Mae said, stunned.
‘The image of the benign reverend can be a myth!’
‘Right. Okay. Well, mine rowed but not big time. No bad language as far as I could hear. Most of it was sort of theatrical whispering, in the dead of night. It went on and on sometimes although I couldn’t hear what they were saying exactly. And sometimes I’d hear raised voices when I came in from school or something and they’d stop abruptly when they heard me shut the door, and it would be all false smiles and ‘Hello, darling, good day?’ and all that.’
‘Same in our house,’ Josh said. ‘They’d be arguing for England about something, then there’d be a knock on the door and I’d answer it and shout through that it was old Mrs Ellis or someone come to talk about her husband’s funeral and they’d appear in the hall, arms around one another, all smiles. I don’t know if there’s ever been a couple who hasn’t had a row or ten.’
‘No,’ Mae said. She and Josh hadn’t had one. Yet. She’d tackle that hurdle when she came to it. But right now, Mae thought that they’d exhausted the subject of rowing parents and how it affected their children. ‘But I don’t want to talk about it any more. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Josh said.
He stood up, pulling Mae with him. He let go of her hand and put an arm around her shoulders instead. Mae snuggled into him, feeling loved. Feeling safe. They began to walk more quickly towards the park gates.
‘What time have you got to be in?’ Josh asked, which only served to make her feel less like Josh’s girlfriend and more like a small child he was looking after. It knocked the wind right out of her sails for a moment.
‘Eight,’ she said.
‘Right.’
They were navigating the car park now.
‘Can we get a drink on the way?’ Mae asked. She quite fancied a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio – Rosie always brought a bottle or two when she came to visit and her mum always let her have a glass with dinner when she did.
‘Ah, Andy Povey won’t serve me wine for you. But we can pick up a bottle of something and take it down to Fairy Cove.’
‘Just the one bottle?’ Mae giggled – already she could taste the Pinot Grigio she knew Josh would buy on her tongue. Rosie didn’t like her mum letting her have a glass of wine and read her mum the riot act when she found out. Then Rosie gave Mae a lecture on the dangers of alcohol and how it altered your thinking, your rationale. Rosie used a lot of fancy words like that … rationale.
‘Yes. For now. You’re underage.’
‘Oh God, not you as well!’ Mae said, making a mock-cross face. ‘You should have heard the lecture Rosie gave me when Mum went out of the room. “Having sex with a minor is a major offence, Mae, so best remind your boyfriend of that in case he gets ideas. And so is buying alcohol for the same minor. Which means you in this instance, Mae. Don’t forget that will you, Mae? I know you’re fifteen going on fifty-one, but I don’t want you bringing any more worry on your mum’s shoulders, okay? End of lecture, Mae.”, Mae repeated, in a posh sing-song voice. ‘And she said “Mae” that many times it was like I’d forgotten my own name or something. Just because she’s my godmother doesn’t mean she can rule my life!’
‘She sounds like quite a woman, this Rosie,’ Josh laughed. ‘She’s got you fired up anyway!’
‘A force to be reckoned with,’ Mae said, doing her best not to sound angry and bitter. She was failing miserably because all the hurt and anger had bubbled up again.
God, but this growing up lark was hard. No one in her class at school had a father who had died. No one had a mother who was going ahead with turning their home into a B&B against their wishes. No one knew just how horrid it was to go to sleep at night and dream about their dad and then wake up in the morning to realise he wasn’t there any more. No one knew how it felt to have a sort of house brick sat permanently on their chest. It all singled Mae out as being different, although she was anyway through the clothes she wore. She smoothed down the skirt of her frock and bent to finger out the netting petticoat that peeped out from the hem of it. It had a sweetheart neckline and a band of black crepe around the waist. Like she’d told Josh just now, it was the last frock her dad had bought her before he died. She knew she was wearing it to death because the seams were beginning to look strained, but wearing it somehow made her feel closer to him. Anyway, anyone could wear ripped jeans and a T-shirt two sizes too small and most of the girls in her class did at the weekends, like they were in a team or something. Mae didn’t know she wanted to be part of any sort of team.
‘It’s what godmothers are supposed to do – toe the moral line. That’s the whole point of being one,’ Josh said, dragging Mae’s wandering mind back to the present. She thought she’d been thinking less about her dad lately, but somehow it was the other way round.
‘Yeah, but I still think she was out of order. We’re not even related. She’s just Mum’s friend from way back. And then there’s the fact she’s a bit of a slapper is Rosie. Two divorces, three live-in lovers – what sort of moral guidance is that?’
‘It’s life, Mae. And neither of the divorces might have been her fault. And has anyone ever told you that you’re very beautiful when you’re cross?’
‘That line’s got whiskers on it,’ Mae said, but she was glad Josh had said it all the same. And she knew she was probably boring him to death carping on and on about Rosie, who Josh hadn’t even met. She should stop. She’d try.
‘Comes from being an old granddad,’ Josh said, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling deliciously as he smiled. How dark his eyes were – 90% cocoa solids chocolate or something – and how Mae loved looking into them. ‘Shall we go and get that wine?’ Josh said as he unlocked the car door.
‘Yeah,’ Mae said, ‘I might die of thirst if we don’t!’
‘A vicar’s son, a murderer? That would never do!’ Josh said. He opened the door for Mae to get in, handing her the seatbelt. God, but how chivalrous. How very grown up it made her feel.
Mae stood on tiptoe and lifted her face up to Josh for a kiss. When his lips came down on hers, she got a brief whiff of alcohol. Not beer. Not wine. Spirits maybe, definitely alcohol. Had he been drinking already? A glass of something with dinner, which she knew a lot of people were in the habit of having? Whatever, he was far from drunk, not even tipsy. But Mae thought it best not to ask as their lips met.
They were soon at the corner shop on the road out of the village. Josh took no time at all choosing a bottle of wine. Pinot Grigio. And a bag of crisps. They joined the end of a small queue, and Mae was amazed to see she knew no one in it. At least no one who would tell her mum she was buying wine with Josh Maynard.
But her relief was short-lived.
‘Well, well, well,’ a voice behind them said. ‘If it isn’t our local baby-snatcher.’
‘Shove off, Bailey,’ Mae said, not bothering to turn around.
She and Bailey Lucas had been at infant school together, and now at senior school as well, although Mae was in a higher tutor group. About six months ago, Mae and Bailey had gone out a couple of times: to the cinema once, and to drink endless glasses of coke in the Oystercatcher Café. They hadn’t even got to the hand-holding stage, never
