They smiled at Nora as they walked past. “We’ll win next time,” one of the women said.
“Yes,” replied Nora. “There’s always a next time.”
She walked up to the pub and peeked through the window.
It seemed empty inside, but the lights were still on. That group must have been the last to leave.
The pub looked very inviting. Warm and characterful.
Small tables and timber beams and a wagon wheel attached to a wall.
A rich red carpet and a wood-panelled bar full of an impressive array of beer pumps.
She stepped away from the window and saw a sign just beyond the pub, past where the pavement became grass.
Quickly, she trotted over and read what it said: LITTLEWORTH Welcomes Careful Drivers
Then she noticed in the top centre of the sign a little coat of arms around which orbited the words Oxfordshire County Council.
“We did it,” she whispered into the country air. “We actually did it.”
This was the dream Dan had first mentioned to her while walking by the Seine in Paris, eating macarons they had bought on the Boulevard Saint-Michel.
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