He headed down the hallway, Carne dancing around his legs and threatening to trip him up at any moment, and opened a door which led into a large kitchen–diner.
‘This is gorgeous,’ Rosie breathed. ‘I never expected this, did you, Ali?’
Alison wasn’t sure. She supposed with Mrs MacMillan living alone for so long it might have been assumed that the house would be old-fashioned and run-down, but somehow, she’d expected it wouldn’t be. She’d always had a feeling that the inside of Watersmeet wouldn’t disappoint, and she’d been right. Her mam hadn’t given much away other than to bang on about the photos of Mac that she’d spotted all over the place from the moment she’d walked inside the house. She noticed that there were none on display now.
‘Mind you,’ Rosie said thoughtfully, ‘My mam did say your mam had workmen in a couple of years ago, come to think of it, although we didn’t know why. We thought maybe your roof needed fixing or summat. Hard to see what’s going on here, what with all them trees out front.’
It had clearly been a source of frustration to Rosie for many years that the only partial view of the house was over the five-barred gate, although it was possible to sneak a peek into part of the garden from the footpath that skirted the side of the property along the riverbank.
‘She had the kitchen and bathroom fittings updated every ten years or so. My mother was very houseproud,’ Mac said, filling the kettle. ‘Everything had to be immaculate when Stella and I were growing up. We weren’t allowed to move the curtains or the cushions, and she banned us from touching the dining room table. She used to inspect it every morning, checking for fingerprints, and woe betide us if she found any.’ He laughed as he rummaged in the cupboard for mugs. ‘Christmas morning, we had about half an hour to look at our toys and then they had to be bundled upstairs into our bedrooms out of the way, as she didn’t want the mess.’
‘Sounds like a barrel of laughs,’ Rosie murmured.
Alison said nothing. She remembered the little boy in her class whose hair was always neatly brushed, whose clothes were always pristine and perfectly ironed, who carried a little satchel around with him every day, despite his classmates’ jibes.
He was the only one who hadn’t brought toys to school after the Christmas holidays. The class had been invited to bring in a favourite game or toy that they’d received for Christmas, but his mother hadn’t let him, in case it got damaged or stolen. She remembered the teasing he’d got from some of the other boys and felt a sudden wave of sadness and compassion for him.
‘How did she cope with dog hair then?’ Rosie wanted to know.
‘And cat hair,’ Alison added, spying a large ginger cat that was curled up on a special bed hooked to the radiator.
Mac found the teabags and dropped them in a pot. ‘That was the odd thing about my mother,’ he admitted. ‘Me and Stella weren’t allowed to make any mess at all, but her animals… They could do no wrong.’
‘How weird,’ Rosie mused.
‘I suppose,’ Alison said thoughtfully, ‘that no one’s really black and white, are they? We’re all very complex with our own quirks and idiosyncrasies. We don’t fit patterns, much as society tries to make us.’
‘Hell’s bells,’ Rosie gasped, spying the cat suddenly, ‘that’s enormous!’
Mac laughed. ‘Alderman Mrs Beddows.’
Alison and Rosie looked at each other and Alison burst out laughing.
‘What a bloody name!’ Rosie said, shaking her head.
‘Of course!’ Alison nodded, understanding. ‘I knew I’d heard the name Carne before.’
As if hearing his name, the Jack Russell trotted over to her, and she reached down and patted his head.
‘What am I missing?’ Rosie asked, clearly baffled.
‘Winifred Holtby’s book,South Riding,’ Alison explained. ‘It’s set in Holderness in the 1930s. Robert Carne and Alderman Mrs Beddows are two of her main characters.’
‘Bit too deep for me,’ Rosie said with a shrug.
‘Wait till you meet the rest of the animals then,’ Mac said. ‘Sugar?’
‘Two for me, please,’ Rosie said. ‘Can you make it strong enough to stand the spoon up in? Can’t stand wishy-washy tea.’
‘No sugar, please,’ Alison said. She was determined to persevere, even though tea still tasted awful without it. Coffee was even worse, but she was certain she’d get used to it. After all, she’d once drunk both with full fat milk and now she couldn’t bear it. It was just a question of forming new habits. That’s what she kept telling herself anyway.
They sat at the table and sipped tea, making small talk. Rosie was a godsend, chattering away about her life in the caravan and her jobs at the park clubhouse, the chippy and the pub.
‘You’re glad to be back then?’ Mac asked her curiously. ‘Twenty years is a long time to be away.’
‘Not as long as you were away,’ she reminded him. ‘I was chuffed to bits to move back here. I’d missed it loads. I expect you were the same.’
‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I never gave it much thought.’
