Page 22 of The Reno
She held onto my hand, pulling it closer to her. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How awful. And me just blabbering on about the garden. Please ignore me.”
I shifted my weight. “There’s nothing to apologise for. We weren’t that close.”
Pat’s piercing brown eyes seemed to be scanning me, peeking through closed curtains, so I changed the subjectquickly.
“Noodle is very cute.” I leaned down and petted him on the head. He rubbed his flat face into my jeans.
“Thank you.” She beamed down at the rotund dog. “We adopted him—he has a lot of health problems, like most pugs. We would never buy, especially this breed. I just disagree with it.”
I nodded, and Noodle got bored of me and trotted around the garden, snorting away.
“Have you got a hus—partner moving in with you?” Pat stuttered through the question. Those eyes were curious, if not a little nosy. In fact, she was definitely nosy.
“Ah, no. No husband,” I said, giving Pat the answer to her silent question—I was straight. “I’m just coming up to renovate the property, sell it, then I’m moving back down south. Hopefully, I’ll buy somewhere in London. It was my dad’s house when he was growing up, so I feel like I should—” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence, so I just left it hanging.
“Oh, that’s lovely.” Pat threw a palm to her chest. “Well, if you need any help, you know where to find us. Our Steve has a shed load of tools, and we know quite a few tradesmen. Have you found a builder?”
I gave a tight smile. “Almost sorted.” There was no chance I would mention Liam, just in case Pat knew him. She had the air of someone who knew everyone.
Pat smiled brightly, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had becomesomethingin her mind. A project, maybe? It made me a bit uneasy, but she was warm and friendly, and I couldn’t afford to turn away friends who might help me.
So, I gave her a morsel more.
“I think it’s going to be a bit stressful, the renovation. But I’m hopeful I’ll get it all sorted in time.”
“Of course you will.” She glanced at her watch. “But the working day is over.” She took on a motherly tone, which jarred against the memory of my own mother’s harsh words. “Why don’t you explore the high street? It’s small, but you should have a mooch. You must visit the social club. It’s the committee meeting today, so everyone will be there.” Pat clapped her hands together. “Oh yes, we’ll get you sorted in no time. I’ll message our Sandy. She works behind the bar and can get you in as our guest.”
“Guest?”
“Yes, guest.”
“Is it like a golf club? I’m not dressed—”
Pat burst out laughing. Then heaved a breath and kept laughing.
“No, no,” she said between laughs. “Golf club.” She wiped her eyes. “It’s nothing like that. It’s a social club—like a working men’s club?”
“Oh. LikePhoenix Nights?”
I’d never watched it, but I knew the premise vaguely—a working men’s club full of balding white blokes nursing their warm pints of ale.
Pat barked a laugh. “I supposed it used to be a bit like that. Until we had a”—she pinched her thumb and forefinger together—“little coup and kicked out the old guard. Now, it’s more… representative of the area. It’s a pub but also a community centre, I suppose.” Pat touched my shoulder. “Trust me, you’ll have ariot and find someone to help you with this.” She gestured to the house with its broken roof tiles and thick, overgrown bushes that obscured the windows.
God, it looked like a mess.
I didn’t want to admit it, but Pat was right—I could do with all the help I could get.
“Which way is the high street?”
SIX
As I walked up Everly Heath High Street, I wrapped my trench coat closer around me. The pavement was icy beneath my feet, and I made a note to buy some better shoes if I headed into Manchester at the weekend. I winced as another gust of wind whipped around me. I was freezing even in a coat, gloves, thick tights and a woolly dress. This would have kept me warm in London. They clearly weren’t kidding about it being colder up here. I approached a building resembling a miniature town hall with its columns and red bricks. A sign above the door read EVERLY HEATH SOCIAL CLUB. The soft light coming from the windows made the social club look cosy—a little port in the storm. Opposite the social club was an arcade of charming little shops with a Victorian lead canopy, housing an independent coffee shop, a delicatessen, a bakery, a wine shop, cheesemonger’s, and an old-school hardware shop. It was nothing like I remembered as a kid.
No, it was something out of a fucking Hallmark film.
All I remembered from my childhood visits were the rapid noise of windscreen wipers, relatives that pinched my cheeks, andcold sausage rolls. Suffice to say, I hadn’t been all that impressed.
But I had to admit that Everly Heath was kind of… cute.
