Chapter 18

18

Pearl is almost disappointed by how little care or attention Niall Dixon seems to need or want. Together with Shelley and Lena she had quickly beckoned him out of the torrential rain and into the warmth of the cottage. But he seemed a little baffled by Pearl’s rushed explanation that they would be looking after things during his stay, and clearly wasn’t in the mood to chat. She registered intensely blue eyes behind his wire-rimmed spectacles and offered him a hot drink, which he declined politely.

‘I stopped for one about an hour ago,’ he explained.

‘So are you here on a walking trip?’ she asked, insisting on taking his wet jacket from him and hanging it on a hook near the Aga to dry. Pearl can’t help wanting to take care of people to the point of fussing sometimes.

‘Kind of,’ Niall replied. ‘I’d planned a hike today but…’ He nodded towards the window. It was as if it was being hosed from above.

‘Not the weather for it,’ Shelley suggested.

‘Exactly. So I’m sorry to arrive early,’ he added. ‘I can go for a drive if you like?’

Pearl assured him that his room was all ready, and that he was welcome to settle in right away. ‘It’s not like those olden-day B&Bs where you’re slung out into the rain until teatime,’ she joked.

‘I’m glad to hear that.’ He smiled then and Pearl noticed how it lit up his face briefly, and his demeanour relaxed. He was a good-looking man, she decided, and could be anything from late-forties to mid-fifties. She has never been any good at guessing ages. On her first date with Elias she’d been momentarily taken aback to see the startlingly youthful man waiting for her at the bar. But it turned out that he was five years older than she was. Combined with good genes, his lifestyle had seemingly taken little toll on his looks. And whereas Elias was slick and groomed and wore labels that Pearl had never even heard of, Niall was stubbly and wearing the kind of top you only find in those outdoorsy shops that she never frequents. She wondered briefly if he was in the habit of taking solo trips. He certainly seemed to be pretty self-contained and wasn’t up for any more pleasantries in the kitchen. Perhaps the welcoming committee of three was a little too much. So Pearl showed him to his room and he has remained there ever since.

‘So what are we going to do?’ she asks now. The three friends have gathered around the kitchen table. An emergency summit meeting is happening to decide what to do for dinner tonight as, despite a second message from Pearl, Michael still hasn’t replied.

‘Would you be checking your phone if you’d just got together with someone you’re crazy about?’ Shelley asks.

‘I still think we should try him again,’ Lena says firmly. ‘It can’t do any harm and he’d rather know, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t want us blundering through the weekend, destroying his reputation?—’

‘We’re not going to destroy his reputation,’ Shelley insists. ‘We’re all competent women. We can handle this.’ She gets up to fetch matches and lights one of the creamy candles set in the centre of the holly garland on the table. All three watch it flicker, as if awaiting divine inspiration.

‘Could we do something with chickpeas?’ Pearl grimaces. ‘Or divide that little quiche between seven? Shell, you’re the queen of meal-stretching?—’

‘We could add lots of rice and pasta,’ she offers. ‘And aren’t there potatoes?’

‘Or we could do a giant vegetable curry?’ Lena suggests, aware that she would have to delegate this task. When Tommy first moved in, she tried, gamely, to wow him with stir fries liberally doused in soy sauce. Ridiculously, she was ashamed of the fact that, since her divorce, she had become reliant on ready meals and things on toast. But Tommy hadn’t moved in to enjoy a meal service, and pretty soon he assumed the role of cheerful home cook.

‘There’s oven chips,’ Pearl remembers, ‘and tonnes of breakfast stuff. We could do a bit of everything. A huge, terrible, mismatched buffet…’ An image flashes in her mind of one of Brandon’s many birthday parties, when Dean was still with them. Together they would lay on a fabulous feast virtually shimmering with artificial colourings. She fears that this version would be less fun. ‘Bacon and chips and scrambled eggs,’ she suggests. ‘Spaghetti and butter as if they’re all six years old. And could we concoct a dessert from frozen berries, choc ices and cornflakes?’

Lena pulls a nauseous face and Pearl bows her head, sensing the weight of responsibility pressing down on her now. It was her idea to come here. A mad idea conceived on a boozy Christmas night out – because she was feeling desolate. Not simply because Elias had tried to entice her to a garden shed in Weston-super-Mare, but because, after more than a decade alone, she had finally let down her defences and allowed a man into her life. And somehow that crazy idea to run away with her best friends has spiralled into this.

Why had she agreed that it was a great idea for Michael to go to London? She was swept along with it, a yes person to her very core. Like the way she’d agreed that of course Abi could move into their tiny flat. No, Pearl didn’t mind that their houseguest needed the heating on full-bast all day long. It was fine , living in a permanent menopausal sweat! And no problem whatsoever to stop off on her way home from an all-day make-up job to pick up Abi’s favourite yuzu-flavoured kombuchas that cost a zillion quid a can. As if this perfectly able twenty-one-year-old was incapable of self-propelled forward motion. What even was yuzu? ‘A citrus fruit,’ Abi had replied, as if it was obvious. Pearl has been messaging Brandon, to just keep in touch, as is her way. And now, despite his girlfriend’s overbearing presence, she is overcome by an urge to spirit herself home.

‘I have a better idea,’ Lena says suddenly.

Pearl and Shelley stare at her. ‘What?’ Pearl asks.

‘How about the pub?’

Shelley frowns. ‘What pub?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lena says impatiently. ‘ Any pub! There’s got to be one around here, hasn’t there?’

‘I’ve no idea!’ Pearl exclaims.

‘There must be,’ Lena insists. ‘Why don’t we check that folder? The one with all the information?’

‘But they’re expecting home cooking,’ Pearl cuts in. ‘Not to be taken out to the pub…’

‘No,’ Lena says emphatically. ‘I mean, we could get them to do meals to go. Portions of whatever they have on their menu?—’

‘Who’s “they”?’ Pearl splutters.

‘The pub! The pub people. We could drive over and collect it and smuggle it in, and stick it in whichever oven we’re meant to use…’

‘The warming oven?’ Shelley brightens. ‘My God, we could do that. You’re a genius, Leen.’

Pearl grimaces. She isn’t a fan of subterfuge. ‘They’re bound to guess we didn’t make it. Remember that time you heated up an M&S lamb curry, Lena? And you presented it to Tommy as your own work? He teased you for weeks over that?—’

‘Yes, but that was different,’ Lena insists. ‘That came out of a box and it had that boxed feeling…’

‘And this won’t?’ Pearl crooks a brow.

‘No, because it’ll have been made in a little pub kitchen by a friendly lady in an apron.’ Lena beams. ‘Pub kitchen, this kitchen. What’s the difference?’

Pearl breathes out slowly. ‘But we don’t know what they’ve ordered, do we? All that stuff about mouss and crum on the board.’ She bites her lip, checking her phone. Still no message from Michael. ‘Shall we just see what the pub does, and hope for the best?—’

‘Ah, sorry!’ Niall has appeared in the kitchen doorway and looks around apologetically. ‘Don’t want to interrupt, but?—’

‘No, come in,’ Lena says quickly. ‘Come and sit down. We’re just doing some, uh…’

‘Forward planning,’ Shelley cuts in. ‘Would you like something now? You must be hungry…’ Please say no , she wills him.

‘Um, a coffee would be great, if that’s not too much trouble?’ His demeanour is more relaxed than when he arrived, and he’s giving the impression that he’s not averse to some company.

‘Of course it’s not.’ Shelley fetches the stovetop coffee maker as he takes a seat next to Pearl.

‘So, whereabouts have you come from today?’ Lena asks.

‘Derbyshire,’ he replies.

‘That’s a long drive,’ Pearl remarks. Niall nods and agrees that it is, although he has the look of man who’s no stranger to lengthy journeys. His clear blue eyes are alert, his face lean and jaw darkly stubbled.

‘So what are your plans while you’re here?’ Shelley hands him a coffee. ‘Lots of walking, I guess?’

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘but other stuff too. This is actually a work trip for me.’

‘Really?’ Pearl asks in surprise.

‘Yeah, I’m writing about this area. And other parts of the Highlands too…’

‘D’you work for a magazine?’ Pearl asks.

‘I’m freelance,’ Niall says, ‘so I’ll write for anyone who’ll have me. But this past year or so it’s pretty much dwindled to a handful of regulars.’ They quiz him further and he rattles off a list of publications, one of which Shelley recognises as a glossy monthly that Joel subscribes to. For its high-quality design, she’s surmised, as he never wants to travel anywhere.

‘So you get plenty of work?’ Lena asks.

‘Yes, thankfully. One editor in particular seems to think I’m the only person alive who understands “the north”. And I’m talking north of Watford Gap,’ he adds with a smile.

They chuckle and Shelley thinks of Joel’s intense preparations for that Glasgow trip. He’d panic-bought an ensemble of thermal undergarments, including what she’d termed long johns but he had snarkily insisted were ‘base layer bottoms’. It had been a summer trip and the sun had blazed incessantly onto her lumbering pregnant form.

‘So you’re the northern correspondent?’ she suggests.

Niall grins. ‘That’s pretty much it. So, I suggested a whole supplement on the Highlands…’

‘Great idea!’ Pearl enthuses.

‘Actually, my editor wasn’t sure. He reckons it’s all about serious hiking and climbing. For tough, gnarly outdoor types…’

‘All walking poles and Ordnance Survey maps?’ Pearl remarks. Although her parents – long gone now – had settled in Cheshire, her father had been Cumbria raised and loved nothing better than a hike up Helvellyn or Scafell Pike. Her devotion to the world of beauty had baffled him, but he’d been proud of her all the same.

‘Exactly,’ Niall replies. ‘And his readers are more your urbane type. Exclusive Ibiza resorts, that kind of thing. But I managed to convince him.’

‘Well, we’re glad you did,’ Pearl says. ‘And look at us. We’re not exactly gnarly outdoor types.’

He smiles at that. ‘So, how did you three meet?’

‘Actually on a magazine in London,’ Lena tells him.

‘Really? That’s amazing!’

‘I know, isn’t it?’ Shelley laughs. ‘We led glamorous lives once. But that was a very long time ago…’

‘I just meant with you all being up here,’ he says quickly, ‘running a B&B. It’s quite the leap?—’

‘Oh, we don’t really run it,’ Pearl explains. ‘Michael had to go away unexpectedly so we stepped in?—’

‘We’re only holding the fort,’ Lena adds, and he smiles.

‘Well, I think it’s incredible.’ Whether he means Shore Cottage itself, or the fact that the three women have landed here, they are not entirely sure. Yet as they all swap fond tales of the glory days of magazine publishing – when editorial budgets were huge and jobs plentiful – Pearl finds herself picturing her younger self, having landed in London at twenty, a shy country girl knowing no one. She quickly built a career and has weathered the hardest of times. And recently, despite the wrong turn with Elias, she has felt things shifting, as if she is ready for something new. Perhaps being thrown into this bizarre situation is the start of it, and together they can pull this off after all.

‘Looks like the rain’s off,’ Niall says. ‘Think I’ll take a walk down to the loch.’ He pauses. ‘Dinner’s around seven, Michael said? Is that still okay with you?’

‘Yes, absolutely.’ Lena smiles confidently. ‘Um… you did let him know what you wanted?’

‘Oh, yes. I just picked from the menu on the website and emailed it through to him. He said it’s a lot easier to know up front?—’

‘Yes, it really is. Thanks for doing that.’ So there’s a menu on the website! Three intelligent and resourceful women – yet they hadn’t thought to look.

Pearl gets up and strolls to the utility room, as if there is something she needs to check in there. Out of sight from the others, she takes a quick photo of Michael’s notes on the chalkboard, and then grabs a waterproof jacket from the heavily laden hooks on the wall.

Back in the kitchen, Niall drains his coffee and gets up from the table. Pearl pulls on the man-sized jacket that drowns her diminutive form and slips her phone into a deep pocket. ‘’Scuse me a minute,’ she says, beaming round at everyone. ‘I’m just going to pop out and check on the hens.’