‘Oh, you have hens?’ Shelley asks in surprise.
‘Yep, eight girls. I hope you like eggs?’
‘Love them,’ she replies as Stan, perhaps overheating a little, jumps up and pushes his way in between her and Pearl on the sofa.
‘Stan, down—’ Michael starts, but Shelley stops him.
‘He’s lovely. Please let him stay here. How long have you had him?’
‘Couple of years,’ Michael replies. ‘He was on a local farm but useless as a working dog. They wanted to get rid of him, so…’
Shelley ruffles the soft fur behind his ears, wanting to ask so much more, and not just about Stan. She is naturally curious, and something about Michael’s situation here twists her heart. How must it be, living for years alone, miles from anywhere near the end of an unmade road? But she is also conscious ofinventinga story for him; that here is this somewhat tragic middle-aged man, desperately lonely, despite the steady stream of guests.
And actually, there is nothing tragic about Michael at all. At least, not in so far as she has gleaned tonight. So why does her mind run away like this?
The answer seems to hit her squarely in the gut as Stan’s sandpapery tongue laps at her hand. Emboldened by wine now, Pearl has asked Michael how he might possibly meet anyone, living out here, miles from anywhere.
‘Well, there sort of is someone,’ he replies.
And as he starts to share his story, Shelley decides that it’s not Michael who’s the tragic one. It’s her.
12
‘We’re being far too nosey,’ Pearl declares, although she is hungry for details. She wants to go to bed satisfied that Michael has the happy relationship he deserves.
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ He hesitates and looks around the room, as if not sure how to put it. ‘I’ve been… sort of talking to someone.’
‘Oh, someone local?’ Lena asks.
‘Not exactly. She’s in the States, upstate New York…’ He gets up to poke at the fire momentarily. It’s clearly a distraction from delving into further details. Pearl feels bad now for even bringing up the subject of dating.
‘How long’s it been going on?’ asks Shelley, who has no such qualms.
‘Erm, around nine months. First time we did a call, we talked for three hours.’
‘So… you haven’t met?’ she ventures.
‘No, not yet.’
‘She’s in the States,’ Lena reiterates, but Michael shakes his head.
‘She’s actually on a layover in London around now. Just about arrived, I should think. She’s a flight attendant,’ he adds.
‘How long’s she there for?’ Shelley asks eagerly.
‘Until Monday. So, three days. A last-minute thing. A colleague didn’t want to do the London flight so Krissy took it. They do that sometimes, apparently. When they get their rosters and there’s a flight someone doesn’t want to do.’ He breaks off and smiles. Now he’s warming up, Pearl decides as she tops up everyone’s glasses. She had worried that they might be a little much, the three of them as gang. But at nearly midnight Michael is showing no signs of wanting to call it a night.
‘I’ve learnt a lot about rosters,’ he adds with a grin.
‘So, what’s she like?’ Pearl asks.
He shrugs, and for a moment it’s as if he’s a teenage boy being grilled about his first girlfriend by his aunties. ‘Just a really lovely person. We seemed to click,’ he adds. ‘You know when you feel like the conversation could go on forever?’
Pearl nods, realising she never had that feeling with Elias, and wondering how she’d got it so wrong. ‘How often d’you talk?’ she asks.
‘As often as we can. Most days, when she’s not working?—’
‘We’re grilling you.’ Pearl catches herself. ‘I’m sorry?—’
