‘Well,’ Alison said faintly, ‘that’s done it. Poor Stella.’
‘PoorStella?’ Rosie demanded. ‘Did you hear the way she was speaking about Ian?’
‘Mac,’ Alison’s mam reminded her.
They all sat there, rather subdued.
Mrs Miller came through, all smiles, carrying a tray with three mugs of tea on it.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to go with that?’ she asked. ‘I’ve baked some of my blueberry muffins.’ She nudged Alison. ‘Our Emmy said you were very partial to my blueberry muffins.’
Alison could only shake her head. Even if she wasn’t on a diet, just thinking of Stella’s stricken look as she left the cafe, and the pain in her eyes that revealed all too clearly how hurt she was that Gavin – who everyone knew avoided Stella as much as he possibly could – was going out socialising with her brother, she felt every mouthful would stick in her throat.
33
After a meal of baked sea bass with roasted peppers and potatoes, Alison and Mac were sitting in the snug, a glass of wine in her hand and a glass of orange juice in his, while a strange and unsettling silence hung over them.
Alison was wondering how to break it to Mac that Rosie had dropped the news about his forthcoming meeting with Gavin on Stella and had quite possibly set back any hopes he might have about a reconciliation with his sister any time soon. She could tell, though, that she wasn’t the only one with something on her mind. Mac was quite clearly anxious about something.
She cleared her throat. ‘I, er, called the surgery this morning. I’ve booked that cervical smear. Told you I would, and better late than never.’
He smiled. ‘Well done! You’re doing brilliantly, you know.’
‘Thanks.’
There was another silence and Alison wondered if Mac had discovered what had happened at the cafe. Maybe Stella had already called him and read him the riot act. Maybe he was angry, or worse still, disappointed that she and her family had blurted out that she and Mac were a couple, and that he was meeting Gavin.
‘Mac,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I should tell you?—’
‘Alison, there’s something I have to say?—’
They broke off, then smiled awkwardly at each other.
‘You first,’ he urged.
‘No honestly, you go,’ she said.
There was the sound of a banging door and they both frowned. Mac got to his feet. ‘What the?—?’
There was another bang, then another. Someone was checking the rooms. Mac and Alison headed towards the door of the snug, but before they could open it, it was thrown open and crashed against the wall.
Stella stood in the doorway, like Cruella de Vil in101 Dalmatians. All it needed was a flash of lightning behind her and the scene would be complete. She looked furious and was clearly drunk.
‘Well, well, well,’ she sneered. ‘Look who’s here. Little brother and his bit on the side.’
‘Stella!’ Mac grabbed her arm and pulled her, protesting, down the hall and into the kitchen. Alison followed, her heart thudding. Was Stella’s strange behaviour down to her and her family? ‘You’ve been drinking again. Look, sit down and let me make you a black coffee. Please tell me you haven’t driven here.’
‘What would you care if I had?’ she demanded, as he pressed her into a chair.
‘I’d care a lot. Believe it or not, I don’t want anything to happen to you. And I don’t want anything to happen to anyone else either, which it could well do if you’re careering along the roads in this state.’
Alison stood uncertainly in the kitchen doorway. Carne jumped up on to Stella’s knee and she threw him off with a contemptuous cry.
Uninjured apart from his pride, the dog ran to his bed and put his head on his paws, watching her with a wounded look in his eyes.
Mrs Beddows, who clearly had more common sense, stalked out of the kitchen and into the boot room, no doubt to make her escape through the cat flap.
Mac busied himself making coffee, casting apologetic looks at Alison now and then as he tried to soothe his sister.
