Chapter 8 #4
Silence falls for a few beats while he stares at me. Then he nods abruptly and turns to Mac. “I’ll sell to you.”
Mac doesn’t display any surprise on his poker face. “Thank you,” he says, once more his urbane self, with no sign of that odd distress of before. “Shall we discuss the details?”
I hover for a while, but then Mac offers me an impersonal smile. “Don’t let me keep you inside, Wes,” he says pleasantly but firmly. “You’ll get bored, darling. Why don’t you explore the garden?”
Like I’m five years old . Feeling stung, I nod and drift out into the garden.
I stand for a second, twisting the ring on my finger.
It feels odd there, and I look down at its golden gleam.
My view of the future has always been about my career and never about someone to share it with.
I’d vaguely presumed I’d find a partner, but I never had an idea of who that would be.
For a wild moment, I consider what it would be like being married to Mac.
He’d be protective of his husband, in a way that would feel like being wrapped equally in barbed wire and cashmere.
But on the other hand, he’s so reserved and closed off I can imagine being with him for thirty years yet still waking up to see a stranger’s head on the pillow next to me.
Still twisting the ring, I look around. The garden is overgrown, but the breeze is fresh, and the sparkle of the water is inviting. I follow the old, cracked path towards the water.
The day is hushed. Birdsong and the sound of a boat puttering down the river are the only things disturbing the silence.
I end up at the summer house. It’s falling apart, the paint cracked and peeling, and the wood broken, but it’s a curiously charming place.
I go up the steps and put my hand on the door.
It swings open with a rusty squeak, and I immediately sneeze when the dust billows around me.
I find myself in a small room with a mildewed and rotting old carpet.
Shelves line one wall filled with old books.
The smell of mould and wet paper is rank in the air, and when I touch a book gently, the cover crumbles.
It’s a story about a girls’ boarding school.
I go along the shelves finding others. They’re all children’s books.
The wall opposite has a poster pinned to it.
It’s a photo of a man—an actor or a singer from the looks of him.
He’s dressed in jeans and a shirt with a wide collar, making me think it’s from the seventies.
It’s obviously been torn from a magazine as the staples are still in the middle.
The man gazes at me with a half smile that looks almost mocking.
I look around. “He said he had no children,” I say questioningly, but no one answers me. The heartthrob stares at me, and I shiver, suddenly desperate to escape this place that feels full of ghosts.
Once outside, I tilt my face to the sun, grateful for the warmth that chases that odd chill away. A nearby lilac bush fills the air with its heady scent. It’s overgrown, and the flowers are blousy. Overhead, a plane tracks a silver path across the sky.
Mac finds me later sitting by the river, swinging my legs and watching it flow swiftly by. He comes to stand next to me and pats my hair in an absent but affectionate way. “Alright? Sam is on the way with the boat.”
I look up at him and wonder whether to tell him about the summerhouse, but I decide against it. His face is set and cold. Not the face of a man who just got what he wanted.
“So, it’s done? The house is yours?”
He looks back at the old house slumbering in the late afternoon sunshine. “Finally,” he says with an air of intense satisfaction.
What does that mean? I bite my lip. “There’s something about Mr Corvin.” I trail off, not sure what I’m trying to say.
“You’re right about that,” he says quietly and firmly, not inviting further conversation.
“Did you know him before this?” I ask despite myself. For some odd reason, I know the answer before he opens his mouth.
“Oh yes.” He looks at me, his eyes cold and very blue. “He’s my grandfather.”
“ What ?” The sound is so loud that it startles a little wren, who flies away. I jump to my feet and grab his shirtsleeve. “Are you serious ?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Oh my god, you are.” I hesitate, so many questions flooding my brain that I can’t organise them. “But Mr Corvin didn’t say anything.”
Emotion burns behind Mac’s cool eyes, but it’s certainly not anything to do with pleasure. He suddenly looks years older. “He doesn’t know.”
He stares at the water, his mouth a firm line. Our conversation is at an end. We stand silently at the river’s edge, the breeze ruffling our hair. A boat passes and the man piloting it raises a hand in greeting. Mac doesn’t notice, so I wave back.
I glance towards the house. The windows stare blindly down on us.
I wonder if Mac’s grandfather is watching him.
“I suppose it’ll take a lot of work to get it nice before you actually move in.
But I think it could be stunning, and the island seems a wonderful place to live.
” My lips curve and I recall the feeling of knowing this place somewhere deep in my bones.
Did that feeling arise because of Mac’s history with Mr Corvin?
“For some reason, I think it’s been waiting for you. ”
I wish suddenly that I could explore those feelings of connection.
With the house and with Mac. Something tells me I could be happy with him here on this funny little island.
An image flashes into my head of me rowing across the river to our house where he’s waiting.
It’s so sharp and real that it makes me blink.
“I don’t think so,” he says slowly.
I stare at him before saying cautiously, “You’re not thinking of living here, then?”
“No.” Mac’s lip quirks into a half smile, but there’s nothing happy about it. “I’m going to raze it to the fucking ground.”
“ What ?”
He nods, a cold, fierce satisfaction in his eyes. “Every last bit of it until there’s nothing left.”
“But w-why?” I put a hand on his arm, urging him to face me.
“That’s a terrible thing to do, Mac. It’s such a beautiful house.
You can’t destroy it.” I’m surprised by how protective I feel about the place and expect Mac to question me on it.
But he just shrugs, and he seems as much a stranger as the first night I met him.
The putt-putt of the motor heralds Sam approaching, and Mac steps towards the dock. I catch his arm again and try one more time to reach him. “You said you would treasure the house. That was why you brought me with you. You made a promise to him.”
I can’t hide the disapproval in my voice. I feel betrayed and hurt by him, as if he’s not who I thought he was.
He nods. “Breaking that promise is the best part of it all,” he says coldly. Shaking my hand off him, he walks down to the boat. He doesn’t look back, and I shiver as if the sun has gone in.