Rosie and Alison stared at him.
‘What? Really?’ Alison asked, amazed. It hardly seemed possible to her. She’d spent most of her adult life since leaving Kelsea Sands wishing she could go back somehow.
Mac shrugged. ‘Why would I? I’d left. It was behind me. My life was busy enough, what with everything that was going on.’
‘Well, so was mine,’ Rosie said defensively. ‘I had a twenty-year relationship and a job and a house to look after. Didn’t stop me missing home.’
‘I don’t see the point of looking back,’ he admitted. ‘The past has gone. You’ve got to focus on today.’
‘And the future,’ Rosie said thoughtfully.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think about the future. It doesn’t really exist, does it? We’ve only got now, so that’s all that really counts.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re a cheerful sod, aren’t you?’ Rosie said, laughing.
‘I prefer the past,’ Alison admitted. ‘Everything was so much nicer then.’
‘Really? You think?’ Mac visibly shuddered. ‘I don’t think so. Not for everyone anyway.’
Alison’s expression softened. He must be thinking about being bullied at school again.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I get that not everything in the past was perfect, but even so…’ She sighed. ‘It’s a safe haven, isn’t it? Somewhere where all the good stuff is locked away and no one can ever touch it. Whereas, what’s to come is scary. Unknown. And now is…’ She sighed. What was now anyway? ‘Confusing. Uncertain. Difficult.’
Last night she’d craved a pepperoni pizza, but Rosie had made them tuna salad. Difficult didn’t begin to cover it.
‘Would you like me to show you round the house now?’ Mac asked brightly, as if he’d heard the tone of gloom in her voice and had decided to do something to lift her spirits.
Rosie beamed at him. ‘Ooh, yes, please!’ She drained her mug of tea and sprang to her feet, ready and eager for a tour. There was nothing Rosie liked more than looking round other people’s houses. She was completely addicted toLocation, Location, Location.
Watersmeet was even bigger than they’d expected. Downstairs was the kitchen–diner, and a room that Mac referred to as a snug, which was actually a good-sized living room big enough to house two sofas, a bookcase, a coffee table and a television unit, complete with a small but attractive fireplace and open fire. There was a second reception room that was much larger, with a massive picture window giving views over the garden, plus a larger fireplace with a wood burner. There was a downstairs cloakroom and a room that Mac said briefly had once been his father’s office, then an extension on the back which contained yet another cloakroom and a large utility room.
At the mention of Mr MacMillan, Alison wanted to ask more about him, and she knew Rosie was dying to, but something in Mac’s voice told them he didn’t want any further conversation about his dad, so they said nothing.
Upstairs there were five large bedrooms – two with en suite bathrooms – and a large family bathroom with another separate toilet.
‘Wow, you’re never going to get caught short in this house, are you?’ Rosie asked, laughing. ‘I’ve counted six toilets in this place now. Do the cat and the dog get one each, too?’
‘It was because of Dad’s work,’ Mac said briefly. ‘They used to have people round for dinner to discuss business, and because of its remote location they were always invited to spend the night. Mum hated the thought of sharing the facilities, as she put it, so the house was reconfigured accordingly. It all became a bit pointless in the end.’
After his dad left? Alison vaguely remembered some sort of scandal that had been the talk of Kelsea Sands when she was little, but she wasn’t sure what it had been about. She’d have to ask her mam.
‘It’s massive,’ Rosie said as they padded downstairs in their socks, having taken off their shoes because of the beautiful, thick carpet.
‘I suppose it is,’ he agreed. ‘I hadn’t thought about it much.’
He hadn’t? Alison wondered what his home in Oxfordshire had been like then. It sounded like he was used to luxury.
‘Come and look at the animals,’ he said, smiling. ‘I think you’ll enjoy meeting them.’
Rosie and Alison exchanged glances. Everyone in Kelsea Sands knew Mrs MacMillan had kept some strange pets. They’d all seen the Highland cattle grazing in the fields and there’d been the odd glimpse of ponies in the distance from the footpath, but they’d never seen them close up. Sometimes, there’d been trays of eggs on a box outside the gate, and a sign:
Free range hen’s eggs £2 per half dozen. Duck eggs 60p each. Please use honesty box.
She wondered if everyone had paid for the eggs. She had no doubt that the villagers would have, but there were a lot of strangers here, especially in spring and summer. Then again, she didn’t think money had ever been an issue for Mrs MacMillan, who was rumoured to have come from an extremely wealthy family.
The hens and ducks were the first to be introduced. Mac led them to a large, shady area at the end of the garden where there were two secure runs, with wooden houses in each.
There was a pond near the runs, which was essential for the ducks.
