Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

these guys before, so it must be generous anticipation and festival fever. She saw Tim scan the audience, his eyes wide at the size of it. Then he spotted her and smiled. Chantel squeezed her hand.

When the band started playing, Amy realised something. All these people, but it was her he was singing to. Only her. She felt happiness well up inside her.

They played the upbeat tracks first, then slowed it down with Amy’s favourite song. ‘Already Dark’. She broke Tim’s gaze for a moment to turn around and take in the crowd. The jumping had stopped, and people stood, mesmerised. Then someone got out a lighter and began waving it in the air, in time to the music.

Suddenly little flames appeared everywhere. Amy’s eyes went back to Tim. He’d never looked so happy. For once Amy found herself wishing that she smoked so she could join in.

‘This is worth braving those toilets for,’ said Chantel, who’d got out her own lighter and was waving it. Even Spike was swaying in time to the music, his arm wrapped around Chantel.

Amy nodded, her eyes locked on Tim. ‘It’s perfect,’ she replied.

‘Good morning to you, madam. Fine day we’re enjoying today. Good westerly breeze.’ Amy nodded politely at the elderly man who had swung the door open for her as soon as the buzzer indicated the lock was released. He wore a captain’s hat and navy blazer. He stood to one side and made an elaborate sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘Ladies first, of course. Enjoy your visit.’ He saluted her, then slipped out of the door as soon as she’d entered. Amy turned to see he’d begun a jaunty trot down the driveway of Lockhart Care Home.

‘Captain’s gone again,’ shrieked an elderly lady sitting in a chair by the door, banging her hand on the armrests excitedly. Amy stepped aside as two women in white uniforms appeared and gave chase to the captain.

Amy looked around. The building was modern, with beige walls and carpets the colour of smoked salmon. It smelled of disinfectant, with a hint of boiled cabbage. The reception area spilled out from what she imagined was the main sitting room, and there were a number of residents sitting in chairs. Some were clearly in their own worlds, a few were asleep, but the rest looked at her curiously. All wore slippers. It made Amy think of her grandma, determined to stay in her own home, surrounded by her memory-infused possessions till the end.

The lady who had raised the alarm waved at her. ‘Not your fault, dear,’ she told Amy. ‘He tries it every time. Regulars are on to him, but you weren’t to know.’

Amy nodded, looking out through the glass door. The captain was returning, with a staff member on each arm, as if they were going for a friendly stroll on the deck of a ship. ‘Sea’s a bit choppy,’ he said, nodding to Amy as he came back inside. ‘Set sail tomorrow.’ He continued on the arm of one of the staff and the other released him and greeted Amy.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Someone is meant to be on reception to stop that kind of thing happening, but if residents need us we get called away. We’re short-staffed. He never gets far. Now, how can I help?’

Amy hesitated. ‘I’m here to visit Arnold Putney,’ she said. She put her hand in her pocket and clutched the piece of paper on which his grandson had written the name and address of the care home.

‘Ah yes, his grandson called to tell us you were coming. Lovely old gentleman. He’s just finished lunch, I believe, and will be back in his room.’ Amy glanced at her watch. Noon.

‘We feed them early,’ she told her. ‘Room twenty-four. Along that corridor and up the stairs.’

Amy followed the instructions. She paused outside his door, wondering what she was doing here. There was no way a ninety-five-year-old man would remember selling a ring more than four years ago. And if he did, what did it mean? Tim was still gone. She was clutching a small bag of shopping, and glanced inside it to steady her nerves. She could see a small wine bottle peeking back up at her, as if to ask her what she had to lose. Nothing, she decided, and knocked on the door.

‘Come in, love,’ said a voice. Amy obeyed.

The room was small but bright, with a single bed, a couple of chairs for visitors that had the institutional feel of a headmaster’s office, and a coffee table with a little lamp. One shelf was covered in framed family photographs, including several Amy recognised as the man from the shop as a small boy. A luscious ficus sat in one corner. The pot was a nice rendition of the willow pattern.

Arnold was sitting in a chair that faced the window, but he slowly started to stand up when Amy entered and was twisting around to see her. ‘Oh, don’t go to any trouble,’ she said, visualising a nasty fall and broken hip.

He ignored her, and successfully got to his feet and manoeuvred himself to face her. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Lovely to have such a beautiful visitor. What gorgeous chestnut hair you have. And those eyes.’ He paused, and Amy felt his eyes inspecting her. ‘You look familiar. Have we met before?’

‘Not really,’ said Amy.

‘No matter. Come, pull up a chair next to me.’

Amy carefully put her bag on the bed, then lifted one of the chairs and placed it a healthy distance from Arnold’s. ‘It’s good of you to see me,’ she said. He tottered a little bit, and Amy realised he was reaching out a hand for hers. She hurried to take it, alarmed at his unsteadiness. He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth, placing a long, wet and rather gummy kiss there. Amy did her best not to grimace, then reclaimed her hand and sat down. Arnold