching for clues, but it revealed itself to me anyway. ‘The search for what?’
‘The love of your life. If you’ve made it to date number two with George, can we wipe the board clean and call our experiment a success?’
‘It wasn’t a date. We’re just helping Clive. The board can remain.’
‘Spoilsport.’
‘You’re the second person to say that today. I’m only making sure you don’t have your heart broken when your fantasy matchmaking doesn’t work out.’
‘We’ll let the search continue then.’
‘Is there anything I can do before I set off?’
‘You can wash up those few bits for me, if you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not.’ It seems the least I can do seeing as she’s supplying me with much-needed caffeine this morning.
As the water runs, the sound gives me the chance to whisper to Tess. I decide I need to tell someone about what I’ve come across.
‘I found an old photo. It was hidden away. It must be at least fifty years old. It’s Clive when he’s younger with a woman. I can’t help but think it’s Nancy.’
The relief of sharing the discovery is immediate. I know Tess will provide sensible advice.
Tess stops what she’s doing, the prepping of ingredients no longer important.
‘How would we find out if it’s her?’
‘I don’t know other than showing Clive. I don’t think that’s a good idea, though. He’s had enough heartache. If it is her, what would seeing it do to him? There’s nothing to indicate it is Nancy, but I just have this feeling. I know I have a preference for accuracy, and I wouldn’t normally consider my so-called sixth