Adam in the Narrow Walk.

 "But oh, how different it might have been had I accepted those warm pockets, all that time ago."

I bumped into Adam this morning down the narrow walk. Nothing prearranged — at least not on my part. With Adam, though, you never quite know. He has a knack for just… being places. A man with far too much time on his hands, if you ask me. Not that I can’t think of better things he might do with them. Of course, when I had the chance once upon a time, I wasn’t exactly forthcoming. Regrets, regrets.

He informed me the family were up from London for the weekend. I’d half expected it anyway — the first pheasant shoot of the season is something of an event. Apparently, the gamekeeper’s efforts have paid off, and the place is bursting with birds ready for the guns. Adam, as ever, was full of opinions. The gamekeeper? Faultless, untouchable. The farm manager? An endless source of gossip and disdain. Personally, I think he’s got it the wrong way round, but I’ve learnt better than to tell Adam when his crown is slipping.

In truth, there wasn’t much else to the encounter. I walked home, Adam trailing behind like a shadow, before collapsing into bed and indulging in a daydream or two about what might have been.

The rest of the day was more wholesome: a trip to town with my sister for lunch and shopping, and later, an evening out with Lily at the club. A perfectly respectable Saturday — at least on the surface.