Read Online It's Now or Never by Jill Steeples - Free Book Online Page A

too.
    â€˜Thanks for coming along Jennifer. If anything suitable comes along we’ll be in touch.’

Chapter Eight
    A memorial service for the late Arthur Cavendish
    Headmaster of Hayward Upper School (between 1974-2004)
    will be held in The Priory, Dartington Road, Casterton
    on Monday 22nd July at 11.00 am.
    All who wish to celebrate his life are welcome to attend.
    Feeling guilty about the way I’d behaved towards Gramps earlier in the week, I decided the best approach was to pretend we’d never even had the conversation about Marcia. Least said, soonest mended. I secretly hoped Gramps might tire of Marcia’s busybody ways and their budding romance would fizzle out over a Bavarian beer and a bratwurst. After all, there’d be no greater test of their relationship than ten days spent in a small ship’s cabin.
    I dropped in on Gramps one day after work later that week and was just flicking through the pages of the local newspaper when I spotted the obituary.
    â€˜Oh, have you seen, Gramps? Mr Cavendish has died. My old headmaster.’ I sighed, overwhelmed with sadness as I looked at the pictures of Arthur Cavendish, standing tall and proud, a wide beaming smile on his face, just as I remembered him.
    â€˜What a shame. He was definitely one of the old school.’ Gramps laughed at his own joke. ‘A true gentleman, if I remember correctly.’
    â€˜He was lovely. Used to half scare the life out of me when he waltzed into the hall for assembly and his deep booming voice would ring around the room. Or he’d call me from along the corridor, “Jenn-i-fer Fara-day! Just. One. Moment. Please.” Honestly, my heart would stop in my chest, wondering what I’d done, but most of the time he just wanted to chat. Think he must have kept an eye out for me because he knew Mum so well. She was forever on the phone to him.’
    Gramps laughed at the memory.
    â€˜Well your mum was always fighting your corner, Jen.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ I sighed, suddenly transported back to my teenage years. My mum had been my best friend and staunchest ally back then. We’d had a really close bond, probably because it had only ever been the two of us ever since my dad left home when I was about five. At first he came to visit regularly but soon his visits dwindled away to nothing and mum did everything she could to ensure she filled the gap created by his absence. It couldn’t have been easy for her and I knew she worried when I went through the usual teenage traumas. I don’t know how much she’d told to Mr Cavendish, but he knew exactly who I was and always took a close interest in my progress in school and outside.
    My gaze scanned the pictures of that bygone time.
    If Mum was still here, she would want to pay her respects to Mr Cavendish. More and more these days, ever since I’d re-read her letter, I felt her presence around me, giving me a gentle prod in the side, telling me what to do. And this was one of those occasions. I would take the day off work and attend on her behalf.
    The sun shone high in the sky that Monday morning over the grounds of the priory as people filed in to celebrate the memory of a man who lived his life dedicated to serving others. Not only was he a well-respected and much admired headmaster, he was also a member of many local groups including the choir, the bowls club and many voluntary organisations too. I knew there would be a big turnout, but I hadn’t realised just how many until I found a seat and my gaze swept around the room and took in all the people, young and old, who had filled the rows of the chapel. There were literally hundreds of them. Emotion caught at the back of my throat as a shiver travelled along my limbs.
    â€˜How did you know, Arthur?’ asked a lady in a purple hat who’d sat down beside me. I turned to her, smiling, grateful for the distraction.
    â€˜I was a pupil at Hayward’s School. I have very