‘I don’t know what I want.’
‘Well, duck, you’d best figure that out, then, hadn’t you?’
* * *
Bones rattling, I stood on the doorstep and racked my brain for a way to apologise. But when he opened the door, Mack jumped straight in with, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorrier.’
That made him smile. ‘Peace-offering?’
‘White chocolate and raspberry brownies.’
‘You’d better come in.’
In the end, we sat outside in the autumn sunshine, watching the squirrels scamper after nuts as we sipped coffee and eased back into each other’s company with neutral topics like the progress on the house. Eventually, emboldened by laughter and the warmth of good conversation, I tested things a little further.
‘If you weren’t with Sienna, where have you been all this time?’
Mack thought for a minute, running a hand over his missing beard. ‘I thought I couldn’t write any more because I’d realised love was a load of crap that brought nothing but pain and disappointment, and that people can’t be trusted. So, I went home.’
‘You went home?’ Goodness, my witty repartee knew no bounds this morning.
‘To my parents. Whom I love. And who have always loved me, unconditionally. And I let them love me, in all the best ways. I watched them love each other. I visited my sisters and their kids, ate chips and threw a Frisbee and had tickle fights. I remembered what love was. And I started writing.’
‘That’s so great.’ It was so great I hardly even cared that it was his family who’d reminded him what love was, not the weird woman next door.
‘And once I’d started, well, I couldn’t stop. So, I finally had something worth sending to my publisher. And they liked it. Enough for me to buy out Sienna’s half of the house. Which means I’m back. For the first time in nearly six years. I’m back.’
‘Return of the Mack.’ I toasted him with the dregs of my coffee. ‘Welcome home.’
He smiled so hard, it reached every corner of his face.
‘Right, well. I’ve a deadline to meet. And this time I actually mean it. I’d best get back to work. It’s really good to see you, Jenny.’
‘You too.’
Cue gigantic, enormously awkward pause.You too?Snap out of it, woman and find something to say!
‘Don’t forget to let the rot guy in on Friday. No grumpy “get orf my land, I’m busy writing my next bestseller and the creative flow cannot be disturbed”.’
‘Yeah, yeah. And in the meantime I’ll be listening out for your next disaster.’
43
What with one thing and another, it was soon December, and the book club Christmasparty. Although, with the challenges now complete, we would be reverting to being a boring old temper-fizzing, insult hurling, food-throwing book club.
My third Christmas of the year was looking to be the best yet. I had joined the Camerons on their annual trip to fetch a tree straight from the forest, smothering it in gluey, glittery stars and recycled paper chains. I had clapped until my hands were sore at their church nativity, giving an extra cheer for the three mini-warrior angels despite their inability to resist performing an unscripted fight scene. I had helped write dozens of Christmas cards for Maddie’s class postbox, and dropped off a nervous but excited Dawson at his school Christmas disco. I had also joined Ellen in distributing food hampers and gift boxes for vulnerable families and those with no family to speak of whatsoever. It meant more than I could say that, by some miracle, my Christmas would be spent with a family like this one.
Frances was in hospital, due to what she called ‘pesky stomach mischief’, and what we called three days of uncontrollable vomiting. To Edison’s delight, Florence moved into The Common Café, where the attentions of a small boy would hopefully ease the pain of missing her owner.
‘Must be getting a little crowded upstairs,’ Lucille remarked, as we lounged on the café’s sofas, clustered around the crackling fire, red and white Scandi-style bunting hung along the mantelpiece. ‘First Jamie, now a dog.’
Jamie levelled his gaze at her, no less serious even when topped off with a pair of antlers. ‘On the rare occasions I make it upstairs, we all fit in just fine.’
‘You’ve not moved in, then?’
‘Not until we’re married.’
