‘Oh, I forgot. You’re scared of them, too, aren’t you? My big, brave boyfriend.’
‘Listen, if it’s good enough for Indiana Jones.’
Holly laughed. ‘Where was it, Morag? Under the table?’ She peered beneath it. ‘It’s not there now. Come on, Patrick, help me look. You’ll be fine.’
My fear was irrational. I knew that. Adders can bite you, but they can’t kill you. It was like being terrified of a wasp. I got down on all fours and peered beneath the kitchen cabinets, opening the cupboard beneath the sink, checking under the big oak dining table that dominated one end of this kitchen, which was almost as big as the flat I’d been living in before I moved in with Holly. I had to hand it to Morag: the place was immaculately clean. Everything was old, though, the floor tiles scuffed, the furniture tired and beginning to fall apart. It was very different to Holly’s brand-new kitchen in Brighton.
‘I think it must have gone out. Don’t adders hibernate in winter?’ I said, getting back to my feet, relieved not to have found anything.
‘Aye. God knows where that little bastard found it. He’s a six-dinner Sid,’ Morag explained. She shook her arms out, attempting to disperse the tension from her muscles. ‘He strolls around the whole peninsula, getting everyone to feed him. No one seems to know who he belongs to, but my mum claims he’s hers because he spends most of the time at the pub.’
Holly explained. ‘Morag’s mum, Brenda, is the landlady of the Bay Inn, the pub I was telling you about. Do you still work there, Morag?’
‘Aye, when it’s busy, like this week. Hogmanay is our busiest night of the year. The whole of Christmas week is hectic. Lots of men hiding from their wives.’
The back door was still open, and Morag went over to close it. It was so cold in the house that when Morag spoke her breath was visible.
‘I’m really sorry, Holly. I need to put the heating on. Light the fire. You’re earlier than I expected.’
Morag was looking at me, and Holly said, ‘Oh, sorry. I haven’t introduced you. Morag, this is Patrick. My boyfriend.’
She nodded at me. ‘When are the others getting here?’
‘Miranda and Zack should be here any moment.’ Miranda was Holly’s older sister and Zack was her husband. ‘Lewis is arriving tonight. Swanning in and making a grand entrance, as usual.’
‘And what about your dad?’
‘He’s getting here tomorrow.’
‘And will he have… his fiancée with him?’
Holly kept the smile on her lips. ‘Jasmine. Yes.’
Morag went over to the sink, filling the kettle. She gave Holly a sidelong glance. ‘How are you feeling about it all?
‘It’s great. I can’t wait to meet her.’
‘I bet. She’s American, right?’
‘From Florida.’
‘And isn’t she the same age as us?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Younger, actually,’ I said. ‘Thirty-four.’
Morag didn’t seem at all surprised. Older, rich men and younger women. It was such a cliché it was hardly worth remarking on. ‘And he’s how old now?’ The kettle had boiled and Morag poured the water into a cafetière that she had already spooned coffee into.
‘Sixty-one.’
Morag finished making the coffee and handed a mug each to me and Holly. ‘And you’re all right about it?’
‘Of course. Why do people keep asking me that?’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to…’
Holly waved a hand. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’
