A Season for Second Chances(90)

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It wasn’t overly busy in the bar area of the Captain’s Bounty, but the restaurant end was full. Annie was acutely aware that this was her second time having dinner with a man in this pub. She wouldn’t like people to think she was sampling the local men as well as the produce. Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t a date. They were just two friends—they were friends now?—having dinner together. If you took into consideration that Annie was a potential buyer for his aunt’s property, you could even describe it as a business meal—she wondered briefly if she could offset it against her tax bill as expenses; he’d said it was his treat but she didn’t like to take these things for granted.

The air was heavily scented with garlic, sizzling meats, fresh coriander, and the ever-present undercurrent of woodsmoke. Annie’s stomach growled. She found John at a table for two near a deep-set leaded window. John smiled when he saw her and stood as she drew near. There was an awkward moment when both of them hovered, clearly wondering if they were in kissing-cheek-on-arrival territory or not. They decided yes, and Annie took full advantage, breathing in the smell of his cologne against his warm skin before sitting down, Annie taking the chair opposite him. John closed his book—a ragged, yellowing copy of A Scandal in Bohemia—and set it to one side. Annie nodded toward it.

“You’re a Sherlock Holmes fan?”

“Not particularly. Just this one really. It’s my go-to comfort book when I’m stressed.” He picked it up and turned it over in all its dog-eared glory. “It was my dad’s. He read it to me when I was a kid; I didn’t understand half of it, but I liked him reading it to me.”

“I didn’t have you down for a classics fan. I thought you’d be more of a James Herbert man.”

John looked impressed. “How very astute of you, Ms. Sharpe. As a matter of fact, I am a fan of James Herbert. But I like the classics too.”

“You should join our book club.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” said John, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ve seen what goes on at your book clubs.”

“That was a one-off—not at all indicative of our usual run of events.”

“I get the impression it’s really a women-only affair.”

“You’re probably right. There’s lots of feminist talk and bra burning. Once a month we sacrifice a man to Hecate under a blood moon.”

John nodded sagely. “I thought as much,” he said.

“Was your dad a big reader?”

“Yes. Or at least, I think I remember him reading a lot, but that could be my memory adding embellishments.”

“How old were you when he left?”

“I was about nine. You know those stories about men who go out one day saying they’re going to buy a packet of cigarettes and never return?”

“Yes.” Annie laughed.

“That was my dad.”

Annie straightened her face. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. He told us he was going to the off-license to get a packet of fags and a pint of milk and he never came back.”

“Oh my God! Did you ever find out where he went?”

“Oh yeah, he had a whole other family in the next town.”

“What!”

“Yep. I shit you not. Some of his other kids were even the same age as my siblings. He’d been leading a double life for nearly ten years, and then one day he obviously picked a favorite. And that was the end of that.”

“What did your mum do?”

“She waited for him to come home and she bore the shame.”

“She bore the shame?” Annie asked incredulously. “What about his shame?”

“I don’t think he had any.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“He turned up at my mum’s funeral. My brother punched him in the face; I didn’t intervene.” His face darkened, but then he checked himself and smiled. “My sister found herself on a double date once with her half sister. That was an interesting evening!”

“Oh my God!” Annie laughed. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny, but it’s the kind of stuff you read about in women’s magazines. I mean, can you imagine? Well, I suppose you don’t have to. How awful for your sister. Did they stay in touch?”

“As a matter of fact, they did. They’re godparents to one another’s children.”

“Your family makes my family seem terribly dull.”

“I’d have taken dull. I’ve spent my adult life trying to make Celeste’s home life as uneventful as possible.”

“Ah well, now there we are similar. I classically stayed in a bad marriage to ensure that my children didn’t come from a broken home.”

“How admirable of you,” said John insincerely.

“Wasn’t it? After all my years of faking happiness, I have recently discovered that my kids knew exactly what was going on and grew up knowing that their dad screwed around and their mum put up with it. What a fabulous advertisement I am for feminism.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. We’re all just trying not to fuck up our kids in our own way.”

“I worry that by trying not to fuck them up I might have fucked them up more,” said Annie.