A Season for Second Chances(104)

Gemma gave a kind of hysterical laugh that was mirrored by the others.

“I’ve not known a storm this bad for twenty years!” exclaimed Maeve. “Had to help the girls get the sheep in the barns, poor old things were at risk of taking off.”

“I’m glad you were driving tonight, Maeve,” said Gemma, shaking her coat out and hanging it up on the hook behind the door. “I don’t think I would have been able to do it.”

“It wasn’t fun,” said Sally. “My car was all over the place coming down here, I think it was only the shingle on the promenade keeping it from skidding.”

“God, yes!” agreed Gemma. “I thought that. I could hardly see a thing through the rain, it was coming down so fast!”

Sally was mopping her face with her jumper. Annie handed round clean tea towels for blotting hands, faces, and hair.

“Smells good in here,” said Maeve, handing her coat to Gemma to hang up and taking a seat.

The others mmm’d in agreement.

“If the weather gets any worse, I’m camping out here for the night,” Sally joked.

“You can sleep in Alfred’s spot, since he’s gone civilian,” said Maeve.

Sally looked inquiringly at Annie, and Annie explained.

The women took their places. Four editions of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall in various states of repair were placed on the table. Spirits were high this evening, not least because of their adrenaline-fueled journey down to the Nook. The boisterous storm was making itself heard in the café, so that they needed to talk louder than usual to be heard, and the draft was enough to keep the candles permanently a-flicker, but it felt warm and cozy in the orangey glow of the lamps.

Maeve filled everyone’s glass with hot dark-fruits punch, while Annie sliced the pizza she’d made and brought it steaming to the table.

“I mean,” said Gemma, pulling at a long of string of mozzarella still attached to her pizza slice, “it could have been a lot simpler if Helen and Gilbert had just been honest and frank with each other from the start.”

“Would have made for a shorter story, though,” said Annie.

“I kind of like the way the story meanders itself out, like a lazy river,” said Sally.

“Nice touch, with the whole thing being written via letters and diaries,” added Maeve. “A good way to split narrators.”

“The whole thing was making me ache because Helen and Gilbert are clearly in love, but so many misunderstandings are keeping them apart,” said Gemma.

“Well, you weren’t supposed to leave your rat-bag husband in those days,” said Annie.

“Unlike you,” Maeve guffawed through a mouthful of garlic bread.

The women laughed.

“Only I won’t be rushing back to nurse him when he gets knob-rot!” Annie said.

“Ooh, but who is your Gilbert?” asked Gemma, winking exaggeratedly.

Annie flushed.

“Aye-aye,” said Sally. “What’s all this, then? Got a fella, have you, Annie?”

At that moment, the café door crashed open; the wind caught it and slammed it hard against the wall. The women screeched and the candles blew out. John stood in the doorway, windswept and soaking.





Chapter 79



There was a flurry of indignant curses.

“Holy fuckwits!” yelled Sally.

“You’re not in my will, John, so it’s no use trying to frighten me to death!” Maeve declared loudly. “And shut the bloody door!”

Gemma’s comments amounted to a series of unintelligible squeaks.

“John, what the . . .” Annie began. She could tell from his face that something was very wrong. Oh God, please don’t let something have happened to Mari, she thought.

John cut her off. “Have you seen Alfred?” he asked her, ignoring everyone else. His voice was rough with desperation, his eyes pleading. Annie stood and looked at him, trying to read his face. John turned and, with some effort, shoved the door shut against the wind. The floor was soaking. He pushed his hair back off his forehead. Rain dripped continuously off his nose.

“Have you?” he asked, turning back to Annie.

“No,” said Annie. “I thought he was in the shelter.”

“Sit down, my boy,” said Maeve, wrestling him into a chair. “And tell us what the devil is going on.”

John ran his hand through his hair again, his other hand clenched into a fist on the table. Annie sat down beside him.

“Christ!” he said. “I should’ve known better. I’m such a fucking idiot!”

“What’s happened?” Annie asked; she put herself into his line of sight so that his eyes had to meet hers. “Tell me.” She ached to take his hand but didn’t.

“I got a call last night from the shelter. Alfred took off after a meeting with the counseling team and didn’t come back. I’ve been driving around looking for him ever since.”

“All night? For Christ’s sake, John, you could have had an accident. Why didn’t you call me?” Annie scolded.

“I grabbed a couple of hours’ kip at a motel, but my phone battery died.”

“You should have come to me!” said Annie. “I would have helped you look.”