If it wasn't for him, we would never have come back.
7
By the time we are all out and about, the sun is already warm, bringing out the colour in the various hanging baskets about the place and the sky is a bright blue. There isn't a cloud in sight.
Everything is calm today. Peaceful. We are walking through a chocolate-box village.
Dad insists on giving us a guided tour of the place almost as though we have never been to Little Bishopsford before. I can imagine he does this with his guests. Showing them around, going the extra mile to help them find what they are looking for.
I wouldn't be surprised if he helps them with their luggage from the tiny open railway station we now approach if they asked him to.
I watch him as he explains to Eva how a friend of his in the village tends to the hanging baskets of rainbow flowers in the station. Although looking thoroughly uninterested, she snaps a picture of the basket on her phone; her way of feigning some interest, I suppose. Dad should think himself lucky – that is more than either myself or Will get out of her these days.
When I explain this to my father, I notice his cheeks are a little red and patchy and he is struggling for breath.
He won't hear of us going back to the house so soon, but I manage to talk him into resting on one of the benches at the platform for a few minutes before we move on.
When I voice my concerns that he does too much he dismisses them, reminding me that Penny helps him with a lot of the tasks like cleaning and besides, what he does do keeps him active.
'Don't fuss, Love,' he says, leaning back into the wood of the bench which bends slightly to accommodate his weight.
Eva can't resist the opportunity to dive back into her phone at the unexpected break and she explains how she talks to her friends from school online to Dad who pretends to be more clueless than he is. I think he is struggling to find something in common with her and I suddenly feel guilty for not letting the two spend more time together. I've always made one excuse or another to dodge family occasions, mainly for Will's sake. I know he doesn't feel at ease around my relatives.
On the next bench further down the platform, Will drops his voice low. 'Don't worry, Hannah. You know your father isn't young any more. He can't bound about like he used to, but he is fine, really.
'Dad has never bounded about,' I say. He is just under a decade older than Mum and it has always been obvious. I sigh. 'I'm just worried he is overdoing it. He seems to have aged a lot since his visit before Christmas.'
'I know what you mean, but he seems happy enough.'
'Do you think it is good for him running a bed and breakfast by himself at his age?'
'He's only just in his seventies. Plenty of people his age are still working these days.' He smirks and adds, 'Just look at Rod Stewart.'
'That's not funny.'
'At least I've got you to look after me in my old age.' He smiles, causing the beard I've always thought he looks too young for to twitch.
'Don't be silly. You're not that much older than me. We'll end up going down the street with a walking frame each.'
'We could get matching ones.'
'His and hers.'
Now I laugh too and I feel my shoulders ease. Even though it is still mid-morning, the sun is hot and I enjoy how it warms my face and bare arms. But a great sadness lodges itself in my chest that April is not here to enjoy it with us.
'So where did you go this morning? Before breakfast, I noticed you had wet boots.'
'I just popped out to get more bread from the village shop. Tony was running low on a few other bits too.'
'Oh? It's not like him to run out. He is usually so organised.'
'He has got a lot on his mind though, hasn't he?'
'Yes, we all have.'
I was so exhausted yesterday that I didn't get a chance to discuss the day's events alone with Will. I try to form my thoughts on the matter at the funeral into words but I feel Will's body tense almost as though he knows what I'm thinking.
'Listen, Hannah. Your Dad has got me thinking. He keeps talking about how family is important.' He slides his hand into mine. 'I want to cut down on all the hours I've been working. Spend more time with you and Eva.'
It seems like Will is always shut away in his loft-office these days. He works as a freelance computer technician. Lately, he has been on call a lot and I am often left eating alone at the table with Eva who is so absorbed in Facebook and goodness knows what else that she hardly even acknowledges my presence. I often find myself saving remnants of a home-cooked meal for Will to reheat when he gets home from a call-out, or when he emerges from his office late at night.
'I'd like that too,' I say. 'But what about saving up for a bigger place?'
I enjoy my job as a teaching assistant, but it would take us a lot longer to be able to afford the house we want – with an extra bedroom and a green garden brimming with life, somewhere to have real plants and patio furniture. A far cry from the small yard we have lined hopefully with AstroTurf and potted roses; in reality, it is only a place to keep our bins.
Will shrugs. 'It was just a thought. All this has affected me too you know. What happened to your sister, I mean ...'
An odd feeling I can't define always arises in the pit of my stomach when Will avoids using April's name. I suppose it is his way of distancing himself from her; pretending they never really knew each other. I'm not really sure whether it is for my benefit or for his.
An uncomfortable, creeping sensation moves up my arms and over my shoulders. The idea that we are being watched forces its way into my head and I feel more tense than ever.
The thought that we shouldn't be here is strong once again in my mind.
Even beneath the warmth of the sun, I feel oddly chilled and I sit up straight on the tarnished bench looking this way and that.
Nothing looks out of place. Dad and Eva continue to take turns tapping at my daughter's phone oblivious to anything else. The four of us appear alone.
I am aware of the dense trees lining the platform opposite us. They already threaten to take over the quiet railway station, but now they sway ominously, as though hiding some other secret.
Will scans around too, wondering what I am looking at. 'What is it?'
'It's nothing ... I just thought I heard someone else coming onto the platform, that was all.'
But that was not all. In a few short moments, I was convinced that someone was beyond our vision, lurking, taking us in without revealing themselves.
Someone who didn't want to be seen.
8
Dad continues leading us around the village as if we are carefree visitors. Perhaps it is all for Eva's sake, as this is the first time she has seen the village herself. I'm finding the tour interesting. It's actually quite nice to see the place through the eyes of a tourist. The place looks friendly, quaint, untainted.
A simple holidaymaker could easily think themselves safe here.
Dad takes us through a cluster of small semi-detached houses with neat front gardens and invites Eva to guess which one her father grew up in.
I feel I'm more interested than she is. April was the one that Will's mother invited over for the occasional dinner, not me. This house, with its bountiful hydrangeas and stone birdbath, is virtually as unfamiliar to me as it is to my daughter.