Ice Dancing Episode 35

GHe was alone in the cottage and a stranger in the country and he enjoyed my company

et a life.” That’s what Fiona would have said. That’s what Annie did say, quite often. “There’s more to life than polishing the furniture, Helen.” I took out the bottle of whisky. “Here you are.” “Shall we open it?” he asked.

“Not for me. I’ve got some wine open though. Or would you prefer a beer?”

“Beer would be good. We’ll keep the whisky for another time.” I fetched him a beer and poured myself a glass of wine.

“Did you enjoy the Harvest Fair?”

He pulled a face, groaned. “Oh sure. It was great. Does it happen every year then?”

“It comes round with monotonous regularity. That and the Gala Day and the Beetle Drive and the Daffodil Tea.”

They punctuated the year, these events, each following a set pattern. Eventually, they all seemed to blend into one.

He smiled. “I get the picture.”

“You get used to it. I have.”

There was another of those embarrassed pauses between us.

“So your family have deserted you, have they?” he asked at last. I nodded. “Where’s Sandy then?”

“He’s gone over to see Morris and Mary.” “Lucky old Sandy.”

“You’ve met Mary?”

“Sure. Is she a relative of yours?” “She’s Sandy”s cousin. They have a farm. Mary and Morris. They’re mostly farmers round here.”

“You don”t include yourself?”

“Oh, I married in, but it’ll be a few years yet before I stop being an interloper, an incomer. Like maybe another twenty.”

“There’s no hope for me then!”

“Not a chance.”

“And Sandy actually likes Mary?”

He looked so puzzled that I started to laugh. “Well, yes. He does. They grew up together. She drives me daft, but he likes her well enough. I think he’s just comfortable with them. Mary and Morris both. They have a shared childhood. And Fiona’s spending the night with her pal Lizzie.”

“Not down at the phone box?”

“No. Not at the phone box, thank God.” “So you’re all alone up here.”

“I am. Me and the dog. And Siggy.”

“Do you mind?”

“Why should I?”

I topped up my glass and then I sat down on the couch beside him. I don’t know what possessed me. He smelled lovely, of the spicy cologne or aftershave he always used. I regretted my shabby jeans and baggy sweater. But how could I go upstairs and change now?

“The cat came down to see me,” he said, nodding at Siggy who had come stalking through from the kitchen to stretch by the fire. He clicked his fingers, but Siggy showed him a fluffy bum, and hunched his shoulders. He didn’t like men. He was a lady’s cat if ever there was one.

“I think he had hopes of finding Louise again so he was disappointed.”

“I’m sure he still misses her. I know I do.” “I tried to entice him in,” Joe said. “Bearing in mind what you said about the mice. I tried a tin of tuna.”

“And?”

“And he ignored me, didn’t he? I don”t think he likes me very much. But then he found my kitbag and he sure liked that. He was trying to get inside it.”

“He tried to get inside it?”

“He obviously thought it smelled wonderful.”

“He’s got depraved tastes!”

“He was very persistent. I had visions of arriving in the locker room, only to find a cat in my kitbag.”

“Oh, Joe, I’m sorry. Just kick him out if he does it again. He’ll find his way back up here.”

But the shyness between us had eased. “So have you had any more mice?” I asked.

“I haven’t seen any more. But I’ve heard them at night. They stomp about the attic. Sounds like they’re partying up there.” “Just so long as they’re not rats.” “Jesus!” He looked absolutely horrified. “This is a farm, Joe. There are bound to be rats. We have them in our barns. Every so often we have a blitz on them and kill as many as we can, but they always come back.”

I thought about the last time I had seen what the older people in the village called a “rat flitting”. Many years ago now, Sandy had demolished one of the barns and there had been a mass exodus of rats in the face of the destruction of their home. Like Hamlyn before the Pied Piper, there had been rats everywhere and even the dogs had been scared of them, all except for a couple of fierce little terriers that we had borrowed from Fergus down in the village. They had had a gory field day, joyously flinging rodents about, breaking necks with gusto. In view of his reaction to a few mice, I thought I’d better not tell Joe about it. He’d probably pass out.

“As far as I know there are no rats down at the cottage. But you know what they say about rats, don’t you?”

“What do they say?”

“That you’re never more than six feet away from one. We could lend you the dog, if you want.”

“I don”t think so, thanks. I’d get too attached to it and then I’d have to leave it behind when I go home.”

I didn’t like the thought of him going home. It gave me a real pain, somewhere in the region of my heart. I was going to miss Joe when he finally went back to Canada. Even now, I could see that.

“Mind you, I do get a bit spooked sometimes. Being all alone in the cottage,” he said, surprisingly.

“Do you?”

“It’s very dark. At night.”

“I thought you Canadians liked all this wilderness stuff.”

“Not me. I told you. I’m a townie born and bred.”

He fiddled with his glass.

“Have you been skating again?” he asked me, eventually.

“No.” I laughed. “It wouldn’t be the same without you there to hold me up.”

He looked sidelong at me. “We’ll have to make a date then.”

Change the subject. Quickly. Don’t embarrass him. And yourself.

“What about the Gallopers? How are they coming on?”

“Fine. I’ve done a bit of work on them. Though I’m still no nearer to finding out why Vezio left them here with Louise. You’ll have to come down and see them. Why haven’t you been to see me, Helen? I’ve missed you.” “Have you?”

“Sure. I like your company.”

I thought that was probably the simple truth. He was alone in the cottage and a stranger in the country and he enjoyed my company.

But there was no getting away from the fact that his proximity disturbed me.

More tomorrow.

Ice Dancing by Catherine Czerkawska, Dyrock Publishing, £9.99 and Kindle E-reader from £2.99. For more of her books, including The Posy Ring and A Proper Person To Be Detained, see saraband.net