by Alix Kelso
Which, of course, was exactly what he was trying to do.
Keith sighed and tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio and thought about Chrissie. In the space of only a couple of days, she’d got under his skin. He liked the sleek style of her hair and the way she kept it pushed back from her face with her clips and bands, showing off her high cheekbones. Life was etched into each line on her face and Keith wanted to know the story behind every single one. And those green eyes. Did she know how green her eyes were? Of course she must know. And did she know that when they’d sat together on that bench last night, he’d got lost for a moment, thinking about what it would feel like to pull those clips from her hair and see it tumble down?
Shifting in his seat, Keith wondered if he’d misread any of Chrissie’s signals. He didn’t think so. He was old enough to know when those signals were being sent and she was old enough to know she was sending them. And yet she’d never been married. Keith couldn’t help but wonder why. It was astonishing, really. She had a grown-up daughter, so must have been involved with someone at some point. Marriage wasn’t for everyone, Keith knew that, but he suspected she might not have been involved with anyone for quite some time. He didn’t know exactly why he knew this – only that he did. It was a mystery, one he hoped he’d get the chance to solve.
Thirty minutes later, Janice finally reappeared, hauling black bags out of the house. Keith helped her load them into the car, then waited while she returned for more. By the time she was finished, the boot and the back seat were stuffed and he could hardly see anything in the rear view mirror. When Janice slipped into the passenger seat, she was ashen-faced.
“Let’s go,” she said, barely making eye contact.
Keith started the car and began to drive away, but had made it only a few feet along the road when Janice suddenly let out a wail.
“Wait!” she said. “Pull over again, please!”
Keith did as she asked, thinking she must have forgotten something, but when the car came to a stop, Janice simply turned in her seat and squinted back at the house. He watched her bobbing her head, trying to see around the tall trees that lined the front garden. Taking pity on her, he put the car into reverse and moved back a little.
“It’s so hard to leave,” Janice said, still staring out the back window. “I love that house. I had a little dressing room of my own, just off the master bedroom. And Stuart… oh, Stuart!” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “I can’t believe this has happened. I can’t believe he doesn’t want me anymore.”
Keith reached out tentatively and laid his hand on Janice’s arm. “You need to give it time.”
She nodded and half-smiled, half-sobbed as she continued staring back at the house. Then her expression changed suddenly and her eyebrows knitted together into a frown. Keith turned to see what she was looking at.
The door of the house had opened and Stuart was stepping outside with a young blonde woman by his side. They walked to his car – a sporty BMW – and got in before driving off in the other direction.
Keith glanced back at Janice. Her mouth was trembling and tears were pooling in her eyes.
“She was in there!” Janice said. “The whole time I was in there, shoving my stuff into black bin bags, she was there too. She must have been hiding from me in my own house while I packed up my things. Except it isn’t my house anymore. And it never really was.”
She began crying, great sobs that racked her entire body. Keith watched her crumble right before his eyes, her head buried in her hands. Only a heartless monster could have watched this spectacle and not been moved.
“C’mere,” Keith said, putting an arm around Janice’s shoulders and pulling her close as the tears rolled down her face.
“Oh, Keith!” Janice said, leaning her head against his shoulder and wailing. “What a mess I’ve made.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” he found himself saying. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
13
The cake shop was closed and Chrissie was in the kitchen at the back, working on the frosting technique for the wedding cake competition. The radio kept her company as she covered a practice mould with a layer of buttercream and chose the shaping tool she thought might give the sweeping, swirling effect she was aiming for.
She stared at the smooth frosting and flexed her fingers. “Okay, here goes,” she muttered, and got to work.
Turning the cake circle, she scooped and shaped for a few seconds before standing back to see how it looked. The contours didn’t look bad. But they were a long way from the romantic curves she’d had in mind. Chrissie tossed the shaping tool aside and selected another and started again.
“Hello! Good, you’re here.”
Chrissie looked up to see Irene stepping through the back door of the shop and into the kitchen.
“You should keep this door locked when you’re here alone,” Irene said, setting her bag on the counter by the mixing bowls.
“If I locked it, how could you come bursting in uninvited?”
Irene frowned and waved this off. “I came to tell you that if you’re interested in that Jim Donovan I was telling you about the other day, then you’d better move fast. Trish Patterson from my library book group has become aware of his availability and is preparing to pair him off with her daughter.”
Chrissie stepped back from her cake mould and stretched her back. “I’m not interested in Jim Donovan, Mother. And what is it with you women at that book group? You’re always trying to pair unsuspecting people off with one another.”
“Why exactly aren’t you interested in Jim Donovan?”
“Because,” Chrissie said, gesturing to the cake mould, “as you’ve gone and entered me into this wedding cake competition without my knowledge or permission, I’m going to be a little bit busy.”
Irene’s eyes widened. “So you’re going to do it?”
“Yes, I’m going to do it,” Chrissie said, trying and failing to hide a grin.
Irene clapped her hands together. “I’m so pleased! You’ll do a great job, I just know it.” She glanced at the cake materials. “Is this what you’re planning?”
Chrissie pointed to the rough sketch on the counter and Irene picked it up and studied it.
“The buttercream will make or break it,” Chrissie said, pointing to the practice mould and frowning at the array of shaping tools laid out next to it. “So far, it’s breaking it.”
“You’ll figure it out. And I can see this is going to be glorious.” Irene laid down the sketch. “This wedding cake competition is a much better use of your time than Jim Donovan would have been.”
“Good to know,” Chrissie said, contemplating a tiny palette knife before quickly rejecting it.
“I’m sure it’ll soak up a lot of energy.”
“Me too.”
“Just make sure you make time to relax.”
“I will.”
“Relaxing is important.”
“Agreed.”
“Although it did look like you were nice and relaxed last night when I saw you on that bench in Couper Park talking to that man.”
Chrissie’s head snapped up. Irene was peering at her with narrowed, curious eyes.
“He’s just a friend,” Chrissie said. “Don’t get any silly ideas into your head. And anyway, how did you even see me there?”
“I was on my way to the bingo. Wilma Rogers gave me a lift and I saw you when we stopped at the traffic lights. It looked very romantic, the two of you sitting there beneath the cherry blossoms.”
“Like I said, he’s just a friend, Mother.”
“Hmm, indeed. Would I be right in saying that the man I saw is the landlord at The Crooked Thistle pub? Keith something-or-other?”
“Keith McGraw.”
“He’s been married three times, you know.”
Chrissie sighed. “Yes, I know.”
“That shouldn’t count against him, of course, and it doesn’t, no
t in my book at least. Our library book group have had lunch in his pub and he strikes me as a very nice young man.”
Chrissie hid a grin as she focused on her buttercream and thought of how Keith would laugh if he knew her mother had described him as a young man.
“You know, someone who’s been married three times must know at least a thing or two about what a woman wants,” Irene said and gave her a gruesome wink.
Chrissie’s palette knife dug into the buttercream and ruined the contour pattern. “Damn it, Mother.”
“What? I’m just saying.”
The back door swung open again and this time it was Alison who appeared. “Oh, hi, Gran,” she said, smiling before turning to Chrissie and looking sombre. “Listen, Mum, don’t be angry.”
Chrissie sighed and laid down her shaping tool. “What happened?”
“Okay, Gregor was hanging those new curtains you got for the living room. He was just trying to help. But he accidentally pulled the curtain rail off the wall.”
Irene tutted. “That boy is a menace.”
“We’re fixing it, I promise!” Alison said. “But I need to ask if you want the same kind of curtain rail?”
“Why can’t he just reattach the curtain rail I already have?” Chrissie asked.
“Because it broke when it hit the floor. So, do you want the same style of curtain rail or something different?”
“Yes, the same rail, or as close as you can get. Honestly, Alison, what’s wrong with that boyfriend of yours? Tell him to stop doing things around my house, or I’m not going to have any house left.”
“We’ll take care of everything,” Alison said and glanced at the counter. “Ooh, nice buttercream, Mum.” As she reached out to swipe a scoop with a finger, her elbow caught a can of icing sugar and knocked it all over the counter, covering everything – including the practice cake mould – in a dusting of white powder.
“For God’s sake!” Chrissie said, wafting icing sugar from her face and coughing.
“Sorry, I’ll clear this up,” Alison said, reaching towards the mess.
“Just leave it!” Chrissie said. “Go away and deal with my curtain rail and give me peace.”
“Sorry,” Alison mock-whispered as she backed out of the door and disappeared.
“What on earth is wrong with that girl these days?” Irene asked, wiping icing sugar from her sleeves.
“I’ve no idea.”
“So anyway, this man from the park—”
“And you can go away too, Mother, thank you so much.”
Irene held up her hands and turned to the door. “Fine. But I expect to be kept in the loop about what’s going on between you and this Keith McGraw.”
When she was once more by herself in the kitchen, Chrissie looked at the mess on the counter. The spilled icing sugar was the least of it. The sweetly contoured buttercream she wanted to create was clearly going to be a far tougher prospect than she’d imagined. Was buttercream the right option here? Should she choose a soft marshmallow meringue instead?
Wondering if she’d taken on more than she could handle, Chrissie wiped the icing sugar dust from the counter, pulled out a new cake mould and got ready to start again.
14
Upstairs at The Crooked Thistle, Keith was searching in his wardrobe for the dress shoes he’d promised to lend Big Kev and reluctantly coming to the conclusion that they must be in the cupboard in the spare room. With a sinking feeling, he went to his bedroom door and peered down the landing.
Janice had been holed up in the spare room ever since they’d got back from Bearsden. After Keith had helped her haul the black bags upstairs, he’d asked if she was okay and she’d assured him that she was. A lie down for a while would help her get over her crying spell, she’d said. Keith had gone back to work downstairs, but had been surprised to see no sign of her for the rest of the afternoon.
Now, he stood outside her door, listening for sounds. He hoped she wasn’t still crying. He’d feel terrible if she was. But inside the room, it seemed quiet.
Keith knocked on the door. “Janice? Can I come in?”
“Of course,” she called out softly.
When he opened the door, he found her standing in the midst of a sea of black bin bags, with clothes piled up in every corner and stacks of various personal items heaped by the window and on top of the chest of drawers.
“I know it’s a disaster,” Janice said, gesturing to the chaos. “It’s hard to know what to do with everything. You must wish you’d never let me come back here.”
Keith opened his mouth to say something. Janice had given him the perfect lead-in, and there might be no better moment to lay things out straight and make sure she was in absolutely no doubt about what was going on here, now that she was back under his roof. But she looked so lost and sad, standing amongst the detritus of the life that she’d just lost, and Keith couldn’t bring himself to add insult to injury.
Janice looked around the room. “I’m not sure how I’ve come to this.”
“You’ll get back on track soon enough.”
She looked at a crumpled shirt she held in her hands. “I owe you an apology, Keith. I saw a pamphlet and booking form on the kitchen table. You were supposed to be away this weekend on some sort of whisky tour. I’m assuming you cancelled because I arrived and messed everything up.”
“I’ll go some other time. I wasn’t about to leave you here by yourself.”
“You’re a good man, Keith.”
He pointed to the wardrobe on the other side of the room. “I just need to find something in there, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Janice stepped out of the way to let him pass, and Keith quickly found the boxed shoes on the top shelf of the little cupboard.
“Going somewhere nice?” she asked, glancing at the shoe box.
“I’m loaning these to Big Kev. We’re the same size, and it’ll save him having to fork out for a new pair he’ll probably only wear once.”
Janice peered at the box. “Are those the shoes you wore on our wedding day?”
“That’s right.”
A sad smile played at her lips. “We had a lovely wedding day, didn’t we, Keith?”
He said nothing. He wasn’t about to start reliving old times. “I better get back to work.”
Keith moved towards the door, but Janice spoke again. “I forgot to tell you how good your new whisky display looks down in the pub.”
Turning, Keith eyed her carefully. “It was time to freshen things up a bit.”
“Sometimes I forget that you moved on after I left.”
“You didn’t think I sat here pining for five years, did you?”
“No, but…” She dropped the shirt on to the bed and smiled. “Has there been anyone else since we split up?”
Keith sighed. “Janice, look—”
“I’m only asking, Keith. I just want to talk a little, that’s all. I want to distract myself from this mess.”
Her eyes were glassy and filled with a longing he knew only too well – a longing for a connection with somebody, with anybody, to take away the ache of heartbreak.
Keith shrugged. “I’ve seen women since you left me, Janice, of course I have. Some have been serious, most haven’t.”
“Are you seeing anyone now?”
Keith’s mind filled with an image of Chrissie. “No,” he said and shifted his feet. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
Pulling a tissue from her pocket, Janice dabbed at the tears once more welling in her eyes. “I’m a total wreck today. But I’ll get cleaned up and back to normal, don’t worry.”
Keith stepped towards her. “Look, you arrived here in tears. And then two minutes later it was all guns blazing and full-on Janice was back as if nothing had happened. And now you’re in pieces again. But you don’t have to put on an act. Just let yourself recover, okay?”
She hiccupped a sob and nodded. “The truth is I don’t feel like being all guns blazing right now.”
“That’s only natural.”
“But I’m still going to help around the bar. That’s the least I can do. So long as you don’t mind if I don’t put on my war paint. I don’t feel up to it.”
“Forget about the war paint. And it’ll be nice to have an extra pair of hands on a Saturday night.” Keith checked his watch. “In fact, I have to run out in a wee while if you could help downstairs for a bit.”
“No problem,” she said and gave him a weak smile.
Keith gestured to the mess around the room. “My nephew, Bruce, stayed here last year for a while and put a lot of his stuff into a storage unit while he looked for his own place. Maybe we could sort out one of those for you, too, and give you a bit more space while you work out what to do next.”
Janice smiled again and then surprised Keith by stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. “You’re a good friend.”
Keith patted her on the back and drew a deep breath. “Janice, listen, you know there’s nothing between us, don’t you? What we had is gone and it isn’t coming back again.”
As she hugged him, she nodded against his chest. “I know, Keith. But let me hold you for a minute, okay?”
Keith stood with the shoe box in one hand and the other resting against his ex-wife as she swayed against him and her tears once more soaked into his shirt.
The heart-to-heart talk hadn’t quite gone the way he’d planned.
15
Chrissie stood in her living room, looking up at the new curtain rail that Gregor had just finished fixing to the wall above the windows.
“What do you think?” Alison asked. “It’s not an exact match to the old one, but it’s as close as we could find.”