Fancy Man by Paul Magrs

Author:Paul Magrs [Magrs, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, Fantasy, Contemporary
ISBN: 1590216547
Google: qzqquQEACAAJ
Amazon: B07H1GSS2J
Barnesnoble: B07H1GSS2J
Goodreads: 40916427
Publisher: Lethe Press
Published: 2018-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SEVEN

All the way there he wanted to make jokes about it. When they walked up the beach in a procession he wanted to laugh at the motley bunch they made, carrying rugs, foldaway chairs, a couple of battered hampers. They walked slowly, letting him take the lead, letting him find their spot on the deserted beach. Anne walked with him, a tartan rug bundled up in her arms. He wanted to laugh and ask her if this was his funeral procession: were they going to push him out to sea as a lost cause, watching him dwindle away on the grey, distant water? But something held Pat back from laughing. He was touched they’d all come out with him today. What a rabble they were, though.

“The good Lord’s smiling on us with the weather,” Anne said, startling him.

“The who?” he said. “Since when did you…”

“Since you stopped asking,” she said wryly, still staring at the clear, November sky. The warmth was quite puzzling. “I’ve not had a complete conversion. You needn’t worry.”

“A devout Anne is something worth thinking about,” he smiled.

“I’ve thought about God, this past year,” she said. “Even before our Lindsey died. Ralph’s very big on God, of course. Pictures on his walls. A Catholic.”

The old man’s mind had gone blank. “Ralph?”

“You see how little you ask?” she said gently. “Ralph’s my man.”

“Your man. Of course. You don’t talk about him much.”

She shrugged.

“You’ve become part of the family again, Anne.”

She looked at him. “What a funny year it’s been.”

They were heading towards a soft hollow of pale sand, set back from the tide. Tussocks of stiff, sun-faded grass kept it in shelter. “Why not here?” he asked, and flapped his arms briefly to alert the others.

“I’m glad,” he said, sitting down carefully, testing the ground. “I’m glad that I won’t have to think about next year. The years keep on getting more and more complicated.”

“I know,” she said.

“I just want Christmas. I want it to be a success. Will you stay here for Christmas, Anne?”

“Yes, of course. Ralph isn’t expecting me back in Newton Aycliffe.”

“You’ve been away months…”

“He’s always busy. He holds these Crusades, in his house. Saving people.”

“One of that sort,” said Pat, amused.

“So we’ll have a… family Christmas.”

“Funny family we’ve got.”

They watched the others settling themselves, ranging at close but separate spaces on the sand. Wendy was with Timon and Belinda and hearing about Belinda’s trips here as a youngster, about plunging into the freezing sea. How purging it was. She was laughing, throwing back her head. Her brother, the Captain, still in his immaculate yellow coat, was actually carrying Astrid, who had brought her chair, but who knew it wouldn’t run on sand. Gallantly the Captain had lent a hand. Her single long plait bobbed on his shoulder. He set her down on a blanket, which Anne was smoothing out. “Here we are,” said Anne. “All settled.” It was just past lunchtime, the best part of the day.

Colin was talking with David, who’d brought them the van and driven them here.

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