Finlay was a little shaken to realise his first reaction to the way the parents spoke to Murray was one of revulsion. Imagine having parents all over you like that!
Then he’d checked himself and the reasonable part of his brain pointed out it was wrong to be envious of something someone else had. He heard his own mother’s dry voice telling himcovetousness is a sin. Then, after that, all he could think about was how lucky Murray was. How the man made a lot more sense now, if this was his natural habitat and he’d been raised by folks like this. No wonder he turned out a little bit silly, a little bit assured, and very well loved.
It must be nice, Finlay’s heart had said, cracking a little, the way it used to when he was allowed to go to other children’s houses and see their toys and eat their meals and watch their tellies. He didn’t often get invited back, being an obtuse child who said all the wrong things, but the memories of cosy homes and cuddles and snacks and all the nice belongings other families were used to stuck with him, reinforcing the knowledge that he wasn’t like those others.
‘Youcansay no to him, you know, Finlay?’ Mr McIntyre was saying. ‘Don’t be letting Murray strongarm you into anything. OK?’ He’d addressed this part to Murray. ‘Best of luck with the launch th’ day, son. I know you can do it!’
He’d spoken to Finlay and Murray just the same, fatherly and soft. Finlay had looked around the room after they’d left, picturing what it must be like living in a big house like this with soft-hearted parents to gently guide you, even when you’re an adult yourself.
Murray, however, didn’t seem to know how lucky he was – Mrs Morlich would have said how ‘spoiled’. Folk never do know.
Murray had launched into his patter about today being Finlay’s lucky day, before listing the benefits of dog ownership like he was selling the things for cash.
The whole sales pitch had put him in a dark mood, and Finlay had vowed to get through the tree planting and project launch and return to his cruive as fast as he could, and without a dog, or any other additional responsibilities these pesky townsfolk liked to heap upon him.
23
Alice was astonished to spot Clyde Forte being dropped off from the back of a motorbike in the carpark by a young rider who kept their visor down over their face. She was even more astonished to see him stagger off the seat clutching a spade. He immediately lit a cigarette as he waved his lift away. Alice decided today was probably not the day to give him a lecture about riding pillion while clinging on to a heavy spade, or smoking and stroke recovery. He wouldn’t listen anyway.
As he was fending off Senga’s insistence that he take one of her hot chocolates and try her brownie bites, Alice swept in to see if Mr Forte needed any help, just as a car pulled up in front of the repair barn.
Both Mr Forte and Alice watched the car turning. There were three people inside.
‘That’ll be Kellie and her ma and da,’ Mr Forte said in a low voice. ‘Mind you don’t go charging in there.’
Alice had been about to do exactly that, hoping to meet the Timmonys, but she lied and told Mr Forte she’d no intention of interfering, which he scoffed at.
‘She’s feart of doing things away from her parents. In case it happens again,’ he told her, sagely, while blowing smoke right at her.
‘Her risk of stroke’s not much greater than anyone else’s,’ Alice said.
‘When you’ve been hit by lightning, you’ll always think it could happen again,’ he said. ‘And it changes a person. You’ve no idea how much.’
Alice could hear Kellie’s mum speaking through the opened car window at her daughter, still in the back seat. ‘My phone’s on, ring any time, but just try and enjoy it. Half an hour, eh?’
Kellie got out and said something back to her, her hands on the rolled-down passenger side window.
Alice couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she could see the way her mum was looking at her, like it was her first day at school and she was putting on a brave face, trying to be encouraging. She thought of her own mum and how she too had often looked at her like that, especially in recent years.
Kellie had straightened up now and watched as her parents’ car rolled out of the drive, both of them waving stoically, their smiles overwritten with worry.
When they were out of sight, Kellie’s shoulders slumped and she turned, realised Alice and Mr Forte were watching her and trudged slowly towards them.
‘I’m staying for thirty minutes,’ Kellie said.
‘Perfect,’ Alice and Mr Forte said together, making them turn and look at one another in surprise.
‘Come on then, if we’re doing this,’ Kellie told them.
* * *
Alice had made all the introductions. Senga had forced hot chocolates into everyone’s hands who didn’t have one, except for Mr Forte who insisted on finishing his cigarette first.
After a while the kids were finishing planting the roses in rows down the centre of each raised bed with Finlay while Murray gave the orders and kept his hands clean, and Mr Forte, Kellie, Mhairi and Livvie each planted one of the four Aspen trees that had arrived from the nursery with their roots wrapped in cloth.
The plan was they’d finish up getting some of the wildflowers and perennials in the ground, then they’d have their picture taken for the newspaper – the guy was due in twenty minutes – then they’d head inside the shed to discuss future plans for how they’d tend the garden.
So far, things seemed to be going well, thought Alice, even if Cary’s absence stung. When her phone rang, she carried it off round the back of the barn, excusing herself.
