So here he was, sweeping up leaves to put into the compost bins to feed the garden next year. Killing time. Wondering, with a heavy heart, what to do.
Next year, he thought, and paused.
Would he still be here, then? He didn’t think so. Some people could settle for platonic love, but he wasn’t one of them. He was a passionate man. It would break his heart, but he knew that he would go, one day soon.
‘Hey! Rufus, you big bazoo!’
The shouting male voice startled him out of his thoughts. He paused, looked up. No one ever came here. Oh, the grocery van called by, and the postman and the milkman, but they never actually had visitors, as such.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was his old mate Rory, striding towards him. A battered Land Rover was parked up near the open gate.
‘Rory!’ Rufus’s big face split in a grin. ‘Is it really you?’
‘Who else d’you think it is, feckin’ Santa Claus?’ Rory ran over, laughing. He looked exactly the same, a little thinner maybe, his face with a few fresh lines. Rory hugged him and they both laughed.
‘Well, what the hell are you doing out here in the arse-end of nowhere?’ asked Rufus, pushing his mate back a step, his brow crinkling. ‘How did you know I was here?’
Rory shrugged. ‘How the hell would I? I didn’t. But I was down this way doing a bit of horse trading, and I remembered your relatives had this place and I wondered if they were still here, living in the grand style, and whether they could give me news of you. And here you are! Large as life and twice as ugly.’
‘It’s good to see you, boy,’ said Rufus in real delight. ‘Come away inside and let’s have a drink to celebrate.’
‘And how’s Megan?’ asked Rufus as they sat drinking late into the night. Davey and his wife had gone on to bed, and so had Orla. Rory had been amazed to find her there, but had said nothing. He’d heard Orla and her brother Redmond had vanished a while back, that they were dead by all accounts, or abroad and keeping out of the way of the law – yet here she was, in the flesh. He thought it best not to pry. Orla had been polite to him, but not effusive. She had cooked them all a good dinner, then said she was tired and gone off to her room.
Rufus didn’t tell Rory that he knew Megan had betrayed him all those years ago, summoning Don’s men the moment his back was turned. Only good luck and keen eyesight had saved his arse that day, and he couldn’t forgive the cow for it. But it hadn’t been Rory’s fault.
‘We split up. About a year after little Diarmuid was born.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rufus, although he wasn’t. He thought Rory could do a lot better than