Five Winters(83)

“Hi, both,” said Rosie, coming in. “Goodness, the traffic was bad. What? No rapturous border-collie welcome? Don’t tell me, my dear brother’s popped out for a swift half or three.”

I frowned at that. Was Mark drinking too much? The way Rosie had spoken suggested as much. But there wasn’t time to ask about it—or, indeed, even to get back to the intriguing thing Sylvia had just been about to tell me—because the front door opened again, and the scrabble of frantic paws on the laminate flooring signalled Buddy’s—and presumably Mark’s—return.

“Hi, Buddy,” I greeted the dog, smiling at his enthusiastic welcome as he entered the kitchen—his entire rear half wagging along with his tail before he shot off to fetch me his favourite ball.

“That dog is besotted with you,” Rosie said.

There was no chance to quip that Buddy had good taste because there was a rumble of male voices in the hallway, and then Mark was there. And he wasn’t alone.

“Look who I found in the pub, everyone,” he said.

“Smithy!” I cried, jumping to my feet, causing Buddy to start barking with excitement.

Smithy smiled at me, for Smithy it was, and I saw that the years since I’d last seen him had treated him well. He was slim and deeply suntanned, his hair bleached a light blond. I’d heard he’d been working in Dubai for several years now, and he looked good.

“Hi, Beth. Hi, everybody. It’s good to see you all. Hope you don’t mind me crashing your family lunch, Sylvia?”

“I said you’d have cooked plenty, Mum,” said Mark.

Sylvia came over to kiss Smithy’s cheek. “I have. And of course it’s all right. Of course. It’s lovely to see you after all this time.”

“I was so sorry to hear about Richard.”

Sylvia patted Smithy’s hand. “Thank you, dear. Yes, it was . . . well, you know, I’m sure. But, Mark, fix Smithy a drink, will you? I just need to get the vegetables on.”

“How are you, Beth?” Smithy asked me while Mark searched out a beer and Rosie helped her mother to peel potatoes.

I couldn’t stop smiling at him. It was so good to see him again. As far as I knew, this was the first time he’d been back to this country in years. “I’m fine,” I said. “How about you? You look great.”

Smithy smiled, a slightly lopsided smile that took me right back to our time in Belize together. “I’m okay, thanks. Just back to visit family. Still working overseas. Mark says you’re volunteering at a youth centre?”

Curious that Mark had picked that particular fact about me to mention to his friend. “Yes, it’s in Dalston, near where I live. I really enjoy it.”

In the distance, we could hear Mark speaking to Sylvia, asking about a bottle opener.

“You’re still single, then?” Smithy asked me softly.

“Well,” I said, “I have a boyfriend at the moment, but it’s nothing serious. So yes, I’m still single.”

“You never . . .” Smithy gestured towards the kitchen door—and Mark—with his head.

I shook mine. “No.”

“You do know you might have saved him a broken marriage if you’d said something. I didn’t get to meet Grace, but she sounds like a right piece of work.”

I pulled a face. “Let’s just say I never really warmed to her.”

“Why would you?” Smithy began to say, but I could see Mark coming from the kitchen, so I shushed him.

He joined us, handing Smithy a bottle of beer. “Here you go, mate.” He put his arm round Smithy’s shoulders and looked at me. “So what d’you make of my big surprise, Beth? Good, eh? You two always did get on well, didn’t you? Belize buddies and all that.”

“It’s a fantastic surprise,” I said, meaning it, looking in Smithy’s direction. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about your life in Dubai.”

“Why don’t you come over and experience it for yourself instead of me telling you about it?” Smithy said.

I stared at him. “What?”

“I’ll give you my contact details. You can come and visit whenever you like.”

“Whoa!” said Mark. “Beth’s got a boyfriend.” He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Or so I’m led to believe?”

Rosie chose that moment to join us. “A boyfriend she badly needs to dump,” she said. Then, to me: “Haven’t you done it yet?”

I sighed. “No. But I do really have to.”

“Just tell him straight,” said Mark. “That’s my advice. This isn’t working. What’s his name?”

“Tom.”

“This isn’t working, Tom. I suggest we split. Oh, and while you’re at it, throw in a puppy gift rejection if you can. In my experience, that really helps to underline a person’s true feelings.”

“Not that you’re bitter or anything, mate,” said Smithy.

“Me? Bitter? Whatever gives you that idea?”

We all stared at him. He sighed, shaking his head at himself, looking in my direction. “Sorry, Beth. That was insensitive of me. I know you’ll be gentle with the poor guy when the time comes.”

It was distressing to see him like that, hollow eyed, pale, obviously a bit drunk. If there hadn’t still been that awkward post-kiss hangover between us, I’d have hugged him.