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Sally leapt up. ‘Having a bit of supper,’ she said, ‘and Owen was telling me about his family.’
‘He told me he didn’t have none,’ Chas said, darting an accusing eye at Owen.
‘Not live family,’ Sally said, and cleared the bread knife to the sink.
Chas grunted.
Continuing to be busy, Sally returned the butter and salmon to the fridge. ‘You’re home early. You want something to eat?’
‘Nah, going to have a bath, then go to bed. You coming?’
‘In a little while, when I’ve cleared everything away down here.’
‘Then I’ll see you upstairs, Sal,’ Chas said, then fastened a gimlet eye on Owen, grunted again, before he moved out of the doorway. Disappearing down the hall before his footsteps thudded on the stairs.
Owen stared at the whisky in his Glencairn and wondered if he had imagined a charged atmosphere between George’s parents. He was certain Chas did not like him and would probably like him out of the house, but Sally had appeared nervous suddenly, and Chas, when his bulk was blocking the doorway, seemed threatening. Owen wondered at what he’d seen. Usually, he was good at reading people, but since his mother’s death, he was unsure about his instinct. He couldn’t even read his own feelings properly anymore, so how the hell could he expect to do it for others?
‘You want another drink?’ Sally interrupted his thoughts.
‘No, thanks. I think I’ve had enough. I’ll clear the dishes if you like.’
‘You are a sweetheart, but no… I’ll stay down for a while. Washing up will give me something to do. Maybe I’ll even do a bit of baking.’ She gave him a secretive smile and added, ‘Give his lordship long enough to have his bath and go to bed. Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll be asleep when I finally go up.’
A beat passed, a fraction of a second in silence, when Owen knew he understood the situation. He had not misread the signals. Sally had confirmed there was no more love between her and Chas than there had been between his own parents.
‘Can I help?’
‘Best not, lovie. You go through and watch a bit of telly.’
‘I’d rather read, so I’ll go up to bed.’
‘As you wish, sleep well, darling.’
‘Thanks… and thanks again for the smoked salmon sandwich. I liked it very much.’
‘Told you so.’ Sally flashed another smile at him.
Alone in George’s bedroom,Owen settled to rereadingThe Visitor.Analysing the writing helped. When he concentrated hard on an individual section of writing, everything else left his brain.
After a while, muted voices from the bedroom across the hall broke his concentration. He couldn’t hear clearly what they were saying, but the tone was unfriendly. Not at all suitable bedroom talk with a woman as beautiful as George’s mum. Poor Sally, she deserved better. Sighing, Owen closed the book, leant across to switch off George’s bedside lamp, then buried his head under the pillow.
