Page 137 of Escape to the Country

Chapter 49

With her mum spending nearly every evening with Ben as a cosy twosome, and with no more animals to look after at The Forge, Eleanor ended up having dinner most evenings with the family at Willow Tree Hall.

Now that Rackelle had left, Tom found that he could relax once more.

And the conversation was always interesting, he found.

Especially when Tom told Sam in front of everyone that he wanted to give up touring for a few years. ‘I’m tired,’ he said, when asked for a reason. ‘I got swept up in it all at the beginning but now I just want to write.’ He glanced across at Eleanor. ‘And to have a bit of peace.’

‘Okay,’ said Sam, slowly. ‘So what will you do instead?’

‘I thought I might try out country living for a while,’ said Tom, locking eyes with Eleanor from the other end of the table.

It had recently occurred to him that he didn’t need to leave. Didn’t want to leave. That he had enough money to buy somewhere local and perhaps make Cranley his home. It was good for Dylan, good for his song writing. But most of all, it meant that he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Eleanor.

She finally looked away, blushing but seeming pleased at what he had said.

Mick leant back in his chair. ‘I hear you,’ he said, nodding in agreement. ‘Do you know what’s the worst part of being me?’

‘I should imagine it’s your liver,’ drawled Alex who had also invited himself to stay on for a few more weeks.

‘Very funny, mate,’ said Mick. ‘Nah, it’s the weight of expectation. You know, the same old records. We created the band because we wanted girls to like us. Then we wrote our music to get laid to.’

‘Well, that worked,’ drawled Alex.

Howard nodded. ‘There are many children that are only in this world because of us.’

‘So what happened?’ asked Tom.

‘We grew up,’ said Mick.

‘Grew old, more like,’ added Howard.

Mick shrugged his shoulders. ‘So I don’t want to miss a decent night’s sleep these days. What’s wrong with that at my age? I’m no longer so stressed and bothered by stuff but it would be nice to have one last great album to look back on and think, yeah, that was good.’

‘So are you getting a good feeling about the next one?’ asked Sam.

Mick shook his head as he reached for another beer. ‘What do you think?’

Sam had the good manners not to reply.

Mick shook his head. ‘I dunno. It’s the same old thing, year in, year out. Cut a record, which, to be honest, are the same old rock songs. Then we hit Christmas with that stupid tune.’

‘You mean the same stupid tune that helps pay the mortgage on your large house and lets you keep a Bentley,’ said Sam.

Mick shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s nothing new. Everything’s the same, over and over.’

Sam looked at him. ‘You’re really upset, aren’t you?’

‘I dunno.’ He broke into a grin. ‘Maybe I just need a shag.’

Everyone around the table knew that he was only half-joking.

To break up the gloom of the band, someone had the idea to bring out Arthur’s beloved record player. It turned out to be a good idea and they all began reminiscing about the first records they had ever bought.

‘What’s next?’ asked Mick who had carried out a pile of the vinyl LPs outside.

So far they had listened, sometimes briefly, to both jazz and classical music. Tom had thought that the band would throw the music out as soon as they heard it, but they turned out to have quite eclectic tastes and all seemed to be actually enjoying the different tunes.