Chapter 23
Pete had made an effort, that much was clear.
He was clean-shaven and had got a haircut since the previous afternoon, which highlighted his square jaw; his T-shirt was ironed and, climbing in beside him, she was aware of some warm, woody, expensive-smelling aftershave.
Well, whoever it was aimed at, she liked it.
‘Nice haircut, Pete.’ She smiled, although she missed the dishevelled mop.
He smiled at her. ‘Do you think so? I have to smarten up for Mam, don’t want her worrying about me.’
How much did his mother actually know about his circumstances? she wondered. How much was he hiding from everyone, herself included?
‘Right,’ he said. ‘An hour and twenty minutes, door to door, ETA 10 a.m. with a stop-off for coffee in Drogheda.’
Meanwhile, Ally was plugging in her phone. ‘So, what’s on your playlist, apart from ancient American rock anthems?’
He shrugged. ‘Elvis.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Elvis is timeless, he counts as classical music.’
Ally laughed and pressed play on her phone. The intro of ‘Since U Been Gone’ by Kelly Clarkson, followed by ‘Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)’ by Green Day.
‘Ally, these are so old I actually know them . . . Come on, act your age.’
‘Fine, Mr Fussy . . . my era.’ She played ‘Wake Me Up’ by Avicii, ‘Pumped Up Kicks’ by Foster The People, and ‘Pompeii’ by Bastille, followed by ‘Perfect’ and ‘Photograph’ by Ed Sheeran.
‘Noooo, not Ed Sheeran . . .’
‘What are you talking about, Pete, have you no heart?’ she burst out dramatically.
‘Yes, but I’ve no ears left with this lot . . .’
‘Fine, Elvis it is . . . but only because it’s your van.’ So much for long awkward silences or intense delving into the past. They sang along to ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, discovering that Pete actually had a pretty decent voice, and she spontaneously broke into harmony.
‘Go us! Where did you learn to sing like that? Were you a choirboy?’
He grinned, clearly chuffed. ‘I sang in a band once, but only for a summer.’
‘That’s a shame, you’re really good.’
‘Yeah, well, we broke up . . . I had to live in the real world.’ It was like he was pulling himself back to earth with a thump, as though that’s what he was used to.
No wonder he’d been captivated by Tanya’s fantasy bubble, she thought, he’d been starved of dreams. They pulled into a big Circle K garage, alongside the delivery trucks and trailers.
‘Cappuccino?’
She gave him a thumbs up. It was so nice, she thought, spending time with a guy with a natural inclination to look out for her. Tanya’d been a lucky girl.
She watched him strolling back across the forecourt, towards the van – lean and unselfconscious, his long legs in his good jeans, his plaid shirt and aviator jacket – and suddenly felt a rush of warmth through her body, which she quickly supressed.
Handing her the coffee, he did a double take. ‘That blue colour . . . really suits you. You know, you should wear it more.’
Ally had the feeling she’d just been given an enormous compliment, something he didn’t do very often.
It was funny: Rosemarie had seen him as a strict but fair boss; Dad had seen him as a straight-up type – he didn’t show his softer side to most people, maybe because when he did, it tended to go horribly wrong.
‘Pete . . . are you sure your mother won’t mind you turning up with me?’
‘Why would she?’
‘Well, for a start . . . I’m not Tanya. I’m just . . . a friend.’
He glanced sidelong at her and seemed to be on the verge of saying something but then pulled back. Make no assumptions, she told herself, hold your own, and remember you’re just going along for the ride.
Soon the roads narrowed as they headed north towards the border; the bare trees bent in the breeze and the sun was slanted low in the sky, half-blinding them from the east. It was just before ten when they pulled into a wide gateway with a driveway that led up to a fine double-fronted house; over to one side she could see a jumbled-looking single-storey cottage, with tattered yellowing net curtains on the windows, which she deduced was Pete’s childhood home.
‘Wow, the house is fantastic, your mother must be so proud of you . . .’ But before he had time to reply, a tall grey-haired lady came out of the house, wearing a heavy knitted jacket over slacks.
‘Come on in outa that,’ she called in her border, almost northern, accent as they climbed out of the van.
‘Mam, this is Ally.’
There was something about Pete’s tone that felt quite definite, pointed even. His mother seemed to pick up on this and gripped Ally’s hand between hers.
‘Very nice to meet you, Ally, I’m Kathleen.’ She had Pete’s height and power, but also an earthy, matriarchal quality. Meanwhile, Pete plopped Patsy on the ground, to the puppy’s wild excitement.
‘Oh, look at his little face,’ exclaimed Ally. ‘He loves the country!’
Pete hoisted a heavy toolbox out of the van and followed his mother. There was a voyeuristic feel about walking into the house. Even though it wasn’t actually the place where Pete had spent his childhood, it was like being allowed a secret glimpse behind the curtain of his life.
‘You made it in great time,’ his mother was saying. ‘Were the roads clear?’
‘Not bad. I see McCaughey below has got himself a new calf shed. I’d say that cost.’
‘Oh ay, they got the grant, of course. But, sure, he’s increasing his herd up there, even though the department is pushing for the opposite.’
‘But, sure, isn’t that the McCaugheys all over? Contrary,’ he replied.
Suddenly, Pete made sense; she could see the resemblance to his mother. He was a country boy: the eldest, strong and dependable, laconic and not given to flights of fancy – on the outside anyway. Words were used for telling things as they were, not for spinning webs.
A big range cooker warmed the spacious room, and from it Kathleen produced an apple tart and freshly baked scones, which she served with country butter, whipped cream and that year’s raspberry jam.
Ally sank her teeth into the creamy sponginess.
‘Oh my gosh, Kathleen, this is heavenly – everything tastes so . . . real.’
‘Sure, that’s only how it always was. We’ve forgotten how things ought to taste,’ she remarked.
They sat around the bespoke kitchen island, which her successful son had provided for her before everything went south, and Ally wondered what it must be like for Pete to be homeless at the end of it all.
When they’d finished, Pete stood up. ‘Right, so, I’d better get going above.’
Somehow his accent had grown stronger, less neutral. Oh God, was he fecking off and abandoning her for the day?
‘Should I come?’ she suggested.
He grinned. ‘If I need you for anything, I’ll give you a shout.’ Which was going to be never, she realised, as he vanished upstairs, leaving her with this friendly stranger. Kathleen had picked up on her unease.
‘Come on, love, I’ll show you around,’ she offered.
Relieved to have a distraction, Ally followed the older woman out to the yard, where raised beds were planted with winter vegetables – carrots, Brussels sprouts, winter cabbage – and glossy brown hens pecked and scratched contentedly in the sparse grass.
Wandering around like ladies of the manor were two self-assured white goats, which nuzzled up to her to be petted.
Patsy didn’t bark at anyone but seemed completely entranced by the new smells.
‘So, this is where Pete grew up? It’s beautiful.’ She smiled. ‘I’d forgotten how much I love the country. Maybe I’m a country girl at heart.’
‘It was a farm when my husband was alive – we’d to feed five weans, of course.’
Seven people in that tiny cottage . . . It was no wonder Pete was able to deal with a bit of hardship, she thought.
‘You know,’ ventured Kathleen, ‘I was always hoping he’d find somebody like you. A lovely, natural girl, not—’
‘Oh, Kathleen, I really need to explain. We’re not actually going out or anything . . . We’re just friends.’
The woman looked at her strangely, as though trying to figure out what Ally really knew.
‘Well, sure, you’re here now, aren’t you? And I’m glad he’s found a nice . . . friend.’
Perhaps it was a chance to do a little investigation.
‘Kathleen, Pete told me you lost your husband early. That must have been so hard for you . . . I mean with five children, I can’t imagine how you managed to cope with it all.’
‘Aye, of course, you just had to get on with things.’
‘Funny, that’s exactly what Pete says.’
‘You know, I wouldn’t say this to most people, but . . . I sometimes wonder if I didn’t lean on him too much. He was always so responsible . . . He never had time to do what the other fellas did, all the messing around, getting into trouble. I sometimes wonder . . . did he miss out on something?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Did he miss a few lessons in . . . street smarts? Some of the people he gathered around him . . . like Tony and that . . . Tanya.’
Oh boy, this was fascinating; Kathleen’s tone was full of distaste.
‘Tanya . . . That’s Pete’s ex – what was she like?’
‘Gold digger,’ Kathleen burst out. ‘On the make. You see, Peter . . . When they made all the money with the building, ’course it all looked great: fancy clothes and cars, restaurants . . . But sure, none of that’s real. It can all go . . .’ She snapped her fingers.
Ally nodded; this woman was far from gullible. She could obviously see right through the big wins and surges of fortune that could’ve turned the heads of a lesser person.
‘Still, I never had that Tony fella for a straight-up fraudster, I’ll say that.’
Ally wasn’t going to miss this golden opportunity.
‘All the same, Kathleen . . . Pete was with Tanya for a long time . . . he must’ve cared for her?’ OK, she was straying into risky territory.
Kathleen scoffed. She mightn’t be the most impartial witness, Ally observed, but she’d had a ringside seat for the whole thing.