Episode 26 - Weekending

Sunday 

On Sunday morning Gary got up hungry. He had not done justice to the barbeque, he decided. He sat on Cleo’s side of the bed, held her hand  and whispered

“We need to react to Wetherby’s news.”

“Not before breakfast,” she replied and turned over for another hour of slumber, taking his hand with her.

“OK. I got the message,” said Gary. “Breakfast can wait.”

“Any thought of sleep is now banished,” said Cleo, “so you’d better come a bit closer.”

“Bossing me around again,” said Gary.

“Come anyway.”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” said Gary.

***

At nine o’clock Gary served croissants and coffee on a tray at the bedside, announcing in a butler type voice ‘your breakfast, madam’. He was wearing Cleo’s kimono back to front, which amused Cleo so much that she didn’t have time to think about how early it was.

“Do you want your kimono back?” he asked.

“Not if you promise me to wear it that way round all the time.”

“Not all the time, Cleo,” he said, dropping it to the floor.

“You need a bathrobe, Sweetheart.” said Cleo. “You’ll have to kick the habit of exposing yourself all the time.”

“There’s only us here,“ said Gary.

“I’m talking about when we have company.”

“There’s a bathrobe hanging on a hook in the bathroom, but it’s too small.”

“It would be. It was left there by Jessica Finch. It only fits petite female guests. Do you remember Jessica?”

“That spurious relative of Laura Finch? I never quite understood that family structure.”

“Nobody did, but we could not ask Laura to explain because she was dead when Jessica turned up.”

“I’ll have to read the crime report again.”

“Have some breakfast,“ Cleo said. “I see you brought yourself some coffee and I can’t eat all these croissants by myself. On the other hand, maybe you should put something on first. You are starting to shiver.”

“It’s cool in here, Cleo. I’ll take a quick shower and wear my bath towel. Will that do for now?”

So saying, Gary disappeared into the bathroom and presently Cleo could hear his raucous singing. She decided to buy a waterproof radio. If he was determined to sing, he should have something to sing to.

***

The situation had a nostalgic aspect, Cleo reflected. Quite apart from Robert not singing in the shower, she could not remember him ever having appeared undressed in the morning, or having breakfast in bed, and certainly not appearing anywhere in her kimono. Robert got up very early, either to go to the wholesaler’s or the shop, or because it was the habit of a lifetime. He would shower and dress while Cleo was still asleep and on weekdays he had his fried breakfast on the table by seven.

Nakedness was not something Robert had liked or encouraged. In those days Cleo had had to drag herself out of her warm bed to keep Robert company because he called out until she did, but her kimono was belted tightly round her waist. She did not have breakfast proper  - for her, breakfast was just lashings of coffee and a bagel or. They had non-concurring bio-rhythms. Sleeping late was a luxury Cleo had to go without most days because Robert  thought it was laziness and said so.

But Robert had tried in vain to convert her to his chronological clock and the habit of being fully dressed before he left the bedroom. To complete the disharmony, Robert got tired very early in the evening and went to bed, while Cleo enjoyed an energy renaissance that could last into the early hours.

***

Life was definitely more agreeable with Gary. Their bio-rhythms matched almost perfectly. They also had the same interests, not just in one another, but in classical music and a wide range of other cultural topics in which Robert had no interest.

Listening to Gary’s tuneless vocalising now, Cleo thought he would be happier in a job that started at ten a.m. On normal weekdays he had to be in the office before nine because that was the only way he could get through the work and keep apace with what went on at Headquarters. Flexitime was all very well, but felons interpreted it differently.

“Sorry I woke you earlier, Cleo,” said Gary now, fresh from his shower and smelling of the wonderful musky perfume that knocked Cleo over “I think I’ll get back into bed, just to warm up.”

“If I remember rightly, we did not go to sleep when you last got under my duvet.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Certainly not. Be my guest, again, but we should be at the vicarage before eleven, and before we go,there’s Wetherby to contend with.”

“I’ll just move the breakfast tray, Cleo. I think we need to talk this through. Move over. Anyone who phones can leave a message.”

“So it’s talking though things in the morning, siestas in the afternoon, and business as usual for the rest of our waking hours, is it?” said Cleo.

“I don’t quite know what you mean by business, but that about sums it up, I’d say,” said Gary, “except that you forgot the nightcaps in front of the log fire.”

“I have my singed knees to remind me,” said Cleo.

“I’ll get us a plaid.”

***

“If I told you you were hooked on sex, what would you say?”

“Thank you,” said Gary.

***

At ten the phone rang. Gary answered it only because he could see it was the vicarage number.

“Sorry to disturb you, but would you like chips or fried potatoes for lunch and do you like gooseberry fool?”

Gary told Edith he didn’t mind what they ate, but could they come a bit later? They had overslept.

“It’s just as well the girls stayed here,” said Edith. She was envious of Cleo and Gary’s romance.

***

“Who or what’s gooseberry fool?” Cleo asked, when Gary had requested chips and would let the gooseberry whatever surprise them.

“Pudding,” said Gary. “But my mother was not into gooseberry fools, or any other kind of fool for that matter.”

“It must be some kind of Victorian pudding. Phone back and tell Edith we’d love it. You were not very definite.”

“Not without reason. Gooseberries are sour. They look a bit like greenish grapes, but they’ve got hairs all over them and grit inside. I’ve got a better idea.”

“Were’t we going to talk things through, Gary?”

The coffee in the mugs went cold. Gary eventually got up and put the espresso machine on. He was not ashamed of his nakedness though anyone peering through a window could see him. Walking around with no clothes on was something Cleo had had to get used to, but she was learning. Now she joined Gary in the kitchen.

“I think I know what Adam and Eve must have felt like,” said Gary. “Free as birds.”

“Birds have feathers and Adam had a fig leaf,” said Cleo.

“That’s because he was embarrassed, Cleo, but I’m not embarrassed.”

“Neither am I, Gary. There’s something carefree about nakedness.”

“It’s also useful in certain circumstances.”

“Useful?” said Cleo.

“Appropriate then”

***

The phone rang.

“I’m sure Edith has the same bio-rhythm as Robert,” Cleo commented, when she had finished telling the double-glazing salesperson that she did not need any, especially on a Sunday.

“Why Edith?”

“Do we need double glazing.”

“I’m sure we will, sometime,” said Gary.

Despite it already being quite late, Gary took his hot coffee back to bed. Cleo followed him, but not with an ulterior motive.

“Don’t you think we should get dressed now?” she said.

“I thougth we might indulge in a few more bio-rhythmical minutes,” said Gary.

“That’s a new name for romping  around.” said Cleo. “but I’m thinking chronologically for the moment and that means I’d better take a shower and get into some clothes. Who knows, you might decide to swap your birthday suit for something more respectable for the vicarage.”

***

By the time Cleo and Gary arrived there, Beatrice had also arrived with Anna. Anna and Charlie became instant friends. The girls went up to Edith’s utility room to play with the Barbie dolls Edith had originally bought as a sort of talisman, hoping her last baby would turn out be a girl, but was twin boys instead. PeggySue was sitting in a high chair chewing at a rusk and making quite a mess, since bashing the rusk against the little table was part of the process. Beatrice had told Edith that she was doing too much and should consider refusing to babysit for all and sundry.

“The children need me,” Edith had retorted. “And I need them.”

“Aren’t five boys enough?”

“No and what’s more your brother doesn’t care a hoot about any of us. He’s a dead loss.”

***

Somehow, Frederick Parsnip always managed to hear the final words of statements. He had come into the kitchen for a fill-up of coffee.

“What’s a dead loss?” he wanted to know now.

“You!” said Beatrice.

“Me?”

“Yes, the person who wants to save souls in Africa but ignores those right under his nose,” said Beatrice. “Can’t you see that Edith needs help and support?”

“She only has herself to blame, Beatrice.”

“Well, if that’s your attitude, I can only hope you end up in a tribal cauldron somewhere,” said Beatrice.

Edith doled out another mug of coffee and the vicar left the kitchen without replying to that last taunt or even saying thank you for the coffee.

“He’ll sharpen some more pencils now,” said Edith.

“What are you going to do if he does go off on his missionary trip?”

“He will go. He’s dreamt of going for ten years,” Edith answered. “And I’ll think of something.”

“Or someone?”

“I wasn’t thinking in that direction,” said Edith, blushing a little because that’s exactly what she was thinking.

“Do you know what I think?” said Beatrice. “I think you should take a lover. You deserve a better life than the one you have now, Edith. Even if it is my brother, I have to be objective. Get involved with someone who will love the boys and you, and not just himself.”

“Beatrice,” said Edith, “I’m shocked!”

“No you aren’t. I can see you aren’t and I’ll help you to find someone as long as it isn’t that organist fellow.”

“No, definitely not him.”

Beatrice was suspicious.

“Do you have someone in mind, Edith?”

Edith blushed deeply this time, but said nothing.

“Well, whoever it is, you will probably have my blessing,” Beatrice said just as Frederick came back into the kitchen yet again.

“What blessing?” he asked.

“Never you mind,” said Beatrice.

“What do you want now, Frederick?” said Edith.

”I’ve run out of pencils.”

“You’ve chopped them all up, Frederick,” said Edith.

“What happened to this morning’s service?” Beatrice wanted to know.

“Opening of the local football season,” said the vicar. “They all go to the firat match, so this year I moved the service to 7 p.m. and that also gives me time to finish the sermon.”

You have all week to write your sermon,” said Beatrice.

“I need the pressure,” said Frederick, and that was a thumping lie.

***

Gary and Cleo had had witnessed the kitchen drama wordlessly as they sat at the kitchen table drinking latté. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would have been funny.

Edith led the vicar out of the kitchen. She had saved a stack of pencils donated by parishioners who were of aware of Mr Parsnip’s strange hobby. He was gratified and said he would take lunch with the guests after all.

“You could lay the dining-room table, Frederick,” said Edith.

“No time. Sermon to finish,” he retorted, and fled to the sactuary of his study.

***

“I’ll just get the table laid,” said Edith.

“We’ll do that,” said Gary, and they did.

Lunch, cooked by Edith throughout her interchanges with everyone, consisted of the rest of the barbecue meat roasted in the oven, piles of frozen chips for the kids and a huge salad mixed from the previous evening’s leftovers. There were also fried potatoes for the grown-ups, spiced with onion and chopped gammon. Dorothy had brought her favourite chilli concoction the previous evening and it was not quite used up.

“Wow, Dorothy. Can I have more some of that?” said Gary, as she now put spoonfuls on her plate.

“It’s hot,” she said.

“So am I,” said Gary.

“I didn’t quite get that, Gary,” said Dorothy.

“I meant it literally.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

Gary was amused. Edith was shocked. She did not know that Dorothy and Gary indulged in such repartee quite often. Was he really that hot? Lucky for some, Edith mused.

Beatrice had been very busy feeding PeggySue and deciding that children could be rather nice, after all. As a school teacher she had thought the opposite. As an inspector of schools she had also taken a dislike to parents.

***

Cleo and Gary left soon after lunch, having witnessed  the vicar gobbling up his chips and knawing all his lamb chops and t-bone stsks to the bare bone, after which he marched in and out several times for no apparent reason. Cleo thought he was eavesdropping in easy stages. To stop the coming and going, Beatrice told him to stop being neurotic. Apart from collecting another portion of chips, he did not appear again and might be forgiven for giving the impression that the children were invisible. The boys had been quiet all through the meal. The secret dollop of Dorothy’s hot sauce the older boys had tried did more for their respect of Dorothy for eating her chips topped with it than any piano lesson could have done.

***

Gary was glad to shoulder PeggySue and make for the fresh air. It was time for her siesta.

Cleo had talked to Charlie. She would would stay to play with Anna until suppertime. Gary said he would collect her, but the boys had said they would bring her home. Cleo told Charlie that she should come back to the vicarage after school next day. Cleo was sorry, but Charlie’s Daddy needed her to help him on the murder cases in Frint-on-Sea. Charlie put her arms round Cleo and told her she would look after PeggySue and Mummy should look after Daddy. “He’s a bit of an old woman, sometimes,” she whispered. Cleo thought that was quite astute for such a young person.

***

“You can have coke this time,” said Cleo to the boys . Coke was not drunk at the vicarage. Frederick did not like coke. The boys were impressed.

***

“Edith was quite shocked at the dialogue you bandied with Dorothy,” said Cleo later. “I’ve no idea if Beatrice really approves of you, either. Deep down she’s almost as prudish as her brother.”

“I don’t need her approval. She should take a young lover to revive her libido, or go to Africa with the vicar.”

“She was siding with Edith,” said Cleo.

“It’s probably easier to side with her than deal with all her misery. At least it keeps the peace.”

PeggySue was  squealing with delight as Gary bounced her up and down.

“Didn’t PeggySue go there in a pushchair? said Gary.

“In the car. I took it with us. I’ll phone the boys to bring it.”

“Don’t. The girls will be back at the vicarage tomorrow, won’t they?” said Gary. “I hope they don’t mind.”

“Your daughter says I should look after you, Gary, because you are a bit of an old woman.”

“Did she say that?”

“Well, you are sometimes, Sweetheart.”

“I beg to differ.”

“That’s why I have to go with you to Wales. I must ask her sometime what she thinks of the vicar.”

“Beatrice is bellicose. No wonder the vicar is scared of her.” Said Gary. “I would be.”

***

“It’s our first whole Sunday afternoon together,” said Cleo, to change the subject.

“Undisturbed I hope,” said Gary. “If I catch you doing agency business, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“You sound like Robert,” said Cleo.

“Sorry. Do what you have to do.”

“That’s what he used to say.”

“I take it all back,” said Gary.

“I’ll phone Wetherby and placate him.””Don’t you want to watch Gloria moving into your apartment?”

“Robert will be helping her. He can’t wait to get back into his own place,” said Gary.

“She’ll cope without me,” said Cleo. “She’ll argue that she crossed the Ocean, so moving a few miles down the road is chicken feed.”

“Maybe Romano is helping her. He adores her.”

“He does? She never said anything,” said Cleo.

“She might not know.”

***

“Charlie won’t be home before six and PeggySue needs her siesta, Gary. That leaves us to our own devices for an hour or two, doesn’t it.”

***

It would have been a perfect afternoon if Gary had been able to stop worrying about what was happening in North Wales. Cleo had a guilty conscience about her cursory message to Wetherby’s answering machine. She also had mixed feelings about her agency. Only Dorothy seemed to have had any successes.

Edith would be taking the girls again from Monday because Cleo had to break her promise to herself and drive to Frint-on-Sea to meet Wetherby and help Gary if he needed her. Cleo wanted Wetherby to checking on a couple of issues ahead of her being there, so she could not avoid phoning him on Sunday evening.

Gary agreed that just driving to North Wales would not settle anything, so he rang Brass on Sunday evening to discuss the emails he had received the previous day and not even read until just now.

***

Cleo did some online research into the identification of animals involved in crimes. She had not met Mrs Grant, but if the woman had been savaged, it was possible that one of the dogs in the Woof club had been the culprit.

“Do all dogs have a license in this country?” she asked Gary.

“Dogs should be registered,” he replied.

“So all the dogs in the Woof club will be registered, won’t they?”

“I should think so. The RSPCA watch out for strays and I should not think a stray would be taken for walkies in the context of a dog club.”

“Then we need to get all the DNA of all the dogs registered in that club, don’t we, if only to rule them out?”

“I expect O’Reilly has already thought of that. He’s in charge up there.”

“What if he hasn’t, Gary? Could you phone him and ask?”

“Now? It’s quite late.”

“As soon as possible, Gary.”

“OK. Now.”

Gary rang O’Reilly’s mobile number and asked him if he had done anything about the dogs in the case of Mrs Grant’s killing. O’Reilly was surprised at how involved Gary was.

On being asked to supply further detains, O’Reilly grudgingly told Gary that Mrs Grant had been feeding the seagulls on the beach  – an occupation much frowned on by many – when she was attacked. He knew that because she had a bag of crusts in one hand. It was a dull day and the tide was on the turn, so the gulls were flying low and inland. No one seemed to have seen the incident, although Mrs Grant must have screamed for help.

O’Reilly was glad that he had investigated a bit. He was able to tell Gary that Mrs Grant’s neighbours had said she often fed the gulls. She liked the fresh air and now she had to walk the dog she was having to care for while her husband was behind bars. Apparently she disliked dogs and had done since her little cat had been slaughtered by Mr Grant’s dog. He had told her the cat should have been quicker. Mrs Grant had not liked Mr Grant after that, either.

Gary conjectured that if Mrs Grant had not had the dog with her, it could not have attacked her. If she had the dog with her, it would probably have defended her. They were not looking for Grant’s dog. However, Gary wanted to tap into any suspicions O’Reilly may have had.

“So you don’t think Grant’s dog could have been the attacker, O’Reilly,” Gary said.

“Mrs Grant was not out with the dog so it must have been in the compound,” said O’Reilly.

“How do you know she was not out with the dog?”

“Because the dog would have upset the gulls and she would not have been able to feed them,” said O’Reilly.

“That’s a good reason,” said Gary. “So the rant’s had a compound in their back garden.”

“It wasn’t a dinky household pet. Those big dogs seldom are,” sad O’Reilly.

“Have you checked who else has a key of the compound, assuming it was kept locked?” Gary said.

“Not yet.”

O’Reillly could have kicked himself for not thinking of that.

“It could have been Grant’s dog after all, couldn’t it, if someone let it out?”

“A friend of Grant’s took the dog for a long walk every evening. Theoretically he could have let the dog out, but why should he? He could not have known Mrs Grant was out.”

“He might have checked, or known that she fed the gulls regularly, O’Reilly.”

“Oh hell. I never thought of that.”

“Where is the Grant dog now?”

“At the local animal sanctuary, Gary.”

“So none of the Woof club took it in care.”

“It seems not.”

“Can you get DNA from that animal today?”

“That should be possible.”

“We need to know if that dog is guilty. If it is, it might have been set on Mrs Grant deliberately by someone with a grudge,” Gary explained. “Somebody who then completed the job with a knife. If it isn’t, we will have to get the DNA of all the dogs in the Woof club though that  does not tell us who stabbed Mrs Grant.”

“That’s a tall order,” said O’Reilly.

“Someone might have set a dog on Mrs Grant. We can also find out from traces of dog saliva in the bite wounds whether more than one dog was involved. That would be the first step.”

“You think she was murdered in cold blood, don’t you?” said O’Reilly.

“Don’t you? The stabbing was not accidental. Stabbing in the back an’t be.”

“But it might have been to cover up the tracks of the dog or dogs.”

“You mean, distract the police from making inquiries about them?”

“Yes.”

“For a start, that would still be murder. Who would have a reason to do that? The dog attack could be called an accident, but stabbing can’t.”

“Then someone had it in for Mrs Grant.”

“That’s exactly what I think and forensics will have to work overtime to get in before the guilty dog is destroyed. Incineration would destroy all the evidence and the owner of the dog would get away with murder – murder committed on behalf of whoever set it on Mrs Grant and possibly a stabbing committed by the same person.”

“Now you say that, it all seems very logical. But why kill Mrs Grant?”

“That’s something else we’ll have to find out, Pat, but first we need the guilty dog or dogs. They tend to repeat their killing experience once they have tasted blood. We don’t want any kids to be harmed, do we?”

“Of course not, Gary. I’ll give the investigation top priority.”

“The person who set the dog on Mrs Grant is guilty, not the dog, Pat, since the dog merely followed its instincts, but it probably means that the dog has been trained to attack when commanded to, and will have to be put down. It is also possible that something Mrs Grant wore was used to show the scent to the dog. Look around in the compound. We are in all probability dealing with premeditated murder.”

“Good God!” said O’Reilly. “I’ve experienced plenty of evil down the years, but that takes the biscuit. It has all the features of the perfect crime.”

“Except that the killer stepped in with the knife instead of letting the dog finish the job. I’ll be in Frint-on-Sea from tomorrow afternoon, Pat, and I’ll stay until all the current murders have been solved, however long that takes.”

“I’m glad about that. I’ll get onto the dogs straightaway.”

“Thanks, Pat. I’m sorry to spoil your Sunday.”

“It doesn’t seem to be your day of rest, either,” said O’Reilly before ringing off.

***

A short call to Roger Stone gave Gary the all clear to deal with the North Wales cases. His boss knew how important it was to Gary and how the weaknesses in the  police organization in Frint-on-Sea needed to be looked at. For almost the first time in Stone’s memory, Gary was actually happy in his job. Roger would not have admitted it, but he wanted Gary to stay at HQ and it had looked as if he would quit after his burnout treatment.

It had taken the support of a woman of Cleo’s integrity and format to get over that, he reflected. He was sorry he had found no one comparable. His wife was serving life for murder. It was only thanks to the support of his colleagues, Gary in particular, that he himself still had a job.

“I don’t think I’ll be away long, Roger,” Gary assured him.” But the wife of the guy charged with murdering that brothel manageress was mauled by a dog and stabbed to death yesterday.”

“What sort of a nest is that place! Good luck, Gary.”

“We’ll need it, Roger, especially if forensics is as slow as it has been up to now.”

***

Cleo’s second call to Wetherby was short. He knew a lot about the characters in the Woof club. He had also looked into Dr Smith’s activities since he was released. The doctor was being observed by the police, but had behaved in a totally unsuspicious way and was apparently leaving for the next conference on Tuesday. Wetherby had witnessed him buying a rail ticket to Glasgow. Otherwise, Dr Smith had done nothing unusual and had not attempted to approach Angie Ealing.

“I seem to remember that Smith said his next conference was in the North of England,” said Cleo. “You’d better check that out, Frank. Is there a conference in Glasgow? He may be going to two, of course.”

Cleo thought it would be a help if they could strike Dr Smith off the list of suspects. With Sergeant Llewellyn’s case on a shaky footing it might also mean that there was someone unknown involved and the descriptions of various observers at seaside towns where hookers had been killed was unreliable.

“Sergeant O’Reilly is run off his feet with the lover-boy case,” Wetherby said. “I think they are looking for someone to pin the murder onto, but have had no luck so far. Young girls don’t talk about their secret loves. It’s impossible to know who is going to be the next victim.”

“Who passes information on to you, Wetherby?” said Cleo.

“I can’t reveal that, Cleo. Informers don’t like being informed on.”

“Sorry. I should not have asked. I’ll be over tomorrow.  Gary is going to finish off all the cases, including Mrs Grant’s murder.”

“Nasty business, that. Could be revenge”

“For what, Wetherby?”

“A couple of dogs died from poisoned dried food and they never found out who.”

“Have you tried? Did she have a motive?”

“One of her tiny rat-like dogs was killed by a dog on the beach. She might have recognized which one it was. Now she’s dead I might hear some interesting stories.”

“I’ll phone you when we arrive. Send me a bank account link, Frank, then I can transfer some money.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

***

Cleo sat pondering over that phone call with Wetherby.

“I heard you ask that guy who informed him, Cleo,” said Gary. “I think it was probably Brass, but knowing that would compromise Brass and we can’t afford to put his back up. He hinted that he has a vast amount of documentation about the goings-on at the Town Hall and sent me some of it. Amazing stuff, and he can’t have obtained all of it legally.”

“May I look at it?”

“Help yourself. I’ll go and see where my big daughter is. She should be home by now.”

“Phone the vicarage and check if she’s there.”

“Don’t frighten me, Cleo. If she isn’t there and isn’t here, where the hell is she?”

To Gary’s relief, he only got as far as the garden gate before bumping into Charlie, escorted home by the oldest Parsnip boys. They were eating chips.

“Did you go to the chip shop instead of coming straight home?” Gary shouted. “Don’t ever do that again, Charlie. You had us really worried.”

“She as safe as houses with us, Sir,” the boys said.

“None of you is safe,” said Gary, as Cleo appeared at the front door after hearing the shouting.

“Come on in, kids,” she said. “We were only a tiny bit worried, weren’t we, Gary?”

The children galloped into the kitchen and Cleo hooked an arm through Gary’s and told him to cool it.

“The hell I will if Charlie starts playing that kind of game,” said Gary. “I care so much about her.”

“And I care just as much about you,” said Cleo. “Take it easy. Charlie’s safe with the Parsnip boys!”

Gary turned to look at Cleo.

“Je t’aime,” he said.

“Moi aussi,” she replied.

They were still locked in an embrace when the children came to the door and cheered.

“Are you going to marry my Daddy?” Charlie wanted to know.

“Do you want me to, Charlie?”

“Yes, please,” said the little girl. “Can you make me a little brother, too?”

 “I hope this is one,” said Cleo, patting her modest baby bump..

“Je t’aime, Cleo,” the little girl said, putting her arms around Cleo’s hips and nestling her head against the baby bump.

“Moi aussi, Charlie,” said Cleo, stroking the little girl’s hair.

The Parsnip boys just looked on in wonder.

***

“You were right, Cleo. It has got even better,” said Gary, when the boys had drained the coke bottles and gone home. Charlie was giving PeggySue and herself some of the soft summer fruits they loved. Gary got his cell phone out and took some snaps.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” he said.

“It just goes to show that the end is also the beginning. Close one door and another will open,” said Cleo. “I just wish I had not taken so long to realize that it also applies to me.”