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 quitedefinite, 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 tastesso .?.?. 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.’
