Jenna watched her through narrowed eyes. ‘So you don’t want to see your own granddaughters?’
‘Bloody hell! Of course I want to see them – but the same way any other grandparent would want to see their grandchildren, not because they’re in my care twenty-four-seven. I’m tired, Jenna. They exhaust me. I love them to bits but, to be perfectly honest, I can only deal with them in short bursts. I’m fine to babysit for you once a week. That’s not a problem. And if it’s a genuine emergency then of course I’ll help. But having them every day, having to juggle my job around the school run, having to fit my entire life around my commitments to your children – well, it just isn’t on. Not any more. I’m done. I’m sorry.’
‘Wow.’ Jenna picked up her bag. ‘Well, thanks a lot for making it so clear. I won’t bother you again.’
Alison reached for her daughter’s hand. ‘I’m serious about babysitting them once a week. I’m happy to do that. I’ll even take them to Kelsea Sands. Mam and Dad would love to see them and?—’
‘No, honestly, it’s no trouble. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your busy life,’ Jenna said coldly.
Alison rolled her eyes. ‘Jenna, stop being so stubborn and childish. Just because I don’t want to make it my full-time job doesn’t mean I don’t want to see them at all. You know I love them.’
‘Sounds like it,’ Jenna said bitterly. ‘When you can fit them in around your hectic schedule of course. I’ll find my own childcare solutions, thanks, Mum. Nice seeing you.’
Alison stared, open-mouthed, as her daughter stalked out of the cafe without a backward glance.
She leaned back in her chair and shook her head. Well, that had gone well, hadn’t it? She’d hoped, deep down, that they could come to some sort of understanding, that Jenna would see things from her point of view. It seemed that had been optimistic of her. Well, she’d tried. Time to go home and spend the afternoon catching up with all the little jobs she’d been putting off for far too long.
She picked up her bag and rooted inside for her purse, then let out a gasp of annoyance as it occurred to her that Jenna hadn’t even paid for her own coffee and sandwich.
Bloody hell. Today really was the gift that kept on giving.
11
Evan Jones dried his hands on the towel and beamed at Mac.
‘Well, the good news is that their teeth haven’t deteriorated since the last check-up,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a good rummage around in their mouths and neither are in bad condition. Nor is the rest of them, come to that. I take it you’ve been following the feeding routine your mother and I agreed for them?’
Mac handed the vet the mug of tea he’d requested – ‘three sugars, please, just enough milk to turn it from black to brown’ – and nodded at the list stuck to the fridge-freezer. ‘It’s all on there,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to be honest. I hadn’t expected the dental check-up to be so… thorough.’
He still felt queasy. It had all been a lot more clinical than he’d realised. The poor old ponies’ heads had, in turn, been placed on a headstand, each one’s mouth held open with a speculum while Evan, wearing a bright head light, peered inside with a dental mirror, poked and prodded with dental picks and probes, and even rasped a couple of sharp points on one of the elder pony’s teeth. It had made Mac wince, though Jacob Armitage hadn’t seemed to mind.
‘They’re getting on,’ Evan reminded him. ‘Just like with humans, teeth wear out as they get older. It’s important ageing animals have regular check-ups. That’s why your mother and I agreed on six-monthly calls. I’m pleased you’ve kept that up.’
Mac shrugged, not sure whether to confess that he’d had nothing to do with it. He’d simply received a text from Stella the previous day to tell him that the vet would be visiting for the ponies’ regular dental check and that he’d better be in.
‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Evan said, sitting at the table as if he was perfectly used to making himself at home in Watersmeet. Maybe he was. With all the animals and birds his mother had cared for over the years Mac had no doubt that she and the local vet had been on first-name terms. ‘She was a good woman. Heart of gold. Couldn’t bear the thought of any living creature suffering, could she?’
‘No. She really couldn’t.’ Was that, Mac wondered, why she’d left him Watersmeet? To make sure that, like all her waifs and strays, he had a safe and secure roof over his head?
‘It must all seem pretty overwhelming to you, though.’ Evan surveyed him thoughtfully. ‘Not used to animals, are you? Not since you got married any road, and how long ago was that? Thirty-five years or more.’
‘You’re very well informed,’ Mac said cautiously.
‘Your mother and I were good friends,’ Evan said sadly. ‘We shared a love for animals of course, and we talked. She said Lynne wasn’t an animal lover.’
‘She had allergies,’ Mac said, sounding unconvincing even to himself. His wife had hated the thought of animal hair and all the other mess that came with having pets, and she’d made it very clear that, as much as her children begged and pleaded, a cat or a dog was out of the question.
‘Ah. I see. Either way, your mother thought it a shame that you had no pets. Oh, don’t look at me like that, lad! She just needed someone to confide in, you know. And Stella – Stella is a good woman, and your mother loved her to bits, but she wasn’t always as…’ He considered for a moment. ‘As open-minded as she might have been,’ he finished tactfully.
‘No. Stella thinks what she thinks.’ Mac sipped his black coffee, feeling ill at ease. How much did this big, burly man know about him? About who he was and what he’d done? Just how much had his mother confided?
‘There’s no judgement here, Ian,’ Evan said, as if he’d read his mind. ‘Things happen. The point is you did the right thing in the end, and you’ve come through it. That deserves some recognition and respect, if you ask me. What matters now is the future.’
Mac gave a half laugh. ‘I don’t think about the future. It’s too much. I have enough on my plate getting through today, thanks very much.’
‘Aye, well, they say that’s ’best way,’ Evan agreed. ‘One day at a time.’
Mac said nothing. Sometimes, on the worst days, it was a question of onehourat a time. Onemomentat a time. He realised those darkest days were growing further and further apart, but they could still happen when he least expected them.
