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Sally’s face crumpled with concern. ‘And don’t be sorry. I’m just trying to get to know you. We haven’t talked much, have we?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Owen agreed.
‘So, we’ll talk tonight. You pour us each a good measure of that whisky, and we’ll have a nice friendly chat over these sandwiches, and you can put any silly ideas of leaving right out of your head.’ Sally turned back to the bread. Owen poured the whisky, wondering if he was ready for a nice friendly chat, even with the lovely Sally.
Buttering the slices, Sally asked again, ‘Have you got brothers and sisters?’
‘I had a younger sister once.’
Sliding a knife between the slivers of salmon, Sally picked up on his wording. ‘Had?’ she said. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She was run over.’
Sally dropped the knife and turned again to Owen before he could mask his feelings. ‘Lovie!’ she said. ‘Oh, you poor love. When?’
‘When I was a little kid.’ Owen stared at the whisky and wished he could think of a way to change the subject.
‘How? What happened to her?’
‘She got run over. My fault.’
Sally silently listened. No questions now, just patiently waiting for him to continue. Owen looked around the room, up to the fairy lights glittering at the tops of each cupboard, across the ceiling and down to the floor. No escape. Sally was still waiting. ‘She used to follow me everywhere,’ Owen said, turning again to Sally. ‘My mum wanted me to go to the shops for her. I didn’t really want to go, so I stormed out of the house and didn’t shut the door properly. The catch has always been tricky. Still is.’ He swallowed. ‘Anyway, I slammed out and didn’t check the door. Megan followed me. I dashed across the road. The next thing there was a squealing of brakes and a thud. I’d got across just before a car came along the road. Megan ran out straight in front of it.’
Owen fell silent and bleakly looked across at Sally.
She said, ‘How old were you?’
‘I was eight. Megan was just five.’
‘Oh, lovie.’ Sally hugged herself.
Owen thought she might cry. He thought he might as well.
Clearing her throat, Sally visibly pulled herself together. She reached for a glass and held it up. ‘I won’t ask any more questions now, Owen. I can tell it’s painful for you. If you ever want to talk some more about that accident or anything else, I’m here for you. Now…’ She cleared her throat again. ‘Here’s to our loved ones. The ones who have gone before us.’ She lifted the glass to Owen and then sipped the whisky.
‘Thank you,’ he said, aware of her green eyes, worrying over him as he picked up his own glass and downed the neat whisky in one. It caught in his throat. He choked, eyes watering, throat gasping as the heat of the spirit set light to his chest.
‘You’re supposed to savour it.’
He wheezed, and still gasping for air, croaked, ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise. You’ll learn.’ Sally allowed herself a small smile. ‘Pour yourself another and top-up mine.’
She turned back to finishing the sandwiches, and Owen sipped more cautiously at his second glass of single malt whisky. When treated with respect, as Sally had said it should be, it was smooth, warm, and comforting. He lifted the glass to look at the colour of the liquid and let the perfume of it drift to his nostrils. There was pleasure even in the breathing of it. ‘I’ve never had this sort of whisky before,’ he said.
‘What, Lagavulin?’
‘No, single malt.’
Surprised, Sally glanced at him. ‘Seems I have a lot to teach you,’ she said, chuckling softly to herself as she placed a sandwich in front of him. ‘There you are. Sit yourself down and taste that. I’ll be amazed if you don’t like it.’
She pulled her own chair to the table and watched while Owen ate. The mix of salty fish with lemon juice and black pepper between two wafer-thin slices of buttered brown bread was delicious and the two segments of sandwich were gone in a moment.
‘Hmm.’ Owen licked his lips. ‘That was delicious.’
‘There!’ Sally clapped her hands in delight. ‘I told you so.’
‘Aye, aye, what’s happening here?’ Chas Halcyon filled the doorway.
