Chapter Four
“Finally got your act together with her, eh?” Dennis winked and nodded in the direction that Robyn had just fled once the cases had been dragged in and the door slammed shut.
He’d never been a violent man, but in that moment Matt would’ve liked nothing better than to punch something – or someone. Instead he kept his clenched fists by his sides and took three deep breaths.
“Chance would be a fine thing,” Matt muttered as his dad took a seat at the table and helped himself to Robyn’s untouched drink.
“Gah! What’s this?” Dennis spluttered.
“Green tea, Dad, it’s good for you.”
“Put the kettle back on lad, and we’ll have a proper brew. Then I’ll go out and talk to your Mam.”
The mention of his late mother, the heart of their family taken far too soon, sobered Matt’s dark mood even further as he stomped about making more tea – in a pot this time, as his dad liked it and the way his mam had always made it, complete with the strawberry-shaped tea cosy she had knit after the cancer diagnosis that had rocked all their lives.
“You been keeping her plaque polished?”
Matt knew his dad was talking about the engraved dedication they’d attached to the picnic bench his mother had had placed beside the ancient oak tree that gave the area its name. Situated just across the field from the pub, the oak had been his mam’s favourite place to sit with a cuppa.
“Of course,” it was a small fib, and one he would rectify with a damp cloth as soon as this impromptu conversation was over. Another layer of guilt to add to the heavy ball in Matt’s chest. Now wasn’t the time to mention the inn’s drowning finances, but he knew he couldn’t put it off for long. Dennis was too astute to not notice that there was something seriously wrong – the lack of customers alone would testify to that this evening.
“I see you’ve made your mark on the place,” Dennis said once the cups were filled and Matt had found a couple of Jammie Dodgers at the back of the otherwise empty biscuit cupboard.
“Huh?” Matt was deep in thought, and it wasn’t the pub that was at the forefront of his mind. Instead he wondered if Robyn had made it safely to the castle. It was only a five minute walk up the hill, but still…
“The name, I saw the new sign. You’ve changed it from tavern to inn.”
“Oh! Robyn thought tavern made us sound old fashioned. I mean, we wanted to keep the identity of the old place, just a small change to…”
“No need to explain lad, it’s a good move that, your mam always disliked the word tavern, said it sounded like we’d have serving wenches and pots of ale.”
“Cool, cool, that’s alright then,” Matt was itching to leave. The mention of his mother, whom he’d never allowed himself to fully grieve, combined with the current state of play with Robyn, had become a tangled mess in his head and he desperately needed some fresh air. He was surprised at his dad’s easy talk of his mam too, given that the old man’s reason for up and leaving for Portugal in the first place was because he couldn’t bear the memories and the reminders of the love of his life that were everywhere around here.
“Is everything alright with you, lad? You seem a bit… antsy.”
Matt looked up from where he had been studying his mug intently, surprised at the question. The Dennis of before had never been one for personal conversations. A gruff landlord full of banter for his customers and his only soft spot reserved for his wife, Dennis had always been a bit aloof with his only son.
“Aye Dad, grand, grand,” Matt avoided making eye contact. “You?”
There was a significant pause as Dennis seemed to be considering his answer. At length a simple, “Aye son,” was accompanied by the scraping of his chair on the old tiles. “Better get this lot upstairs, then I’ll have a wander over to The Tree.”
Had Matt not been so distracted, he might have noticed the old man’s grimace as he stood, or the sad smile he flashed in his son’s direction that hoped for some company in visiting the site of his wife’s ashes. He might even have offered to carry the cases.
As it was, he certainly wasn’t going to be winning any Son of the Year competition anytime soon.
Robyn was red faced from the wind and almost soaked through when she reached the old Norman castle, having left without due consideration for the winter weather. The heavy, freezing drizzle permeated her flimsy jacket and chilled her bones as she reached the formerly grand doorway of the now decidedly less-grand looking castle. Named after the French word for oak, Cheen castle had certainly seen better days, as was evidenced by the smashed tiles on the ground around the entryway, a remnant of last year’s storms that had yet to be rectified. Robyn knew the corresponding wet patches on the ceiling of the grand hallway would signal that the missing tiles on the porch roof had not been replaced.
Although Sorcha welcomed her with her usual cheer and warmth, the state of the place inside was even worse than Robyn had envisaged. With buckets dotted around the place to catch the active leaks, piles of discarded newspapers and books in every corner, and a core temperature which was surely not much higher than the conditions outside the dilapidated building, Robyn wasn’t surprised to see her friend wearing her scarf, gloves and woolly hat indoors.
“Sorry I didn’t call first,” Robyn said as she stepped out of their hug, almost bowled over by the castle corgis, Crumble and Custard, as they came barrelling in out of nowhere to sniff the new arrival.
“Not at all, you know you’re always welcome. To be honest, I could do with an excuse to sit down for a minute,” Sorcha wiped what looked like soot from her forehead, “Mum’s busy with dad and I’ve been trying to get the fire in the upstairs sitting room lit for them.”
“How is he doing?” Robyn asked gently, knowing Sorcha had been worried that her father was showing signs of early dementia. He no longer accepted strangers in their home to fix the place – not that there was any money in the coffers for that anyway, much like at the pub – and had started forgetting things and becoming increasingly anxious. He refused to let Sorcha get rid of anything either, hence the growing piles of reading materials discarded where they lay.
“Honestly? Getting worse, but mum’s in denial. Wants to put off getting a diagnosis till the new year.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Well, I can’t make the decision for them, I’m just worried dad’ll hurt himself somehow. He left the hob on the other day and the pan burned dry. He can’t really be left at all now, but mum insists she’s happy to spend every minute with him and since she used to be a nurse I can’t really argue with her decisions. I’m trying to leave them to it a bit to avoid the tension and instead focusing on applying for some heritage grants to get this place out of the hole. Frying pan and fire and all that. Sorry it’s so cold.”
“Don’t worry, please, can I help at all?”
“Come and chat to me in the kitchen while I put the kettle on. At least that still works. How are things at the pub?”
“Well, Dennis just arrived back unexpectedly and, ah, I think he may have interrupted a bit of a moment.”
Sorcha paused suddenly, halfway along the dank corridor, “A moment?”
Even in the half light, Robyn could see her friend’s eyes glistening with good humour. As it was, she could do with talking over her newfound confusion.
Hopefully Sorcha would talk some sense into her before she made a mistake that she couldn’t undo.