Wednesday 11 February – Project Alison Day 11: Went to work early for the bakery shift. Lifting those cinnamon buns out of the oven made me want to cry. Treated myself to two cherry tomatoes.
Should have got a medal for that, she thought, heading back to the till where someone was waiting to be served. Ignoring a cinnamon bun! When she wrote that entry tonight she’d add a gold star sticker. She deserved it for her restraint.
Oh no! There were two bags of crisps and a big bar of chocolate on the counter. She swallowed hard, sure that the customer would hear her stomach growl with longing.
‘Are you paying for petrol, too?’ she asked, without even glancing up at the greedy swine who was about to stuff his face with all those treats.
‘Alison?’
She raised her face and stared in horror into the eyes of Ian MacMillan. At least, her mother was convinced he was Ian MacMillan, and this was certainly the man who’d been standing in The North Star, his arms full of foil containers, staring in bewilderment as her entire family had gawped back at him. And he knew her name.
‘Ian?’
He smiled. ‘Wow! Sam said it was you. So nice to see you again. I heard you were living here in Hull.’
‘Mm. Yeah. I heardyouwere back in Kelsea Sands.’
Was it her imagination or did his smile waver? ‘Yes, that’s right. After all this time.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And yes, I’m paying for petrol. Pump number three.’
She nodded and rang up his purchase, including the goodies that were lying there so tempting on the counter.
‘I thought you were a teacher?’ he asked, sounding puzzled. ‘I’m sure Mum said?—’
‘Yes, I was. I left the profession and now I work here.’
She could see he was curious about why someone would leave teaching to work in a petrol station, but she wasn’t about to offer him any explanation. It was none of his business anyway.
‘That’s twenty-six pounds thirty with the petrol. Do you want a carrier bag?’ she asked, nodding at the chocolate and crisps.
His face went a little pink as he tapped his debit card on the reader. ‘Yes, please. Awful, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be eating this junk, but I do like to have something in the cupboard if I’m peckish. Truth is, I’m the world’s worst cook.’
Despite herself, Alison smiled. ‘That’s what you think. I could challenge you for the title.’ She dropped the crisps and chocolate into a carrier bag and handed it to him, along with his receipt. ‘You know,’ she murmured, ‘you could have got all that a heck of a lot cheaper in a supermarket.’
‘I know.’ He shrugged. ‘I was only going to get petrol, but I felt unaccountably hungry. I’ve been at Wansbeck’s,’ he explained. ‘I needed a new bed. Have you ever been in there? It’s quite expensive.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I know it. My late husband worked there for years.’
‘Oh, heck!’ Mac gave her a look of anguish. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘What about? Him working there or that he was my late husband?’
‘Both. Honestly. I feel terrible now.’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘People are allowed to talk about him, you know. He’s not a taboo subject. If we don’t mention him, it’s like he never existed, and he did. Talking about him brings him close again, even if it’s only briefly.’
‘How long has it been?’ he asked quietly.
‘Nine years.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry about your mum, Ian. She was a nice lady.’
‘She was, yes. Thanks. And it’s Mac, by the way.’
‘What is?’
‘My name. No one calls me Ian any more.’
She suddenly remembered Emmy telling her that fact when she’d called at The Hub. She also remembered that he’d been asking about her.
‘Okay. Right.’ She wanted to ask him why he’d changed his name but didn’t feel able. Anyway, why should she care? It was up to him what he called himself. No doubt it was for some swanky, professional reason.
