One Summer's Afternoon (Short Story) by Tilly Bagshawe

Author:Tilly Bagshawe [Tilly Bagshawe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

FRIDAY

About twelve miles from Fittlescombe, the Long Man of Wilmington was probably the South Downs’ most famous landmark. For generations the two-hundred-foot-tall figure of a man carved into the chalk hillside was believed to be profoundly ancient, of Iron Age or even Neolithic origin. Recently, however, scientists had discovered that the man was probably first carved out in the seventeenth century, a mere four hundred and fifty years ago. The discovery had done little to deter the droves of tourists and walkers who flocked to Wilmington, especially in summer. Luckily, being a local boy, Will knew all the best off-the-beaten-track picnic spots in the area. Laying out his grandmother’s huge old tartan blanket in the shade of an ancient, wizened oak, he knew he had found the perfect, private position for his perfect, private afternoon with Emma, without a Lycra-clad walker in sight.

For once it seemed as if everything was in his favour. The weather was glorious, warm but not too hot, with the gentlest of breezes rustling through the tall grass around them as they lay back and gazed up at the cloudless blue sky. Fifty feet down the hill, a tiny brook, one of the many tributaries of the River Swell, rippled away merrily, its fast-running water providing a backing track to the birdsong that filled the air. Emma, of course, looked perfect in a white-crocheted sundress that barely skimmed the tops of her brown thighs, with her long blonde hair rippling over her shoulders and down her back like poured buttermilk. Better yet, she appeared to be in an unusually good mood, complimenting Will on everything from his aftershave to the food, a veritable feast of pork pies, salad, white Kentish cherries, ham and Gruyère quiche and delicious chilled champagne.

‘I’m glad we did this,’ Emma sighed, rolling over onto her stomach and reaching out for another handful of cherries.

‘Me too,’ said Will.

‘Lying here like this, it’s hard to believe we’ll both have to be back at work in London on Monday, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, God!’ Will groaned. ‘Please let’s not think about that.’

He poured them both more champagne, then lay back against the hillside, watching a monarch butterfly swoop gracefully past them. There would never be a better moment to do what he’d come here to do – to tell Emma truthfully how he felt about her, how he’d always felt about her. And yet, even with the buzz of the champagne, he was so nervous that his heart threatened to leap out of his chest.

‘How was practice?’ Emma asked idly. ‘Are you confident about tomorrow?’

I don’t care about tomorrow, Will felt like saying. All I care about is you.

Aloud he said, ‘We’re as prepared as we can be. From what I hear, Brockhurst have barely practised at all since they brought de la Cruz into the team. We’re hoping pride may come before a fall.’

Emma closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. She had dinner with Santiago tonight, a real date, and had butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it, although of course she hadn’t mentioned this to Will.

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