Page 124

‘Right, focus!’ he told himself.

‘Don’t bother. He’s going to get you, Foxy,’ the wicketkeeper assured him.

In a moment of madness, he watched the ball bounce before him and shocked himself by turning to smack it away in a reverse shot that none of the fielders expected or appreciated. The ball sped off towards the back boundary to cheering and clapping from his team on the sidelines. The audience in deck chairs, a few in the stand, stood and clapped for his half-century.

The other batsman, Richard Bowen, known as Captain Hook for his propensity for the hook shot, wandered to the middle and slapped him on the back. ‘Well done, mate.’

‘Thanks, Hooky.’

‘Five more to teatime.’

Peter laughed. ‘I think this match is ours.’

‘Yes, they can head back to Bristol with their tails between their legs,’ Hook said and Peter grinned.

The team from Bristol were clapping, acknowledging his half-ton, but Peter could see their skipper was livid at the easy delivery of that previous ball. Peter was smiling to himself, watching the captain having a word with the spinner, when Hook nudged him. ‘Looks like you have an admirer.’

Peter squinted. The sun was low and right in his line of sight, but he could see two figures – a couple – with what looked to be a pram on the far outskirts of the green, pointing at him.

‘Who are they?’ he asked, feeling stupid for saying it. How would Hooky know?

‘No idea. Get your head back to the game.’

Peter refocused on the match, which his side won comfortably as anticipated. After all the backslapping, applause and shaking hands with the other team, he found his gaze drawn back to the couple. They hadn’t moved from their spot, but their heads were together, sharing a conversation.

There was something familiar about them.

Peter raised a hand.

The man in the distance waved back.

Yes, they were waiting for him. Peter excused himself and walked across the grass. The setting sun blazed a halo around the couple, and the closer he got, the more familiar they became.

His stride lengthened, then sped, and soon he was jogging. Suddenly the woman began to hurry towards him.

It really was her.

She’d kept her promise.

Valentina had come to him… at last.

Valentina pulled off her hat in joy and, in a moment of abandon, threw it to the winds, and allowed her hair, longer now, to stream free as she ran towards the man she loved. She felt a surge of tears – happy ones – to see him again. Her Peter.

They collided and he was quick to catch her, effortlessly spinning her around. She buried her face in his neck and whispered his name as he held her tightly, her feet still not touching the ground. Claps and whistles came from approving teammates in the distance.

Finally they looked at each other.

‘You’re even more beautiful than I remember,’ he said, setting her down and touching her newly styled shoulder-length hair.

‘Hello, darling Peter.’ She pulled him towards a much taller Danjel and he stopped, stunned, in front of him.

‘Good grief, boy, it’s you. You’ve put on a foot in height, surely?’

Danjel laughed. ‘I’m nearing six feet.’ His voice cracked and squeaked.

Peter grinned broadly and swept the lad into an embrace. ‘It’s so brilliant to see you both. How handsome you are too.’

And then he looked over to the pram, where Valentina’s hands rested. ‘What’s this?’