With a whisper of thanks, Dee opted for one of the chairs around the tiny table, her fingers brushing at crumbs which might have escaped from Robbie’s breakfast plate earlier in the day. Refamiliarising herself with this room gave Dee a chance to compose herself. There were photos – many of the ones from shoot days included Henry, his proprietorial stance unmistakeable, so she looked away and focused on the comfortable, haphazard nature of the rest of the space. The photo of Robbie’s favourite dog, Peggy-Sue, was still on the wall; Dee remembered his grief when the dog died as vividly as if it had happened yesterday, the way his love for that dog had drawn her to him even harder. Rosettes shoved into crevices alongside little silver cups, a mishmash of bachelor crockery piled onto the tiny dresser, the sagging pair of armchairs filling the space in front of the range, a dishcloth hanging over the dripping tap.
‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ Robbie asked, lifting the kettle from the back of the range.
‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ she said. Then Dee frowned. She didn’t want tea. Why had she said she did? Why was she continuing to toe an invisible line of behaviour?
‘You don’t look convinced,’ Robbie said, lowering the kettle again. ‘Maybe something stronger? You look like you’ve had a bit of a shock – perhaps single malt might be more appropriate?’
It was as though he’d read her mind.
Dee swilled the liquid around the glass in her hand before taking a tentative sip. Then she took a larger mouthful, allowing the burn to trail down her throat as well as up into the back of her nose. She embraced the shock of the strong liquor as it burnt and invigorated in equal measure. Henry always made a point of saying the only women who drank whisky were whores. Well, even if it had been nothing more than another way to dominate the smallest of decisions – to control even the drink choices she made – Dee was convinced he probably also knew that first hand.
‘I’m not upset abouthim,’ she said, setting the glass on the table. She moistened her lips as she stared at Robbie. ‘Am I a horrible person if I say I’m glad he’s gone?’
A flicker of an expression crossed Robbie’s face as he held her gaze. Instead of replying, he took a big mouthful from his own glass then pushed off the range against which he’d been leaning, sliding instead into the chair next to her own.
‘Am I a terrible person if I say I’m glad he’s gone, too?’ he said, his cheeks colouring. He reached across until his fingertips brushed hers as he searched her gaze for her response.
Dee shook her head, but she didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to bring the shadow of Henry into this room, into this moment.
‘He wasn’t an easy man,’ Robbie added.
Dee did her best to stifle a laugh. That was possibly the understatement of the decade.
‘But that wasn’t really what I meant,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, then, Robbie Keel?’ The words could have been brusque, but her tone was soft. She sipped at the rest of her drink as she waited for his reply.
Maybe she was fishing, maybe she hoped he might answer in a particular way. After the ambiguous moments they’d shared when he’d encouraged her to jump the river, maybe she didn’t want him to give up that easily. Perhaps a man nearly ten years her junior, and from a completely different world, should be the last direction in which Dee should be looking, but maybe regaining his friendship wasn’t all she wanted from him.
If she had done nothing but make the wrong decisions for more years than she cared to remember, perhaps the very thought that she was about to make another huge mistake meant that, for once, she was about to make the right move.
Robbie emptied the rest of his glass in a single gulp. Reaching for the bottle, he poured himself some more, then offered her a top-up. She rested her hand on her glass and shook her head in refusal. He took another mouthful, then hauled in a massive intake of air.
‘Will you tell me why you were upset, out there in the yard?’ he asked.
‘You’ve dodged my question,’ she replied.
He smiled. ‘So have you.’
‘All right. If you really want to know, I think I might have managed to make one bad choice after another. In fact, I’m beginning to think my entire life has been nothing but a series of bad decisions.’ She was welling up again, the warmth from the whisky spreading its way through her belly and loosening her tongue alongside her emotions.
His fingers wrapped around the tips of hers, and she let him, the strength of his grip steadying her.
‘Not every decision, surely?’
‘Not my children, never them. But the rest of it …’ She shook her head. ‘Including allowing Henry to bully me into abandoning our friendship. You meant so much to me, Rob.’
‘And I valued your friendship more than any other, Dee.’
‘I only did it to protect you, to make sure you didn’t lose your job. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I know. He was …’ Words seemed to fail Robbie.
Dee didn’t blame him.
Their unexpected friendship had built over the years during which Henry had become increasingly obsessed with his hobby. Dee had felt drawn to Robbie, inevitably spending time in his company when Henry insisted she accompany him on shoots. And when Robbie had expressed such unfiltered sadness at the loss of his favourite dog, Peggy-Sue, Dee had begun to feel emotions she’d thought long-buried, no longer accessible for her. She’d never acted on them – there was no way she would countenance infidelity on her own part, however free Henry might have been with his affections. And anyway, there would have been no way someone as young and vibrant as Robbie could have seen her as anything other than a friend. They were thrown together by circumstance, nothing more, nothing less.
But Henry had even managed to ruin that for her. Had accused her of spending too much time with the gamekeeper, had insinuated all sorts of things, rounding it off by suggesting Robbie was eminently replaceable. A suggestion or a threat? And when Robbie had come to her defence one day, when Henry had missed one too many birds and accused her of ruining his concentration, Dee had seen the look in Henry’s eye, and made sure to draw right back from Robbie, to keep him safe.
