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After she had eked out her tea for as long as she could, she left the cheese factory and walked on into the heart of the village. There were a few gift shops there, selling the usual mass-produced tat that such places sold, plus a lovely gallery featuring works by local artists. At the back were shelves full of blank canvases, paints and brushes and her eyes fell on a wooden art box crammed to the gills with tubes of oils and acrylics and everything a budding artist would need. Her hand reached out to it instinctively to sweep it up and take it to the till for Sunny in the way she used to buy him drawing materials whenever she saw something she thought he’d like. Since he was a toddler, he’d loved to draw and she’d encouraged him with pens and pencils as well as praise. Art had become his passion; he’d gone to York to do a degree in Fine Arts and had come out with a first. Then he’d met Karoline just after he graduated and somehow his ambitions and plans had been altered by this relationship, reduced until they had been stifled out of existence. She couldn’t understand why, because Karoline was an ambitious woman, a manager in some financial institution, a sort of prettier, softer version of Paula and definitely someone who would spur Sunny on to fulfil his potential. But he was now working for an insurance firm in Leeds, a ‘proper job’ at adesk, with a pension and holiday pay, a position which was as much of a mismatch for him as life in a convent would have been to Courtney.
Shay wandered outside into the sunshine then, not quite brave enough to go into the quaint-looking pub, intriguingly called The Grey Mouse, by herself for a drink. Instead she sat on a bench, soaking up the sun, people-watching: families, couples, a group of teenagers laughing as they walked along, enjoying being young, mortgages and responsibilities years away. She’d been like that once, carefree, her only worries being the forthcoming GCSEs and having enough money to buy make-up and clothes, her head so full of Jonah Wells it was wonder it didn’t burst.
She tore her thoughts away from where they were determined to lean. It was this time of year; it always happened, she’d learned to accept that and always tried to keep busy, distract herself from the past with lovely things of the present, but this present had little to offer her.
She wished she were here with Les and Tanya instead. They’d have swept up breakfast together, eaten too many cheese samples in the factory and then sat in the beer garden of The Grey Mouse and drunk cold white wine while soaking up the rays. She imagined Tanya sitting here with her now, keeping her company, telling her that Bruce was a cock for leaving her to celebrate her anniversary alone. Les would have told her to count her blessings that she was by herself and how she wished she could spend all her anniversaries without Morton being there to make a show of himself with his corny banter to waiters, terrible impressions of Hollywood actors and general vulgarity.
The old couple at breakfast drifted into her eyeline, heading towards the cheese factory, hand in hand. That’s whatshe wanted for her and Bruce, that sweet intimacy again. Surely he wanted it back too?
When Shay returned to the hotel room, Bruce was in the bath, lounging there in a vast volume of scented water.
‘Hello, love,’ he called meekly. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Out,’ she replied.
‘Right. Thank you for your card, it was smashing.’ He was in suck-up mode, clearly.
‘No problem.’ Her tone clipped.
‘I’m sorry, I think I left my card for you in the van. I could kick myself.’
She thought about offering to kick him instead and save him the job. She answered him with her silence.
‘My headache’s gone.’ His voice was soft with a wheedling quality to it.
‘Has it now.’ Her mood couldn’t have been clearer.
There followed a plug-gulp, a getting-out-of-the-bath noise. A minute or so later, Bruce emerged, wrapped in a complimentary white towelling robe. He smiled at her; a small smile of apology coupled with the hope of forgiveness.
‘Shay, I’m so sorry I overdid it last night,’ said Bruce. ‘I feel really bad about it. I ruined today for you, didn’t I?’
I’ll say,she concurred inwardly. She couldn’t wait to see what he had lined up for later; was he going to throw himself out of the window to avoid getting too close to her? Feign an anaphylactic shock from being near a bowl of peanuts in the bar?
‘Actually, I’ve had a lovely day,’ she lied, sitting at the dressing table to twist her hair up and fasten it with a claw.
‘What did you do?’ He sat on the bed. She didn’t turnto answer him but spoke to his washed-out reflection in the mirror.
‘Had a superb breakfast, a walk in the sunshine, then I visited a cheese factory.’
‘Sounds really nice.’
‘It was. It’s a gorgeous day. Not to be wasted.’
‘I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the pub we passed on the way here and have some lunch.’
He was making an effort to mend the broken bridge between them; she very much needed it to be mended today.
‘I suppose so,’ she replied.
The Grey Mouse was every bit as pretty inside as it promised to be from the outside. It had a low ceiling with beams, a large inglenook fireplace, dark wooden wall panels, horse brasses, a vast selection of craft beers and locals sitting on stools at the bar counter. There were a few tables free in the large beer garden and Shay claimed one in a far corner while Bruce got the drinks: two chilled white wines – his small, hers large. She wondered if his modus operandi might now be to get her drunk in the hope that she would pass out instead.
‘This is great, isn’t it?’ said Bruce, settling into the chair, tilting his head back, letting the sun warm his face.
‘Yes, it is.’ Shay took a sip of wine, which tasted a bit of paint-stripper. She wouldn’t be knocking it back in one, if that was Bruce’s plan.
‘Has it been like this all day?’
‘Yes.’
