Chapter 15
It had been two weeks since Megan had taken in Zac. Together they had forged a strong friendship. Basically the black Labrador followed her everywhere. Dermot had allowed Megan to bring him to work and most mornings they would trot along the lane, side by side to The Templar, where Zac would settle by the open fireplace waiting patiently for Megan to finish her shift, whilst being stroked and patted by the customers. He was proving to be quite an attraction and Zac relished the attention.
That bright April morning Megan was busy helping Finula prepare the lunches, chopping vegetables, slicing fruit and washing salads. She couldn’t help but notice how quiet Finula was, missing the usual chatty banter they shared.
‘Finula, is there something wrong?’
‘No, not really.’ She bent down to open the oven door and a hot wave of air blew back at her. Squinting, she checked the baked potatoes were browning nicely. Megan’s thoughts turned to what Nick had told her the other day about him and Finula. Suspecting Finula’s mood was to do with Nick, she decided to broach the subject.
‘Fin, why didn’t you tell me you and Nick had been an item?’
Finula turned sharply. ‘We’ve never been an item.’
‘Oh, but he said—’
‘Yeah, I’m sure he says quite a lot,’ interrupted Finula hotly, ‘and most of it’s crap.’
Taken aback by her tone Megan decided not to push any further. Obviously the two shared some history and it wasn’t her business. What was unsettling was the effect Nick had had on Finula. She’d never seen her so agitated.
Realising how sharp she’d sounded, Finula wanted to ease the awkward silence. ‘Found yourself a plasterer yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do you want me to ask Tobias, see if he can recommend anyone?’ Not wanting to offend, seeing as Finula was obviously trying to help, Megan agreed. Inside she was reluctant, but then again, she really did want the walls plastered, eager to get at least one room finished. The last few days had gone so quickly. She’d visited Ted in hospital. Megan had been touched when he genuinely seemed pleased by her visit and he’d smiled sweetly when she had given him a bottle of her gran’s elderberry juice. She had assured him that Zac was absolutely fine and missing him. Ted had chuckled. Then, looking rather serious, he had told her that he didn’t want to return to his cottage.
‘Oh, Ted.’ A lump had formed in Megan’s throat. The thought that he would no longer be her next-door neighbour had saddened her, although she completely understood his dilemma.
‘It’s the old ticker, you see.’ He gently thumped his chest with a shaky fist. ‘Not sure I’d feel safe on my own now.’ His watery eyes blinked. ‘They’re putting me in a home.’ He coughed and looked out of the hospital window.
Megan wanted to cry. Swallowing, she cleared her throat. ‘Don’t worry about Zac. I’ll have him.’
The old man’s face lit up. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course. To be honest I was dreading having to give him back.’ They both laughed.
‘Thanks, Megan. You’re a good lass.’ Ted’s eyelids twitched and he closed his eyes. He was tired and it was time for her to leave.
‘Bye, Ted,’ she whispered, and placed her hand over his frail, pale one, in which a blue vein bulged from the drip he was attached to. She checked his chest was still rising and falling, then quietly left the ward.
‘You’re needed at the bar, Meg!’ Dermot broke her thoughts, making her jump. Quickly she washed her hands, removed her apron and hurried behind the bar, leaving Finula with her own thoughts, whatever they might be.
As on most days, the hours passed in a flurry of serving drinks, taking food orders and scurrying back and forth from the kitchen. Late in the afternoon Megan collected Zac, who was lying by the large inglenook fireplace, tail wagging when he saw Megan had come for him.
‘Come on, old boy, time to go home.’ Zac got up and leant into her legs for a stroke. He really was a lovable dog, she thought fondly, scrunching under his ears, which he loved.
Together they leisurely wandered home. Megan pushed hard on the front door of her cottage, which was still sticking – another job to sort out. She made herself a sandwich and sat at the kitchen table, flicking through various interiors magazines, looking for inspiration for her own revamp. The chintz floral curtains she’d been admiring reminded her to go and retrieve Gran’s sewing machine from the loft.
She finished her sandwich and headed for the attic opening in the hall. She used the long pole, which stood in the hall corner, to unhook the latch to the loft hatch. Stepping back, she waited for the folding ladder to whizz down to the ground. Coughing as the dust settled, she climbed up the ladder and put on the light switch just by the side of the entrance. She smiled as she recognised all the attic’s contents, an archive of family memorabilia, each telling a tale of its own. Her doll’s cot, which had been Mum’s, with its chipped red paint and dusty covers, ancient brown suitcases packed with goodness knows what – old clothes, she suspected. The old-fashioned hairdryer, which had a nozzle and bonnet, made Megan giggle at the memories of using it. Yellow, mouldering newspapers and magazines lay scattered randomly. Then something she hadn’t seen before caught her eye. A vintage tin box lay in the middle of the attic floor. Frowning, Megan climbed fully into the loft and reached down for it. It was a rusty, old lilac tin with Parma violets engraved on the lid, and had obviously contained Gran’s perfume years ago. Just as she picked it up, Megan heard a crack, and she saw that her foot had gone through the plaster between the roof joists. Hell, she’d been so engrossed with her find, she’d let her foot sink into the floor. Great, now an indent of her footprint would show on the sitting-room ceiling – another damn job.
Cursing, she took the tin and, forgetting the sewing machine, started to climb slowly back down the ladder, only to hear someone knocking on the front door. This would be Finula, no doubt, wanting to talk after their conversation earlier.
‘Come in, it’s open!’ Megan called, still climbing down the ladder. On hearing several attempts at Finula pushing the door, Megan shouted, ‘Harder! The door’s sticking!’
As she reached the final rung on the ladder, clasping the tin box, the door thrust open with force, making her lose balance and topple in surprise. ‘Ahh!’ She landed on her bottom, startled to see those mocking green eyes staring down at her.
