LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

for him before he picked up the suitcase again.

      Fortunately, the car really was just outside, and Nick seemed willing to accept John’s help in putting both bags into the trunk. He still seemed pale as they started toward the food shop, his wrist still held carefully against his chest as if he was protecting it from being jarred further.

      After a moment, Nick glanced sideways at John, seeming to understand that an explanation of some sort would be polite. “I broke it about three months ago. There was a plate and screws in there. They had a hell of a time putting it back together.” His smile was strained. “The bandage is more to remind me to be careful with it than anything else. Although you can see how well that works.”

      “It’s not surprising you don’t like being reminded to be careful. I’d be the same myself, I shouldn’t wonder.” They reached the village shop and John made sure he got to the door first, without making it obvious, lengthening his stride a little.

      The shop wasn’t too busy; the children were still in school, which meant that the narrow aisle in front of the comics section was easier to navigate than it was at the weekend. John gave the shopkeeper a pleasant smile and murmured, “How are you, George?” He didn’t like the man; George Dunn would sell you the air you breathed if he could, the tight-fisted old sod, but John preferred to keep his feelings to himself. He’d had a lot of practice at that.

      The shop was -- just -- big enough to mean that there was a choice of cart or basket. John pulled out a cart and murmured casually, “I’ll push it, you throw stuff in. Well, maybe not the eggs. And don’t let me forget my tea bags. My mother comes visiting on Wednesdays, and if I can’t give her a cup of tea after her walk up the hill, I’ll never hear the last of it.”

      “Your family all lives on the island?” Nick asked, putting a tin of soup into the cart.

      “I’ve two sisters.” John was willing to talk in the hopes that it would encourage Nick to open up a little. “Both married. Andrea’s the youngest; she had her second baby not two weeks ago. She lives at the top end of the island. Janet lives here in town; she’s got two kids too, one of each.” He smiled, because it was hard not to when he thought about his nieces and nephews. His mother adored them all but was determined not to spoil them. John, with a cheerful indifference to the consequences, indulged them as much as his sisters would allow.

      “What does your father do?”

      “Passed away last year,” John felt the sheer unreality of it, as he always did. “They went out on the boat, he and my uncle Collum, and a storm came up. They were in sight of land when a wave took the boat and capsized it. Dad had hold of Uncle Collum by the scruff of his neck, keeping his head out of the water because Collum’d broken his collarbone, the clumsy devil.”

      They’d come to a halt now, side-by-side in the aisle, with Nick looking a little awkward, if sympathetic.

      John sighed and reached for a tin of baked beans. “Dad got thrown against a rock. Knocked a hole in his head you could put your fist through. And then it was Collum’s turn to do the hard work and get them both home the best he could.” He studied the picture on the tin and then put it back on the shelf, giving Nick an apologetic smile “Sorry. You’ve losses of your own to bear without hearing about mine.”

      Nick looked shaken, but he swallowed and nodded, his good hand tightening on the edge of the cart before he moved it to touch John’s hand briefly. “I --” His voice broke a bit, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “I’m sorry. It’s good for me to be reminded that it’s not just me. I ... I didn’t know my uncle Ian. He and my mother didn’t get along. I don’t even know why he left the house to her, unless it was just because he didn’t have anyone else to leave it to.” The man seemed to be making an effort, at least, which was good. He wouldn’t last long on the island if he had everyone convinced that he was just a typical American, rude and thoughtless.

      John couldn’t fault him for not mourning the death of a man he’d never met, but it was clear from his reaction that some bereavement was still troubling him. His mother’s death, maybe? Although that was four years ago, and you’d have thought by now --

      Chiding himself for being overly inquisitive, even though it was motivated by concern, John carried on walking. “He spoke of you. Not often, no, but there’s a picture of you on the table in the hall that your mother must’ve sent him, so maybe they weren’t always at odds.” He gave Nick a small grin. “You’re older and wearing more clothes now, which is why I didn’t recognize you. You’d have been about three, and having a fine time in your bath by the looks of it.”

      “My mother had a tendency to take pictures like that. I think the last one she took was when I was about eight. After that, I learned to lock the bathroom door.” Nick smiled a little bit, as if remembering. He stopped and looked at the shelf in front of him. “Tea bags,” he said, gesturing “Which ones did you want?”

      “The cheapest, but as my mother would notice, we’d better make it PG Tips instead.” He took the box from Nick and put it in a separate section of the cart.

      “Hello, John!”

      They both turned, and John attached a polite smile to his face. Moira. Hadn’t taken her long to spot a new face, he thought uncharitably. They’d grown up together and she hadn’t improved with age.

      “Well, now, someone’s stocking up.” Her gaze flickered inquisitively from the shopping cart to Nick’s face.

      Giving in to the inevitable, John introduced them, and Moira’s pale-blue eyes widened with pleasure. “You’ve come to live here then, Mr. Kelley?”

      “That’s the plan,” Nick agreed.

      “Well, now.” Moira beamed at him, getting a strained smile in return. “We’ll just have to make you feel at home then, won’t we?” She edged a little closer and rested her hand on Nick’s arm. John rolled his eyes without troubling to hide his feelings because Moira had forgotten he existed -- something he wished she’d done a good ten years earlier -- and then frowned as Nick’s hand curled into a fist and he stepped back.

      “I’m sure I’ll like it here. But I’m really tired, and I don’t want to infringe on any more of Mr. McIntyre’s time than I have to, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll finish up here so he can drive me out to the house.”

      Moira tittered. “Oh, he’s got nothing better to do,” she said dismissively. “Not when he can’t go fishing, anyway. Isn’t that right. John?”

      John took a tight hold on his temper. “I was brought up never to contradict a lady, Moira.”

      She smirked, and then, as Nick moved away abruptly to study a display of homemade jam, bit her lip, turned on her heel and left with a brisk nod to John and a final, lingering look at Nick.

      “And that being so, you’re wrong, Moira, like always,” John muttered under his breath.

      “Why didn’t you tell her that to her face?” Nick asked, coming back to stand at John’s side.

      John shook his head. “Quickest way to get rid of her. I’m not one for arguing. And I got the impression you’d be happier with her gone.”

      Nick stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “She wasn’t all that polite, but she seemed, I don’t know ... honest, I guess.”

      The wheels on the cart squeaked as John gave it a shove and got it moving again. “Aye, I’ll give her that,” he said dryly, not bothering to share his opinion that in Moira’s case honesty wasn’t a virtue. Not when it was fuelled by spite.

      “I’m sorry,” Nick murmured. “I didn’t mean to --” He gave John a look that wavered and fell, as if the effort of focusing on John’s face was too much.

      “It’s not of any consequence at all,” John said firmly. “Now, will you be wanting some of that jam for your toast or not?”

      They finished the shopping

Скачать книгу