She slipped a couple of pounds in the donation box as Sheila tidied up the work surfaces.
‘No. He’s no’ endeared himself tae the community,’ Sheila said. ‘Rude fella, too. He couldae been polite, but he never is. Could listen, but he doesnae. Could be nice, but he cannae,’ she finished with a shrug. ‘Don’ tell me you’re friendly with him or somethin’.’ She shot Deb a questioning look.
‘Oh, no. I’ve met him a couple of times and I didn’t like him at all,’ Deb lied. ‘Unnecessarily rude.’
Deb thought about the time she’d spent with Kyle looking out over the loch, watching the Red Kite. It had been so beautiful.
‘Aye.’ Sheila shook her head in disbelief. ‘Some people, ye just wonder how they get through life, bein’ like that. Like he doesnae care what people think o’ him at all.’
‘Hmm,’ Deb said, noncommittally, and sipped her tea. He did seem to have a blatant lack of ability to play nice, sometimes.
He’d said himself that he could be hotheaded, and was certainly direct in saying what he thought.
Would she, at some point, have to prove to the coven that Kyle wasn’t the monster they thought he was? Or would she just have a few dates with him and leave after the party with no harm done?
The latter was the logical option. Yet, something in Deb wanted to be able to convince Mina, Sheila and the rest that they were wrong about Kyle Abernethy. It wasn’t fair that they had such a bad opinion of him.
Was that her responsibility? No. Kyle was a grownup and responsible for managing his own reputation. But, still, it nagged at Deb, and made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t shake the feeling that all this bad feeling being directed towards Kyle wouldn’t end well, and she had no desire to find herself in the middle, with Kyle on one side, and the crochet coven on the other.
FOURTEEN
‘So, tell me about you.’ Deb tried to remember what people did on dates. In the absence of having any “moves” – the thought of it was ridiculous – she reverted to what she was good at: asking questions. Being an event planner meant that she spent her life asking questions and getting answers to them. If anything, Deb was aware that she was a serial over-questioner, but there were worse things in life. Probably.
It had been years since she’d even gone on a first date with someone new. Deb had surprised herself by actually enjoying getting ready for it that evening. She was feeling particularly relieved because she had at least managed to get Janice on the phone, albeit briefly, because the soaps were about to start and Janice was waiting for her neighbour Beatrice to come around so they could watch them together.
Deb had asked Janice about Grandma Elise’s diary, but her mother had been quite dismissive.I just thought you should have it, darling, she’d said with a sigh.Since you’re so curious about Grandma. Now you know.
But when Deb had pressed Janice, her mother had demurred, not wanting to talk about it anymore.Beatrice is at the door, love. I’ll speak to you soon, she’d said, and rung off.
Deb had been disappointed not to be able to talk about the diary, but she’d also been excited to get ready for her date. She’d treated herself to a long soak in a bubble bath, washed her hair and blow dried it and selected an outfit that she felt comfortable and pretty in: some white jeans, a pair of heeled sandals and a V neck yellow T shirt that was made of a soft, drapey cotton.
When she was dressed and ready, she’d looked at herself in the mirror with a slight sense of disbelief. Was this the same Deb as the one who had struggled to make it up the stairs after her hysterectomy, feeling like a bag of knives had been left inside her? The same Deb as the one who had, at one time, thought that her future lay with Dan? She had lost weight since the operation: much of the bloating that came with endometriosis had gone. Her face looked different: some of the weight had come off there too. Her cheekbones were more prominent, and her eyes had more sparkle. She was sleeping better and deeper, enjoying a bed all to herself at night without Dan rolling over and snorting like a pig in the night, so the dark shadows that used to lie under her eyes had gone. She looked younger.
Deb had sacrificed her uterus for improved health, but she had gained so much more. The stresses of her old life were melting away, bit by bit, and it was visible in her face. Her skin looked less stressed. It even had aglow, even though she felt strangely self-conscious thinking that.
Was Kyle someone she could have a long term relationship with? It remained to be seen, but it was nice to be going on a date again. It felt good.
‘What do you want to know?’ Kyle looked at her over the top of the wine menu. They were sitting at a table by the window at a small restaurant with about ten tables total, with white painted brick walls displaying modern paintings. Overall, the look was clean and sophisticated: on each table, a simple glass vase helda bunch of heather and locally sourced flowers. Deb knew that, because there was a note on the menu that said so.
In fact, she hadn’t even had to drive here. The restaurant – The Fat Hen – sat at the top of a hill at the edge of town, at the far end of the high street to Queen’s Point. The restaurant was a lovely old red brick building with a white front door. Large hanging baskets outside boasted a profusion of orange geraniums and red poppies. Kyle had been waiting for her at the door, which she was grateful for, because she hated walking into a bar or restaurant on her own if she was meeting someone there – never mind for a date.
She’d walked from the cottage, and it had only taken her about twenty minutes or so. On the way, she’d walked past the various shops on the high street shutting up for the day, pulling in their wooden signs and blackboards from the street. As she’d walked past the bookshop, she had nodded a shy hello to the girl pulling in a cart of discounted paperbacks, the same girl who had been standing behind the shop counter when she’d met Kyle there.
‘I don’t know. Tell me about your childhood.’ Deb tucked her hair behind one ear, thinking that she could really do with visiting the local hairdresser for a cut.
‘Oh, is that all?’ Kyle chuckled. ‘Well, I was born, my parents were nice enough, then I went to school, I was pretty okay at maths but I hated geography. Played some sports. Grew up.’
‘That’s the briefest version of a childhood I think I’ve ever heard.’ Deb raised an eyebrow, smiling. ‘What sports?’
‘Rugby and rowing. Preferred rugby.’ Kyle smiled at the waitress, who came to the table. ‘Hi there. Can we order some wine? What would you like?’ he asked Deb, handing her the wine list.
‘Dry white would be good, if you don’t mind? What do you recommend?’ she asked the waitress, who had remarkable, two-tone hair. One side of her impeccably cut bob was raven black, and the other side bright pink. ‘Can I just add, I love your hair?’
‘Ah, thanks.’ The waitress grinned. ‘Luckily the chef doesnae mind it.’
‘Haha. Loch Cameron seems like a fairly relaxed place,’ Deb commented. ‘Has the restaurant been here long?’
‘A few years, I think. Rory, that’s the chef and owner, he’s run it at least five years or so, anyway. I’m Kathy, by the way.’
