Chapter Seven
He was gone when she awoke, the dent in the mattress and the smell of him on the pillow the only proof that Matt was ever there in her bed. For some reason, it filled Robyn with an immediate melancholy which was exactly how she didn’t want to begin her day. She needed to be positive and upbeat for both men, and a trip into Lower Oakley to get a start on her present shopping before the pub opened would surely be a move in the right direction.
Bundled up in the right clothes today, her thick winter parka engulfing her small frame and her scarf covering her whole lower face up to her eyes, Robyn hurried down the hill to Lower Oakley and the main – and only – shopping street there, Oak Tree Lane. She could’ve asked Matt for a lift in his dilapidated Peugeot but the pair hadn’t crossed paths that morning and Robyn was loathe to seek him out. She needed some space to clear her head, and assumed he would too.
Alternatively, she could also have chosen to walk in the opposite direction, up past the castle and into Upper Oakley, but the shops up there tended to be pricier and would stretch her meagre budget too far. Besides, Lower Oakley had one big pull which its neighbouring, loftier village did not – the Acorn and Squirrel Tearoom. Run by Janet, whose engagement to Brin they had recently celebrated at the pub, it was a cosy and welcoming place where Robyn knew she’d find a listening ear and the best cheese scone she’d ever tasted.
The best she saved till last though, and instead Robyn darted into the first shop she came to, partly to get out of the elements and partly because she knew the old antique store would have a plethora of nostalgic items from Northumberland’s rich history to choose from. Dennis had always been easy to buy for, enjoying fishing and the usual country outdoor pursuits, whereas his son’s interests were much more niche and tended towards the military history of the area. Thankfully, there was a strong chance that Ed at Tree-Mendous Treasures would be able to help her tick both men off her list.
“Robyn, this is a pleasant surprise,” Ed extended his hand in formal greeting, though not before Robyn had clocked the heavy bags under his eyes and the new stoop to his slight frame.
The man must only be in his forties , she thought, yet a life lived under his narcissistic mother’s thumb had taken its toll on his sweet nature. Nearly everyone in the joint villages had pitied him. The woman in question, Esther Cartwright had passed away recently though, finally giving the man opposite his freedom, yet he seemed as weighted down as ever. Moreso even. The small shop, which had previously had distinct, wide channels deliberately left free of the cluttered paraphernalia to accommodate his mother’s wheelchair, was now a sea of antiques and bric-a-brac. As if the new owner wanted no evidence left that the domineering old woman had ever existed. Robyn didn’t blame him.
“How are you, Ed?”
“Getting by, thanks for asking. Now, is it fishing, shooting, classic cars or historic castles we’re looking for today?” He changed the subject smoothly, never enjoying being the centre of attention.
“Any and all, I’m on a hunt for Christmas gifts with a strict budget and no real ideas!”
“Then you’ve come to the right place!”
It was only after she’d purchased the book on the top twenty fishing spots in Northumberland that Robyn realised Dennis would probably not get a chance to enjoy any of them. She hurried from the antiques shop hoping no one would notice the tears that fell of their own accord and soaked into her scratchy wool scarf, ignoring the other shops and racing past the tearoom to the only spot that gave her comfort in times like this.
If the weather seemed bad in the relatively sheltered spot of Oak Tree Lane, it was positively wild down on the pier where Robyn ended her rush for air. Paying no heed to the coldness of the centuries-old stone, Robyn sank down onto the hard ground and gave in to the emotions which rocked her. Burying her head in her hands she had no idea of how much time passed, no awareness of the snowflakes that started to fall. She whispered her worries on words taken by the wind, hopefully up to her grandad who was the intended recipient. Arthur’s ashes had been released here, flung out to an unforgiving North Sea who had swallowed them up without a care. It had been his favourite place, though, this small bay and his fishing boat where he had spent the majority of his life, so the end had been a fitting one.
“Robyn, lass, you’re risking being blown off. Come on with me and we’ll get a cuppa with Janet in the tearoom.”
Robyn recognised Brin’s thick accent, accepted his hand on her elbow helping her back to her feet. “I was just talking to Grandad,” she whispered.
“Aye lass, fine man he was, I’m sure he’s listening. But you know he never liked to see you upset, eh?”
“I know, I know.”
They walked arm in arm up to the tearoom, where the homely floral décor and chintz welcomed them with just the solid predictability Robyn needed. The place probably hadn’t changed in the last thirty years and that was just how the locals liked it. Keeping her head down to avoid exposing anyone to her swollen, red face, Robyn was oblivious to the worried look that passed between the older couple, as Janet enveloped her in one of her legendary hugs.
“You’re frozen, petal, come and have a seat by the heater here while Brin makes us a cuppa. Brin love, heat up one of those cheese scones too, will you?” Janet’s maternal instinct had been extended to all of the Oakettes as soon as her biological daughter, Jenna, had joined the vintage quartet.
They knew her so well, this extended family of strangers who were a huge part of why Robyn had chosen to stay in the village when her parents had decided to retire to Devon. That and a certain man, of course, but she was trying hard not to think of him.
“Now, am I right in thinking Dennis is back?” Janet asked, the forced cheer in her tone suggesting that she was trying to find a subject to bring Robyn out of her grief for her grandad. Unfortunately, and unknowingly, she couldn’t have picked a worse topic.
“He is,” Robyn managed to blurt out before the tears began again in earnest, her nose running freely now that she’d pulled her scarf off her face.
This time she did catch the look that passed between Janet and Brin.
“And is everything okay?” Janet whispered. She and Dennis had been friends for years, mainly since she had been one of Noelle’s closest confidantes.
“It’s not my place to say,” Robyn replied, knowing that the astute older woman would read enough into that to do her own investigations.
“Hmm, well we were thinking of popping up for a shandy this evening weren’t we, Brin love?”
“What? Oh, aye, definitely,” the man would probably have agreed to anything she asked, so smitten was he, as he laid the cups and saucers on the table with shaking hands, clearly worried his chunky fingers would crack the delicate set that Janet saved for her best customers. Regular tourists got the white Ikea ones, as if they couldn’t be trusted with the daintier stuff.
It was a scene which ordinarily would make Robyn smile, but today the familiar affection fed into her heightened emotional state and she shuddered on a watery breath. Never defeated, however, when a hug and a pot of sweet tea didn’t work, Janet brought out the big guns. Family time.
“Why don’t you come round for Sunday dinner? I’ll make one of my famous roasts. Jenna and Nick will be there with that huge lump of a dog that won’t let her out of its sight. Maybe Josh and Meg will come with little Betsie. You could ask Matty too. And Dennis. In fact, maybe we could have the meal at the pub, what with you having the biggest table and all?”
Robyn knew it wasn’t really a request, more a decision made on her behalf, “That would be lovely, Janet, thank you.”
Because more time with other, established couples was just what she needed to forget her own loneliness.