Second Chance Read Free

do anything about it. Things sometimes get better if you just leave them alone.
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    There’s a knock on the door. It’s an effort to get back to the present.
    It’s Gwenda Rees, a pretty, dark-haired woman, with a cat in a basket: Arthur. He looks around him but doesn’t bother to get out, not at all sure, it seems, whether he intends to stay. I stroke his head and smile at Gwenda Rees. ‘Do sit down. How kind of you to bring him back. No, we’ve never met before. Hello, Arthur. I wonder if he’d like to come back to London with me. Do you know how old he is?’
    â€˜I don’t think your mother knew. He arrived here one day fully grown and determined to stay. But I think she must have had him two or three years. One of my lads used to come up and leave him a bowl of milk out the back when she was away visiting you. Yes, I’ve got two boys, Gareth and Dafydd. Two villains... You never came home much lately, did you? Well, you were always busy, that was it. Your mother was always telling us how busy you were. Not your fault.’
    â€˜It was easier for her to visit me, Mrs Rees. She liked London. Liked the shops.’
    â€˜Oh, I know. We heard all about it, girl. Harrods’ Food Hall. No such place in the world, according to her... And Gwenda I am, by the way. No one round here calls me Mrs Rees. But your mother, now, was always Mrs Rivers, never Miriam. She didn’t like anyone being too familiar. Her age, I suppose. When you’re older, you gather these shreds of dignity around you. What else have you got? Well, she had London, fair play. Not an easy life, by all accounts, but a daughter doing well and showing her the sights. And buying her smart clothes too. A hundred and sixty pounds that last navy-blue suit was, according to her, all except a penny. You’ve got nothing to blame yourself for, nothing at all.’
    We were both fully aware of how guilty I felt. ‘I had her to stay for a week twice a year, spring and autumn. If I happened to be rehearsing, Mrs Heathfield, my help, used to call and take her to Oxford Street by taxi.’
    â€˜There you are. You did your best. Hamper every Christmas. Bottle of French brandy. I always called for my Christmas drink.’
    We fell silent. Arthur yawned delicately. And then, with a minimum of effort, obviously unwilling to show any trace of eagerness, got out of the basket.
    â€˜She didn’t even tell me about Arthur. Not a word.’
    â€˜What is there to say about Arthur? Black and white cat, bit of a thief. What else can you say about Arthur?’
    â€˜He’s a fine cat.’
    â€˜Oh yes. Handsome enough. Keep him in for a few days to make him settle again. He wouldn’t take to London, though. He likes a bit of hunting, does Arthur.’
    â€˜I’ve got a big garden.’
    â€˜Oh, I know that, girl. Patio. Floodlights. Landscaped garden, 170 feet long. And your friend going out at midnight with a torch to examine the strawberries. Will he be coming to the funeral, say?’
    â€˜I think so. He was away when I got the news, but I’ll be talking to him as soon as he gets back.’
    â€˜Will you keep this house, or sell it? There’s young folk in the village would be very eager to have it, but I dare say it would make more money as a holiday home.’
    â€˜I haven’t thought about it yet. Perhaps I’ll keep it for my retirement.’
    â€˜You won’t retire for many years yet, girl. You look very young on the telly. Though I know you’re older than I am, you were already in the Juniors when I started in the Infants. Gwenda Parry I was then. No, why should you remember the small fry? Only I always tell people, “Kate Rivers? I was in school with her.” Oh, your mother always let us know when you were on.’
    There was another silence, both of us concentrating our attention on Arthur who was sitting hunched up on the hearthrug, his body