the doors and windows open and I can’t risk Doris running away. Anyway, it was never meant to be a permanent arrangement, was it?’
Jack’s head twitched a no response. ‘You’re having all the doors open in this weather?’
Beth glanced around her as if only noticing for the first time that it was January. The snow had almost gone; all that was left were stubborn dirty lumps of ice here and there. ‘Got to get on. I want the cottage back on the market by Easter.’ She knew it was over-optimistic but she liked to set goals and stress to Jack that she was not a suitable candidate to set his sights on, since she would be moving on as soon as she could. Putting distance between them might help to heal the damage he’d done. She’d actually started to trust him. That was what hurt the most.
‘Oh,’ said Jack, fumbling in his pocket for his phone and frantically pressing buttons. ‘Did you hear about this?’
Beth was scowling. She didn’t want to get caught up in chitchat; self-preservation was key on a number of levels. ‘I need to get going …’
‘This guy hired a boat on Christmas Day to sail up the Thames and get Tower Bridge to open,’ he said at high speed as he glanced between Beth and his phone. ‘He was going to propose to her but she never turned up. Do you think it was Fergus and Carly?’ Jack thrust the phone under her nose.
Beth’s neck snapped back in surprise. She forcefully pushed the phone away and tried to keep a hold on her racing pulse. He wasn’t trying to hit her, but it was a swift movement and it had put her on high alert all the same.
‘I doubt it.’ She turned to leave.
Jack rubbed his chin and his face reflected his utter confusion. ‘Have I done something to upset you? Because if I have then … I’m really sorry.’
She turned back and briefly studied his face. He did look sorry but then that was all part of the charade. She’d seen Nick play out his role as wounded hero so many times. Petra had said domestic violence was in Jack’s past – she had an opportunity to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he had changed, but she simply couldn’t take a risk like that. She felt a strange sense of loss although it was something she had never really had.
‘It’s just that the New Year brings renewed focus, that’s all. I need to get on. Bye Jack.’ Tears pricked at Beth’s eyes and she had to turn away quickly.
Later that day Beth was thankful that she hadn’t heard anything further from Jack but she couldn’t help a sidelong look at his cottage as they walked past on the way to school. She wondered if Doris was shut in her dog cage or if Jack had found someone else to have her. Leo and Denis dashed into school, leaving Beth to her thoughts as she walked home. Another glance at Jack’s cottage on the return trip revealed nothing. She found herself sighing as she let herself into Willow Cottage. Right, now I really do need to get some work done, she thought.
Carly tapped Fergus’s arm. They were sitting in the back of his dad’s old Mini. Although, Fergus was more sort of folded into the back seat with his head only a fraction off the roof lining, which he bumped with monotonous regularity every time they hit a pothole, which was frequently. Fergus turned to look at her. An advantage of having a deaf partner was that instead of whispering she could simply mouth something and he would be able to lip-read it. He wasn’t the best at lip-reading and strangers were particularly tricky, but with Carly he understood every time.
‘What the feck is going on?’ she mouthed. Fergus snorted a chuckle and his dad glanced into the rear-view mirror.
Fergus signed back to her. ‘Going to see Granny.’
‘I thought that’s what he said. But she’s dead.’
Fergus snorted again and Carly gave him a nudge in the ribs.
‘Is your man all right back there?’ asked Mr Dooley in his thick Irish accent.
‘We’re both fine, thanks, Mr Dooley,’ replied Carly as she was signing to Fergus to stop snorting.
‘Ah, now you want to be calling me Cormac,’ said Mr Dooley.
‘Okay,’ said Carly as she took in what Fergus was signing in reply.
‘… it’s traditional that everyone goes to spend some time with the deceased …’ he signed.
Carly knew her wide eyes would be sufficient response. Fergus patted her thigh and then took her hand in his and squeezed it gently, and she tried very hard to relax.
‘Cormac?’ said Carly tentatively, not wanting to distract him too much from his erratic pothole swerving.
‘Yes, love.’
‘Are there family flowers we can contribute to or do we need to buy our own wreath? We weren’t sure which would be the right thing to do.’
‘No, no, you don’t need to worry about that. You see, Granny requested no flowers at the funeral on account of her pollen allergy,’ explained Cormac, his tone serious as he nodded at the rear-view mirror.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Carly, forcing herself not to dissolve into inappropriate hysterics.
They arrived at Granny’s house and peeled themselves out of the tiny car.
‘I’ll be back in about an hour,’ he said, looking at his watch.
‘An hour?’ asked Carly, a fraction louder than she meant to. She was guessing there was nowhere she could get a black chai tea.
‘Did you want longer with yer granny?’ Cormac asked Fergus.
Fergus thankfully shook his head. ‘An hour’s fine, Da. Thanks.’ He put his arm round an anxious-looking Carly and led her inside. The small terraced house was dark and silent. They entered the front room where a vast amount of heavy drapes adorned the windows. As her eyes adjusted to the poor flickering light cast by numerous candles, Carly caught a glimpse of an open coffin before the door was closed behind them.
A sudden movement caught Carly off guard and she had to stifle a scream. ‘Ahh, Fergus. Good to see you, just awful sad about the circumstances, but yer granny would be glad you made it,’ said a short man as he left a chair next to the coffin and threw himself into a bear hug with Fergus. The man stood back to appraise him.
‘You look well, that English piss-like beer must be suiting you then?’ he guffawed.
‘They have Guinness there too, Uncle Padraig.’ She was impressed; Fergus’s lip-reading was better than she’d thought because she could barely understand the mumbling man with his heavy Irish drawl. ‘You remember Carly?’
‘Still a beauty, you are. Is he looking after you, now?’ he said, pulling her into a tight squeeze. Carly opted for copious amounts of nodding and grinning and hoped that would be enough of an answer to whatever it was he’d said. He turned to Fergus. ‘You need to get a ring on that there finger, so you do,’ he added, waving Carly’s left hand at Fergus, making her feel like a puppet.
Uncle Padraig let go of her and with an arm round Fergus ushered him to a corner for a private chat. She noticed Fergus gently reposition his uncle in front of him so he could lip-read and ask him to repeat what he’d said.
Carly didn’t want to look like she was
