Page 119 of The Winter of Second Chances
She considered last night as she walked. Admittedly, it wasn’t her finest moment. The boys had crept gingerly downstairs after Max had left and found her mopping up the water that hadn’t been absorbed by Max’s clothes. She’d confessed to her outburst, which they’d more than likely heard anyway but they seemed to find it hilarious.
‘We didn’t know he was still seeing Ellie,’ said Peter, when the jokes about her starting a new life as a bucket-wielding circus clown or taking up professional car cleaning had subsided.
‘If we had, we would absolutely have told you,’ Alex added, and Greg agreed.
‘I’d have made him,’ said Greg, ruffling Alex’s hair.
‘Oh my God, Greg, you know how long it takes me to do my hair!’
Peter laughed. ‘You should grow it like mine, bro,’ he said, pulling his mane back into a ponytail. ‘Easier to handle.’
‘Casual yeti has never been my style,’ Alex retorted.
‘So, the whole bucket then?’ said Greg.
‘Every last drop,’ said Annie.
‘And you mopped him,’ said Alex. ‘That’s a bit weird, isn’t it, angry mopping a person?’
‘It was a spur of the moment thing,’ said Annie.
‘Spontaneous husband mopping,’ Greg mused.
‘In a funny way, I feel kind of bad for him,’ said Peter.
‘Sorry,’ said Annie. ‘I’m sure he’ll be okay once he’s dried off.’
‘No, jeez, Mum, what are you apologising for? I don’t mean the drenching. I mean, I feel sad that he’s such a mess. It must be awful to be wrapped up in so many lies.’
‘Stressful,’ agreed Alex.
‘Well, there’s an easy cure,’ said Greg. ‘He just needs to stop being such a bloody liar!’
‘You’re not planning on becoming a psychiatrist, are you, Greg?’ Annie asked.
‘Life coach,’ he grinned.
After half an hour she was braced for the day. She let herself in by the cafe door, flicked on the lights and made straight for the heaters. Five minutes later, with her hands thawing out nicely and the coffee machine grumbling into life, Annie began to take the chairs down from the tables, and then she stopped. The plate she’d left out for Alfred was empty, as was the thermos. A folded note next to the plate, written in a spidery hand, read, ‘Thank you’. Annie felt a stab of sadness at the thought she might never see him again. She wondered how he would get on today. She hoped he would be able to settle and accept the help that the shelter was offering. It was selfish of her to want to keep him in Willow Bay but the crotchety old chap was as much a part of the bay as the gulls and the craggy cliffs; with him gone it was like there was a piece missing from Willow Bay’s jigsaw.
By eleven o’clock she still hadn’t heard from John. She knew he was taking Alfred to the shelter for nine a.m. and she’d been checking her phone ever since.
‘He’s probably caught up in paperwork,’ said Gemma. ‘You said he’s acting as Alfred’s next of kin, didn’t you, so there’s probably forms to fill in and stuff like that.’
‘I guess so,’ said Annie. ‘When’s Brian back?’
‘Next Wednesday,’ said Gemma. ‘He’s home for two months. I’ve learned not to say anything to the kids until a couple of days before he’s due back. They get so unbearably excited and highly strung that they stop sleeping and start having tantrums every fifteen minutes.’
‘Crikey. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.’
The door opened and a gust of wind made the fairy lights swing and the baubles on the tree jangle. Annie looked over, hoping to see John. It was Max. Gemma made a show of pushing the bucket further under the counter with her foot and Annie had to work to tamp down her smile.
‘Can we talk?’ he asked without preamble.
Annie looked at Gemma. All the tables were full, but they were up to date on orders.
‘It’s fine, go,’ said Gemma, making shooing motions.
‘Come through,’ said Annie.
