Chapter 16
‘Ooh, I can’t wait for this,’ Rosie said, as they approached the five-barred gate which marked the entrance to Watersmeet. ‘Thanks ever so much for making him invite me, too. But, er, do you think I’ll be playing gooseberry? I mean, you do realise that today is Valentine’s Day?’
Alison had completely forgotten. ‘That doesn’t mean anything! I think he just wanted a bit of company, that’s all. Maybe he’s a bit lonely here. Must be a big change for him after running a business in Oxfordshire and having his family around him. I’ll bet he forgot it was Valentine’s Day, too.’
‘Hmm. Maybe. Fancy him being divorced.’ Rosie gave her a knowing look. ‘Good to know, right?’
‘Don’t go getting any ideas. I’ve told you, we’re just old schoolfriends. You’d better not drop any hints either.’
‘Hints? Me?’ Rosie’s eyes widened in innocence. ‘Would I?’
‘Yes, you would. And your hints are as subtle as a brick.’ Alison tutted. ‘Don’t make me regret bringing you.’
‘I’ll be good. Brownie’s honour.’
‘You got chucked out of the Brownies,’ Alison reminded her, and Rosie winked.
‘Maybe you’d better not mention that, with him being a Cub and a Boy Scout,’ she said with a grin. ‘He might ban me.’
‘Don’t be daft, Rosie,’ Alison said as she opened the gate. ‘And don’t mention the whole Cub and Scout thing, please. I told you he got bullied at school. I don’t want him to feel he’s being bullied all over again.’
‘As if I would! And you really didn’t know about it? The bullying, I mean.’
‘Not a clue.’ Alison still felt awful about it. ‘If I had, I’d have done something. Said something. You know I would. I never could stand bullying. Poor Mac.’
‘You soon got used to calling him that,’ Rosie observed as they headed up the drive towards the large, red-brick house. ‘You haven’t called him Ian once since you got back from the pub.’
‘It’s funny,’ Alison admitted, ‘but he suits Mac far more than he ever suited Ian.’
‘Blimey,’ Rosie said as they passed a rather ancient mud-spattered estate car on the drive, ‘that’s seen better days.’
‘Haven’t we all? You’d better be on your best behaviour, Rosie. I mean it.’
Something about Rosie’s expression made her throw up her hands and exclaim, ‘What?’ But whatever her cousin had been about to say had to wait because at that moment the front door opened and there was Mac, and by his side a Jack Russell who took one look at them and began to yap, loudly and persistently.
‘Shut up, Carne,’ Mac said, more as if it was out of habit than because he actually thought the dog would obey.
Carne ran out of the house and circled Alison and Rosie, stopping to sniff their ankles occasionally and letting out intermittent yaps for no good reason that they could see.
Eventually he wagged his tail and ran back in the house, turning to face them, as if inviting them in.
‘I think you passed the test,’ Mac said, rolling his eyes. ‘Come in. You must be Rosie.’
Rosie held out her hand politely. ‘That’s right. Pleased to meet you, Mac. Thanks so much for inviting me.’
Clearly surprised at her formality, Mac shook her hand. ‘No problem at all. Nice to meet you, too. Hello again, Alison.’
Alison nodded and smiled at him and stepped into the hallway behind Rosie. They glanced around, suitably impressed by the interior, which was clean and spacious and surprisingly light.
‘Right,’ Mac said, sounding a little awkward. ‘First things first. I haven’t been away from Yorkshire long enough to forget that the most important thing in any visit is to offer a brew. I’ll put the kettle on. Come through.’
He headed down the hallway, Carne dancing around his legs and threatening to trip him up at any moment, and opened a door which led into a large kitchen–diner.
‘This is gorgeous,’ Rosie breathed. ‘I never expected this, did you, Ali?’
Alison wasn’t sure. She supposed with Mrs MacMillan living alone for so long it might have been assumed that the house would be old-fashioned and run-down, but somehow, she’d expected it wouldn’t be.
She’d always had a feeling that the inside of Watersmeet wouldn’t disappoint, and she’d been right.
Her mam hadn’t given much away other than to bang on about the photos of Mac that she’d spotted all over the place from the moment she’d walked inside the house.
She noticed that there were none on display now.
‘Mind you,’ Rosie said thoughtfully, ‘My mam did say your mam had workmen in a couple of years ago, come to think of it, although we didn’t know why. We thought maybe your roof needed fixing or summat. Hard to see what’s going on here, what with all them trees out front.’
It had clearly been a source of frustration to Rosie for many years that the only partial view of the house was over the five-barred gate, although it was possible to sneak a peek into part of the garden from the footpath that skirted the side of the property along the riverbank.
‘She had the kitchen and bathroom fittings updated every ten years or so. My mother was very houseproud,’ Mac said, filling the kettle.
‘Everything had to be immaculate when Stella and I were growing up. We weren’t allowed to move the curtains or the cushions, and she banned us from touching the dining room table.
She used to inspect it every morning, checking for fingerprints, and woe betide us if she found any.
’ He laughed as he rummaged in the cupboard for mugs.
‘Christmas morning, we had about half an hour to look at our toys and then they had to be bundled upstairs into our bedrooms out of the way, as she didn’t want the mess. ’
‘Sounds like a barrel of laughs,’ Rosie murmured.
Alison said nothing. She remembered the little boy in her class whose hair was always neatly brushed, whose clothes were always pristine and perfectly ironed, who carried a little satchel around with him every day, despite his classmates’ jibes.
He was the only one who hadn’t brought toys to school after the Christmas holidays.
The class had been invited to bring in a favourite game or toy that they’d received for Christmas, but his mother hadn’t let him, in case it got damaged or stolen.
She remembered the teasing he’d got from some of the other boys and felt a sudden wave of sadness and compassion for him.
‘How did she cope with dog hair then?’ Rosie wanted to know.
‘And cat hair,’ Alison added, spying a large ginger cat that was curled up on a special bed hooked to the radiator.
Mac found the teabags and dropped them in a pot. ‘That was the odd thing about my mother,’ he admitted. ‘Me and Stella weren’t allowed to make any mess at all, but her animals… They could do no wrong.’
‘How weird,’ Rosie mused.
‘I suppose,’ Alison said thoughtfully, ‘that no one’s really black and white, are they? We’re all very complex with our own quirks and idiosyncrasies. We don’t fit patterns, much as society tries to make us.’
‘Hell’s bells,’ Rosie gasped, spying the cat suddenly, ‘that’s enormous!’
Mac laughed. ‘Alderman Mrs Beddows.’
Alison and Rosie looked at each other and Alison burst out laughing.
‘What a bloody name!’ Rosie said, shaking her head.
‘Of course!’ Alison nodded, understanding. ‘I knew I’d heard the name Carne before.’
As if hearing his name, the Jack Russell trotted over to her, and she reached down and patted his head.
‘What am I missing?’ Rosie asked, clearly baffled.
‘Winifred Holtby’s book, South Riding,’ Alison explained. ‘It’s set in Holderness in the 1930s. Robert Carne and Alderman Mrs Beddows are two of her main characters.’
‘Bit too deep for me,’ Rosie said with a shrug.
‘Wait till you meet the rest of the animals then,’ Mac said. ‘Sugar?’
‘Two for me, please,’ Rosie said. ‘Can you make it strong enough to stand the spoon up in? Can’t stand wishy-washy tea.’
‘No sugar, please,’ Alison said. She was determined to persevere, even though tea still tasted awful without it.
Coffee was even worse, but she was certain she’d get used to it.
After all, she’d once drunk both with full fat milk and now she couldn’t bear it.
It was just a question of forming new habits.
That’s what she kept telling herself anyway.
They sat at the table and sipped tea, making small talk. Rosie was a godsend, chattering away about her life in the caravan and her jobs at the park clubhouse, the chippy and the pub.
‘You’re glad to be back then?’ Mac asked her curiously. ‘Twenty years is a long time to be away.’
‘Not as long as you were away,’ she reminded him. ‘I was chuffed to bits to move back here. I’d missed it loads. I expect you were the same.’
‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I never gave it much thought.’
Rosie and Alison stared at him.
‘What? Really?’ Alison asked, amazed. It hardly seemed possible to her. She’d spent most of her adult life since leaving Kelsea Sands wishing she could go back somehow.
Mac shrugged. ‘Why would I? I’d left. It was behind me. My life was busy enough, what with everything that was going on.’
‘Well, so was mine,’ Rosie said defensively. ‘I had a twenty-year relationship and a job and a house to look after. Didn’t stop me missing home.’
‘I don’t see the point of looking back,’ he admitted. ‘The past has gone. You’ve got to focus on today.’
‘And the future,’ Rosie said thoughtfully.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think about the future. It doesn’t really exist, does it? We’ve only got now, so that’s all that really counts.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re a cheerful sod, aren’t you?’ Rosie said, laughing.
‘I prefer the past,’ Alison admitted. ‘Everything was so much nicer then.’
‘Really? You think?’ Mac visibly shuddered. ‘I don’t think so. Not for everyone anyway.’
Alison’s expression softened. He must be thinking about being bullied at school again.