He dressed in the trousers and shirt that he had bought with Lucy in Paris and stuffed the shirt that smelled of Sylvie into the wash basket. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror he was surprised to see that he looked good. His hair had grown longer on top. By now Miriam would insist he visit the barber in the village, but he quite liked it. He reached up and gave it a ruffle.
For just a moment he considered taking up his old routine, to make sense of the day. He caught himself looking at his watch, to see if it was time to make his toast yet. But then he thought, Sod it. He was going to go with the flow today, see what happened.
In the kitchen he ate an apple while he stood barefoot looking out of the window over the garden. He was surprised to see that the fencing around the garden looked much too high. Why had he and Miriam ever chosen such a tall structure that blocked out the view of their neighbors’ gardens? A small picket-style fence would be better.
There were only three charms left to discover the stories behind. His only lead, however, was a name. Sonny Yardley. Even though he racked his brains he couldn’t recall Miriam ever mentioning anyone called Sonny.
He started his search with the phone directory, running his finger carefully down the Y’s. There were two S. Yardleys listed, but when he phoned, one was a Steve and the other was a Stuart. He supposed she could have married and changed her name, or she might not even be alive any longer. Frustrated that he didn’t have the resources to carry on his search, he cleaned the house from top to bottom. This wasn’t as part of his routine, but because it needed it. Having been out and about for the best part of two weeks, there was a thin layer of dust covering every surface. He sang the tune played by the accordionist in the little bar that he had visited with Sylvie. He watered Frederica and placed her outside in the rockery so she could get some fresh air.
He had just made himself a ham sandwich and glass of milk when the doorbell rang. Bernadette. He jumped to his feet, then ran a hand over his new shirt. He didn’t even think about going into National Trust statue mode. It would be really good to see her. He was sure she would like to hear about Paris. He had even bought her a small gift—a cotton lavender bag with a bird carrying an envelope embroidered on it. Smiling, he opened the door. He was most surprised to find that it was Nathan rather than Bernadette who stood on his doorstep.
“All right, Tiger Man.”
“Oh. Nathan. Hello.”
“You weren’t expecting me, right?”
“No, er, I thought it might be your mum.”
“Is she not here?” Nathan said. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His white T-shirt was printed with large black capital letters. Parental Advice.
“No. I haven’t seen her. I’ve been to France with my daughter.”
He expected the young man to shrug and shuffle off, to mumble that he’d find her elsewhere, but he stayed put as if rooted to the doorstep. They looked at each other. “Would you perhaps like to come in for a cup of tea?” Arthur asked.
Nathan shrugged but came inside.
“Go through. Please. Make yourself at home.”
“Your house is a bit like ours.” Nathan walked into the sitting room. He sank into the sofa and swung his legs over the arm. “It’s the same layout, except Mum likes loud colors, obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “Yours is kind of all neutral and calm.”
“Really? It’s looking kind of old-fashioned to me.”
Nathan shrugged. “Looks fine.”
Again there was a strange silence, as if they were both waiting for the other to speak, or as they realized that they actually had nothing to say. “I’ll put the kettle on,” Arthur said.
He bustled out and made a pot of tea in the kitchen and then added a saucer of cookies to the tray. When he carried it through he found Nathan was studying his photographs on the mantelpiece. There were a couple of the kids when they were toddlers and a family shot taken on Lucy’s eighteenth, when they had hired the local community hall and Vera from the post office turned up even though she hadn’t been invited.
“Did you find Fran?ois De Chauffant?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. I visited his house.” He set the tea tray down. “It was the address you gave me.”
“A big white mansiony thing?”
“That’s the one.”
Nathan clicked his tongue and sat back down. “That’s pretty cool, you know, visiting a living legend. Was his house, like, lined with loads of books? Did he swan around in a velvet dressing gown while smoking those thin cigar things? I bet he had a girlfriend and she was only twenty-one or something.”
Arthur thought about the wizened old man who sat alone in the attic. However, he didn’t want to shatter Nathan’s illusions. “It was a most enlightening visit,” he said. “Yes, he had lots of books. He was rather, er, busy so I only stayed a short while.”
“Did you get his autograph?”
“No. I didn’t. But I did get a book of his poetry.”
“Cool. Can I take a look?”
Arthur then remembered when he’d last seen it, glowing orange under a streetlamp on a bench in London. “I’m afraid that I promptly lost it.”
“Oh.” Nathan looked down. His bangs flopped over his face.
Arthur poured the tea and held a cup out. “I was actually going to call on your help.”
“Yeah?”
“I once overheard Vera in the post office talking about something called Bookface. Apparently you can look people’s names up, to try and find them.” Or stalk them, in the case of Vera, who was trying to locate an ex from her school days. “I need to find another person.”
“You mean Facebook?”
“Oh, do I? Facebook, then. What does it do?”
“Like the biddy at the post office says, you can look people up and ‘friend’ them online, post statuses, upload pics and stuff.”
This was like a foreign language but Arthur nodded as if he understood.
“It was, like, sick once but now everyone is so over it, unless you’re ancient. All the thirty-pluses use it.”
“I’m trying to find a Sonny Yardley. Could you use your computer skills to help me?”
Nathan slurped his tea noisily. “I’ll look tonight for you. My phone is playing up. Do you know that everyone who has an iPhone drops it? Mine went down the bog this morning. Do you have any more on this Sonny? How old?”
“Around my age.”
“Jurassic period, ha, ha.”
“Definitely prehistoric.”
“Leave it with me.”
They drank their tea and Nathan ate all the cookies. “So you can’t find your mum,” Arthur said.
“No. She’s probably in the village, looking out for her lost causes.”
“She’s a very kind lady, your mum.”
“I know.” He hesitated with his mouth open, and then gave a toss of his head. “I wonder sometimes why she wants me to go to a university so far away. I mean, I suppose I’m an awkward git sometimes, but...you know, it’s like she wants to get rid of me.”
“I think she’s just looking at the best place for you, what is best for you.”
“I did think she might want me to go to a uni close by, so I could live at home with her, but...” He shrugged.
“Have you told her that?”
“Nah. She’s got it in her head that I’m going to university and that it should be to study a proper subject. So I can get a good job when I leave, blah, blah, so I get on the housing ladder, blah, blah. I have no idea what I am going to do with an English degree. I mean, I can speak English so what is the point of learning about it?”
“Well,” Arthur said, aware that he probably wasn’t best placed to give advice to an eighteen-year-old. “What do you want to study, then?”
Nathan shook his head. “If I tell you, you won’t believe me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you wouldn’t. Because my mum won’t listen to me, either.”
Arthur thought of sitting with Lucy in the garden when he had promised to listen, how it had been the catalyst to start building bridges and becoming a family again.
“I’m a good listener,” he said. “I have all day.”
Nathan bit his bottom lip. “Do you have any more cookies?”
“Bourbons?”
“I prefer custard creams.”
“I’ll see what I’ve got.”