‘Are you new to the village?’ asked Doon.
‘Yes, I am,’ Sinéad replied and launched into a rehearsed speech about how she had decided to take a break from the chaos of working in London to escape about as far away as geographically possible.
‘Why Edzell?’ asked a man who’d been introduced to her as Anthony. His tone was friendly, but his clusterof gestures suggested something different. His foot tapped against the leg of his chair, his nose wrinkled and his cheeks raised ever so slightly when he spoke. They added up to an undercurrent of animosity towards her.
‘It’s a beautiful location,’ she replied. ‘When I drove under that stone archway at the village’s entrance, there was something about it that made me want to stay here. London was fantastic, but it takes it out of you.’ Sinéad didn’t want to admit she’d chosen Edzell by randomly jabbing a finger inside a map of Scotland and settling on the north-east.
‘We’ve seen a lot of people like you,’ he said. ‘People who’ve made a tidy profit down there, then turned up here with deep pockets, buying up prime property and edging locals out of the housing market. Not everybody appreciates a tourist.’
‘I thought that as the owner of a restaurant you might welcome the tourist trade?’ Sinéad asked. She had spotted him yesterday removing cash-and-carry bags from the boot of his car and taking them into Edzell Tavern. His licensee name was on a brass plaque above the door.
‘She’s got you there,’ interrupted Doon. ‘And if she didn’t want to be a part of the community, then she wouldn’t be here now, would she?’
‘I’m just pulling the lass’s leg,’ Anthony replied. Sinéad’s response was a smile as disingenuous as his.
By the end of the meeting, Sinéad had been tasked with applying to the local council for the fete’s foods, drinks and entertainment licences. Doon approached her outside in the church grounds.
‘I hope Anthony didn’t put you off us?’ she asked.
‘No, I’ve met men like him before.’ Daniel came to mind. ‘They’re usually compensating for something they’re lacking.’
‘You’re probably right there. Where are you staying?’
‘I didn’t want to give Anthony the satisfaction of being proven right, but I’m actually in a rental property in Mulberry Avenue, and I don’t think the owners are locals.’
Doon laughed. ‘Yes, it’s probably best you keep that quiet. Look, I’m having a few of the girls around tonight for a movie-and-wine evening. If you have nothing better to do, you’re more than welcome to join us?’
‘If you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding, I’d love to, thank you.’
By 9 p.m., Sinéad was sitting cross-legged on Doon’s lounge floor, a glass of alcohol-free white wine in her hand, and sharing a bowl of crisps with Gail, a woman around the same age as her. Gail’s flawless pale skin made her dark red hair even more striking. They were the only two of the dozen women present not to be in tears at the movie.
‘How have I never seenLove Actuallybefore?’ Sinéad asked when the closing credits appeared.
‘You can only have been a wee thing when it came out,’ Doon replied.
‘This is why we love your classic film club … and for the wine,’ another woman added.
‘It’s always for the wine,’ said Gail, laughing but retaining a straight face as she climbed to her feet. ‘Would you like a top-up?’
‘Yes, please. Let me give you a hand.’ Sinéad followed her into the kitchen.
‘How come you’re on the non-alcoholic stuff?’ asked Gail.
‘Antibiotics for a gum abscess. What about you?’
‘I’m breastfeeding.’
A shiver ran up Sinéad’s spine, a relic of the past. Sinéad thought she heard a hint of reluctance in Gail’s tone. ‘Oh, how wonderful. Boy or girl?’
‘Taylor, she’s five months old. She’s asleep upstairs. Do you have kids?’
Sinéad shook her head. ‘What did you do work-wise before she was born?’
‘I restored old furniture. I’d buy knackered old dressers, tables and wardrobes, etcetera from online auction sites, bring them back to life and sell them on. But babies are such a time-drain, aren’t they? Since having Taylor, I have so little of it that I’ve got a backlog of projects in the garage.’
‘Well, if you need an extra pair of hands, my dad was a French polisher and I’m a dab hand with chalk paint and sandpaper.’
A knock on the front door interrupted them. Doon answered it, then appeared in the kitchen. ‘Gail,’ she said and rolled her eyes. ‘He’shere.’
