Carne uttered a pathetic whine as if he’d been starved for weeks, which Mac knew wasn’t true. Gilly Foster from Carr Farm had been at great pains to assure him that she and her husband, Keith, had taken great care of each animal, and had followed the directions that Sheila herself had left for whoever was to take temporary responsibility for their wellbeing. Carne was just very good at pulling on the heartstrings. No doubt Mac’s mother had fallen for it every time, but he was made of sterner stuff.
‘Thing is,’ he explained to the little dog, as he lightly sprinkled salt on his roast potatoes and Yorkshire puddings, ‘you might think I’m being cruel to you but I’m actually being kind. I have a duty of care to you, you see.’ His hand paused in mid-air. ‘God help you,’ he muttered and put the salt back on the table.
He still couldn’t believe what his mother had done. He’d been almost as shocked about it as his sister, the day they’d discovered the terms of the will. Almost, but not quite.
As if on cue his phone beeped and he took it out of his jeans pocket and glanced at the screen before laying it on the table, face down so he couldn’t see it.
Talk of the devil.
Stella
Have you followed the instructions today? Don’t forget Mrs Beddows is due to be wormed tomorrow. We need to talk, Ian.
He sighed as he picked up his knife and fork. ‘No, we don’t.’
Not today. He really couldn’t face it. Neither of them was likely to shift their position, so what would be the point? It would only end in yet another scene, with her screaming at him and him refusing to budge and one or the other of them walking away.
‘And my name’s Mac now,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t call me Ian.’
He gazed around the big, comfortable farmhouse kitchen, aware of the flutter of nerves that had become a regular thing. In so many ways this was a dream come true. In others, it was a nightmare. What now?
‘Now,’ he said firmly, in answer to his own question, ‘I eat my Sunday lunch.’
It had been good of Seb’s lad Sam to let him have a takeaway. He’d popped into the pub a few nights ago to introduce himself, having heard that Seb – the former landlord – no longer worked at The North Star. Mac and Seb had been at school together, but they’d lost touch when Mac left for university. It was Seb’s own father, Alby, who’d run the pub back in the day.
He and Sam had a friendly chat, and Mac had ordered a hot pasty to stave off the hunger pangs. He’d admitted he wasn’t really one for cooking, which was when Sam had offered to let him order from the pub and take the meals home with him if he didn’t fancy eating out.
He didn’t intend to make a habit of it, but it had been a long time since he’d had a Sunday roast, and when Sam had suggested it, as a favour to his dad’s old schoolfriend, he hadn’t been able to resist.
Of course, if he’d known who’d be in the bar when he walked in, he would have cancelled the order. All those eyes staring at him then trying to pretend they weren’t.
And Alison Wainwright among them.
He hadn’t seen her for – how long had it been? There was no way he’d have known it was her if Sam hadn’t told him who the strange woman was who’d waved and called to him as if they were best friends. Alison’s mother. He hadn’t seen any members of that family for decades, but as soon as he’d heard the wordWainwrighthe’d remembered.
He scooped up a forkful of mashed carrot and swede and ate without tasting it, his mind playing over his schooldays, so many, many years ago.
He’d adored Alison right through primary school, but she’d barely known he was there. He may have only sat across the table from her, but he might as well have been in another classroom for all the notice she’d taken of him. The only time she’d seemed to acknowledge his presence was when they’d done those spelling tests for Miss Sayers.
He smiled at the memory. Alison had been so clever, and he’d known she’d be able to spell the difficult words. He wanted Miss Sayers and everyone else to know it, too. And he’d been right, hadn’t he? He’d felt so proud of her when she haltingly spelled out whichever words he’d chosen for her. He couldn’t remember what they were now, but he knew he’d picked the hardest ones in the book.
He’d thought he’d done a good thing, but for some reason Alison hadn’t seemed to agree. She’d looked so furious that he’d thought she was going to thump him.
Then they’d gone up to high school and had been put into different streams, and he’d barely seen her after that. He’d caught glimpses of her across the playground, in the corridor, at school events, and in the hall for assembly, but she rarely glanced his way, and when she did it was as if she looked straight through him. Like he was completely invisible to her.
He jabbed idly at a sprout with his fork, remembering the pain of first love. If only he’d known what lay ahead of him. His angst over Alison had been nothing to what was to come.
His phone beeped again, and against his better judgement he picked it up and read the message.
Stella
Don’t ignore me, Ian! You can’t avoid me forever. Mum made sure of that. That house should be at least half mine, and you know as well as I do that you won’t stay there, so why don’t you just do as I suggested and stop being a prat? Call me.
Robert Carne was sitting beside his chair now, staring hopefully up at him.
‘Everybody wants something from me that I can’t deliver,’ Mac said.
Carne tilted his head, as if in sympathy.
