Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with

Present day

A toot and a wave from someone she knew driving past would invariably drag her back from her remembrances. ‘You’re a nostalgic old fool, Bridget,’ she’d tell herself before carrying on down the road and coming to the local school. Mary and Jack, then Isla and Ryan had all gone to Bibury Area School. She’d gone there too but in her day, there’d been a wooden schoolhouse plonked in the middle of what was now the sports field. It was long gone, cleared away to make room for the new like so many other pockets of Bibury’s past.

The pavement forked a short way past the school, and she had the choice of following the path by the Ahaura River or the roadside footpath. She always walked down by the river remembering how she’d sat on the banks, hidden from view as she kissed Charlie. The memories of those kisses would fade as the path forked once more and she found herself almost reluctantly following the footpath that looped around back to High Street. She’d inevitably also find herself wishing that she’d been brave enough to choose a different path back when it had mattered.

It was a walk filled with memories and ghosts, but Bridget was sure it was the only thing that kept her hip from seizing up completely, and it gave her the edge she needed to beat Margaret at bowls.

The potatoes were bubbling in the pot, and her eyes were beginning to smart as she chopped the onion. She didn’t know if it was the onion that was making her want to cry or the memories evoked from the card she’d received that morning. She blinked them away upon hearing the front door bang shut.

‘You can’t beat the smell of frying onions,’ Joe called out from the hall, and she smiled. He said the same thing every Thursday, bless him.

They’d settled into an agreeable routine of a Thursday evening with Joe always washing the dishes after they’d eaten. He’d moan and groan about how full he was while Bridget dried and put away.

‘Pudding, Joe?’ she’d ask when the last of the dishes were cleared.

‘Ooh, I don’t know if I can.’

‘Are you sure? I’m having some.’

‘Ah go on then, I might be able to make a bit of room.’

Tonight, she’d found a bag of stewed black boy peaches from Margaret’s tree in the freezer, and so she’d whipped up a crumble. Having dished two bowls up with a dollop of ice-cream, they went through to the living room to eat off their laps while they watched Seven Sharp. Mary had harrumphed upon hearing of this arrangement.

‘You always made me and Jack sit up at the table, Mum.’

‘Seven Sharp wasn’t on when you and Jack lived at home, Mary,’ Bridget replied. She didn’t like to miss an episode. It was the show’s host Mike Hosking she was fond of, having listened and argued with him for years on talkback radio. It was like letting an old friend into her living room each evening.

Joe, however, was on the fence. ‘He wouldn’t last five minutes in a real job,’ he’d say. ‘Look at all that crap he puts in his hair.’

Bridget would tell him to pipe down and eat his pudding.

Joe would head home at half past seven when the current affairs programme had finished. He would get home just as Mary was heading off to her dance class. They were ships passing in the night which suited him fine once a week. ‘It means I can work on the bike in peace without Mary going on about how I spend more time with it than I do her.’ He’d kiss Bridget on the cheek and thank her for looking after him before revving the engine of his ridiculously oversized motorized beast, and heading home in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Bridget would close the door thinking her daughter was right, she had married a petrol head but a petrol head with a heart of gold.

This evening however before the credits rolled on Seven Sharp, Joe and Bridget looked at each other startled as they heard the front door open and Mary call out.

‘Is everything alright?’ Bridget looked at her daughter seeking reassurance as she barrelled into the living room.

‘Everything’s fantastic, Mum. Guess what?’

‘What?’ Joe and Bridget chimed.

‘Isla arrives home in two days. Isn’t that just the best Valentine’s Day present ever?’

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