Page 31 of In at the Deep End

Eric grinned. “It’s way better than some of the things he calls me.”

“Sure, you can bring Garth too. Just… try not to freak out my parents?”

“I make no promises. Now… work.”

He chuckled. “I already have one boss. I don’t need another.” And with that he hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket.

Maybe Eric had needed to work out who he wanted.

Matt wasn’t convinced he wanted anybody enough for it to matter.

“Matt!” Dad’s voice reached him. “Want some breakfast?”

“Yeah. Coming.”

As he strolled towards the house, the line he’d typed came to mind. So did his conversation with Owen, the day they met.

‘History isn’t about dates. Men spent decades pretending they didn’t need anyone.’

As soon as he got back inside, he opened the laptop, and typed.

British masculinity prized emotional restraint.

Then he deleted prized, and typed expected.

That felt closer to the truth.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his shorts, and he removed it.

Owen: I have to go into Winchester today. Sorry to change our plans.

He slid his thumbs over the screen.

No problem. The dissertation isn’t going anywhere either. We can tackle the garden tomorrow.

Thanks, Matt. I appreciate that.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. It wasn’t as though another afternoon would make any difference. The dissertation would still be there, along with the books, the notes, the same paragraph waiting to be rewritten for the tenth time.

Gardens, on the other hand, changed every day.

He looked at the sentence on the screen again.

British masculinity expected emotional restraint.

Yeah. That one, at least, finally felt right. Satisfied, he saved the document.

Tomorrow, he’d work in the garden.

Chapter Eight

Owen stepped outside into the sunlight and spied an empty table beside the railing. Beyond it flowed the sparkling waters of the River Itchen. Most of the tables were occupied, people enjoying a drink or a meal in the warm afternoon.

From the street, The Bishop on the Bridge seemed like your average red-bricked pub. Inside, the central stone-covered chimney surrounded by tables on a heavily varnished wooden floor was a delightful surprise. Discovering seating outside was an unexpected bonus.

Owen sat, peering at the river as it flowed towards the bridge where the main road crossed it.

I could really get to like retirement.