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CHAPTERTWENTY
Showered, shampooed, and ready for Christmas Eve at the pub, George walked into his bedroom. He found Owen was once again nose deep in a book, hunched up on the floor because the put-you-up had already been moved downstairs.
‘You coming?’
Owen barely looked up. ‘No. I’ll give the pub a miss tonight.’
‘Why?’
He turned a page and answered. ‘Cos two’s company and three is most definitely a crowd.’
‘But I’ll be on my own until closing time,’ George said plaintively. ‘Millie will be stuck behind the bar until then.’
Owen closed the book and yawned. ‘I’m tired,’ he said. ‘Not enough sleep last night, so I’ll be no company at all and you’ll be watching Millie like a thirsty man in a desert. Neither ears nor eyes for anyone else. Then you’ll go to Mass. So…’ He shook his head. ‘No. I have books to read and sleep to catch up on.’
‘You’re all right, though?’
‘As all right as I’m ever going to be. Now fuck off will you and enjoy yourself.’
Encouraged by being sworn at, George grinned and left Owen to his reading.
Owen settledback with the book, reading for pleasure rather than analysis but still with part of his brain taking notes on the technical craft the writer had used to create a great read. He had lost all sense of time when he was disturbed by a soft knocking on the bedroom door.
‘Can I come in?’ Sally called from the other side.
‘Yes, of course.’
She opened the door, ran a practised eye around the room and appeared content that he had not disturbed its tidiness.
‘Can I lure you downstairs for some smoked salmon sandwiches and a glass of whisky?’
‘You certainly can.’ Owen smiled at her and closed the book. He like George’s mum. Apart from George himself, she was his favourite Halcyon. Not that he had met any of the others. That, he thought, was a dubious treat still to come. He unfolded himself from the floor and followed Sally to the kitchen, pleased to see neatly cut brown bread sandwiches were already there, waiting for him. Two empty Glencairns and the bottle of whisky were also waiting.
‘Sit down, lovie.’ Sally pulled out a chair for him. ‘We were interrupted last time when I was trying to get to know you.’ She picked up the bottle of Lagavulin. ‘With Chas away at her Majesty’s pleasure, there’s no danger of interruption tonight. So, make yourself comfortable and tell me everything.’
Owen was not sure if telling Sally everything was what he wanted to do, but he was hungry and salivating already just at the memory of the first smoked salmon sandwiches Sally had made him, so he supposed it was the price he would have to pay. Reaching forward, he took a sandwich and wondered as he bit into it how little of “everything” he could get away with.
Sally poured two very generous measures of single malt whisky and passed one glass to Owen.
He picked it up, swirled the golden liquid around the bulbous globe, closed his eyes and breathed in the smoky, heather and peaty honey scents before he took a sip.
He opened his eyes and discovered Sally was smiling at him. ‘I see you’ve learned how to savour a good whisky,’ she said.
‘I guess I have.’ His lips quirked into a smile, and he took another bite of his sandwich. Smoked salmon on brown bread would always be his favourite.
‘It’s good to see you smile,’ Sally said, picking up her own drink and watching him over the rim of the glass as she took a small sip.
‘You know you remind me of someone.’
‘I do?’
‘Yes… a young man I knew before George’s dad. A beautiful young man.’
‘Who was he?’ Owen asked and was surprised to see Sally blush. For a second, the age difference between them seemed to evaporate, and she might be any of the many girls he’d known, but prettier than most… certainly with more character, more depth.
She cast a fluttering sideways look and sighed again, saying, ‘He was the love of my life. His name was Matthew. Matthew Black.’
Seeing a way to avoid talking about himself, Owen said, ‘Tell me about him. Where was he from?’
