Alison sighed. ‘No. I’m not going to bother.’
‘Are you joking?’ Rosie tapped her on the arm. ‘Don’t be so daft. You’ve got to do the tests, Ali! You can’t ignore them, especially at your age.’
‘Thanks very much for that,’ Alison said. ‘As if I needed reminding how old and decrepit I am.’
‘You’re not old and decrepit, but you know as well as I do that the older you get?—’
‘Yes, all right.’ Alison shook her head. ‘It’s just all too much, you know? Since I turned sixty it seems to be one demand after another. You know how much I hate doctors and hospitals. Ever since…’
Rosie sighed. ‘I know. But sometimes you’ve got to do things you don’t want to do.’
‘I just want them to leave me alone. I’m quite happy with my head buried in the sand.’
‘Please, Ali. Do it for me. I’ll be worried if you don’t.’
Alison fought down the urge to snap at her cousin. It wasn’t Rosie’s fault that she was feeling swamped with all the requests for tests thrust upon her. It seemed the medical profession was determined to make her face up to the fear she’d had ever since Drew’s illness.
‘Okay,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll book a smear when I’m at the surgery tomorrow.’
‘And you’ll do the other test?’
‘Yes, sure,’ Alison said evasively. She drained her mug and picked up her bag. ‘I’m going to get those muffins. I’ll get one each for your mam and dad if you like.’
‘Don’t bother buying any for us,’ Rosie said. ‘Mam’s been baking non-stop for the last couple of days. Our Niall and Kendra and the kids are coming for tea, so you can imagine what it’s been like. Do you fancy coming back with me? You haven’t seen my sainted brother and his family for ages.’
‘I’m going to grab a loaf and those muffins and go back to Mam and Dad’s, but I can pop in for half an hour before I go home. It will be nice to see them all.’
‘Great. They should be here in about an hour.’
They both got to their feet and wandered through a brick archway to the adjoining room where the village shop was located.
Once, Kelsea Sands had boasted a seafood restaurant, a cafe, a post office and a proper shop, as well as two pubs. Now there was just The North Star and The Driftwood Hub. The building used to be quite a distance from the beach, but now only a small car parking area stood between it and the sea.
The Hub stood on the crossroads with Kelsea Road, which led to the famous Kels Point – a three-mile long, constantly moving peninsula, curving out between the Humber and the North Sea, and affectionately nicknamed Yorkshire’s Land’s End. Directly opposite was the private lane that led to the Tide’s Reach Caravan Park, which was strictly owners only.
The Hub was run by the Miller family. It consisted of a small cafe, a shop that sold general provisions, baked goods, and souvenirs of Kels Point, and an information section, with maps, leaflets and postcards, that was particularly popular with the nature lovers and birdwatchers who visited Kelsea Sands and adjoining Kels Point in droves.
Mr and Mrs Miller were Emmy’s grandparents and had raised Emmy since she was a baby. Usually, one or the other of them was around, but today it seemed to be just Emmy, which was unusual for a Saturday. Then again, it was the end of January, and the weather was dismal, so they were hardly rushed off their feet.
‘Emmy!’ There was no standing on ceremony in this place. Rosie simply let out a holler and Emmy appeared from the kitchen, a wide smile on her face.
‘You yelled?’
‘Sorry about that,’ Alison said, giving her cousin a sideways glance. ‘She doesn’t have much truck with manners. I’m just admiring those blueberry muffins and trying to decide whether to get one for myself. I want two for Mam and Dad, but I should really resist temptation.’
‘You’re going to get told off by the nurse anyway,’ Rosie whispered. ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.’
‘You’re so bad for me,’ Alison said, though she didn’t argue the point. ‘Three then, please. And a loaf, too. I noticed Mam’s nearly out.’
‘Had someone asking about you yesterday,’ Emmy said, as she bagged up three muffins.
‘About me?’ Alison frowned as she took a loaf from the nearby shelf. ‘Who was that?’
‘Ian!’ Rosie squealed, delighted.
Emmy shrugged. ‘No, I don’t think that was his name. Was it Mark? No, Mac. That’s it. Introduced himself as Mac. Said he’d just moved back here so I’m guessing he’s Mrs MacMillan’s son. Oh!’ She beamed at them. ‘Of course. MacMillan. Mac! What am I like? Anyway, he was asking if you still lived in the village. I told him not as long as I’ve been alive.’
‘Great,’ Alison said, feeling ancient. ‘Thanks for the reminder.’
