Clear Light of Day by Penelope Wilcock Page A

won’t be coming in second place, he won’t be coming in third place, nobody even suggested he might try for first place. If the gods are kind, they’ll watch over him wandering along to the finishing line and give him a rosette saying ‘I had a go.’ He’s got all his grey matter intact, in a funny order be that as it may; but you could hardly accuse Jabez of being an achiever.”
    Esme smiled. “I suppose it depends what you mean by achievement. I’ve no idea what academic qualifications he may have, but he clearly has the intellectual capacity for anything! And I don’t think I could make a living with the work of my hands like he does. I simply haven’t got the skills. Speaking of which, Jabez, it occurs to me—should I have the lawnmower at the parsonage looked at before the summer? Or will it just be all right?”
    Jabez, relaxing, relieved to be let off the hook, placed a small log on the fire and asked, “What did you have done to it last year?”
    â€œLast year? Nothing. I mowed the lawn once or twice when the grass got long and emptied the clippings onto the compost heap, and then I just put it back in the shed.”
    â€œDid you clean it?”
    â€œWell—no, I didn’t actually.”
    â€œLast time I serviced that mower was two summers before you came. Is it running all right?”
    â€œI think so. I mean, I didn’t find it very easy to start, and it coughs and splutters a bit—but it cut the grass. Would you—should I have it serviced? How often do you do Marcus’s?”
    â€œI look it over before he starts cutting in the spring and before he puts it away in the autumn. Are you asking me to come and see to yours?”
    â€œWell, if that’s okay. If you don’t mind. How much do you charge?”
    â€œOh, well … pass me your mug.” Jabez began to gather the things together on the tea tray. Esme had an odd sense of seeing his spirit furling, of withdrawal, and a quiet shuttering of his soul.
    â€œThursday be all right for you?” he said. “I got to go into Southarbour then to have a look at the window frame in the bathroom at your superintendent’s parsonage. I could come on after. Be about three o’clock I expect.”
    â€œThat would be really helpful,” said Esme. This sounded like something of a dismissal, and she stood up, concerned not to outstay her welcome.
    â€œIt’s been ever so kind of you to invite me in for tea. It feels like, well, sort of like home here. You’ve done me no end of good.”
    Jabez straightened up with the tray. He looked pleased.
    â€œNext time you come,” said Ember, without looking up from her knitting, “you can bring some more of they buns if you pass through Brockhyrst Priory. I liked ’em. It’s nice to have a treat. Maybe they do coconut macaroons?”
    â€œEmber! For pity’s sake! You can’t—you mustn’t—” Jabez blinked anxiously, and Esme couldn’t help laughing at him.
    â€œThey do, as it happens,” she said. “I’ll bring both.”
    Ember nodded, continuing serenely with her knitting.
    Jabez took the tea tray out to the kitchen and Esme followed him. She stood in the doorway to the yard. The rain had stopped, but the wind still blew cold.
    â€œThank you, Jabez,” she said, turning back to face him before she went on her way. “It’s felt so nice being here today. I mean—” she hesitated, feeling shy; “—like being with friends.”
    Jabez stood with the dishcloth in his hands, looking down at it. He nodded.
    â€œI’ll see you Thursday, then,” he said.
    â€œEsme!” he called after her as she went out into the yard. She stopped. “Esme, when you come again, bring your car up into the yard. There’s room. Don’t leave it parked on the road.”
    â€œOh, I think it’s okay there,” she