It's Raining Men (37 page)

‘I’ll pick you up at ten,’ he said. And was off.

‘What was all that about?’ asked May when Lara caught up with them.

‘Gene Hathersage wants to show me some puppies,’ said Lara.

‘Dirty sod. That’s what they all say,’ Clare said with a wink.

The regulars were in the pub: Milton Bird puffing on his empty pipe, Shirley’s Uncle Morris. Thankfully there was no Daisy Unwin; unfortunately that meant there was no
Frank Hathersage either. May thought she could just about put up with abuse from the former in order to be in the same room as the latter for a while.

They ordered scampi and chips for three and noticed that their bar bill was considerably cheaper this time around.

‘I think we’ve suddenly become locals.’ Clare giggled.

‘God forbid,’ replied Lara. Although she didn’t really mean that. She would miss Ren Dullem in a strange way. If nothing else it had taken her thoughts away from Manor Gardens
and the people associated with it. Well, mostly. She shooed away a stray thought of Keely hovering with her arms folded and her overly made-up face grimacing in her evil teenage way – whilst
in the background Garth picked his nose and wiped bogeys on every available surface. Lara shuddered and batted the image out of her head.

The atmosphere in the pub was certainly more accepting of them, they all noticed. Jenny and her equally portly male friend came in just after nine and smiled big hellos.

They were all quite tiddly by ten and wended a very meandering path home.

‘That was a nice evening,’ declared May. ‘And isn’t it warm? I feel as if I’m in Spain.’

‘I wish,’ said Clare. The gins hadn’t anaesthetized her self-disgust. She hoped she never bumped into that old couple again. What must they have thought?

‘I like it here,’ said Lara, hobbling expertly by now. Her ankle was healing well. She would use the last of the comfrey leaves in a poultice tonight. ‘I might not go
home.’

May waved the word ‘home’ away. There wasn’t enough gin in the world to dull the pain of what lay in store for her there.

‘Why did we leave this holiday so long?’ said Clare. ‘I don’t want to be one of those people who only catches up with friends at funerals.’

‘Then let’s promise to meet up more often,’ Lara suggested.

‘I promise.’

‘I promise.’ Clare added her voice to May’s.

But they all knew, as soon as the words were out, that when they returned to their real lives, those promises would be as insubstantial as the air they were said in. Life had an annoying habit
of getting in the way of living.

Lara could easily have woken up with a hangover the next morning had Clare not been the sensible one and made them all drink a pint of water before retiring. The hands of the
clock swam into focus: nine thirty. She sprang out of bed, cross that she hadn’t remembered to set the alarm, and hobbled into the bathroom to wash and throw on some make-up. She slipped on
jeans and a pink shirt she was saving for best, then gave herself a subtle spritz of perfume whilst wondering why she had agreed to go and look at puppies with Gene Hathersage.

When she emerged from the loo, May was in the kitchen putting on the kettle. She turned, saw Lara and wolf-whistled.

‘Does it look as if I’ve made too much of an effort?’ Lara panicked. ‘I don’t want him to think that I have. Even though I haven’t, obviously.’

‘I think you’ve got it just right,’ said May.

As the clock chimed ten, a horn blasted outside.

‘Go check out his puppies, then.’ May smirked, her eyebrows raised.

Lara threw her the Vs, grabbed her handbag and crutch and hobbled out.

Gene was holding the passenger door open for her. She hoped he wasn’t looking at her bum as he helped her in because it wasn’t as small as it should be.

‘The vet says there’s a dog they haven’t been able to home at the place I’m going to, and he wondered if I’d be interested,’ said Gene, slipping the truck
into first gear.

‘What sort is it?’

‘Greyhound.’

‘Ah.’ Lara smiled. ‘My auntie had a retired running greyhound, Jim. He was the laziest animal I think I’ve ever met.’ She remembered that he was constantly curled
up in a ball in his fireside bed. Her auntie made him a red furry coat for winter walks which he wore with a haughty lift to his head, as if it were a Vivienne Westwood.

‘This one hasn’t ever run in a race,’ said Gene, turning up the lane which was flanked with old mattresses and rubbish. Lara thought she heard him mutter ‘Bloody
Milton’ under his breath.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Whitby. Just outside.’

They joined the A road and Lara looked out of the window. She had become too used to the slow pace of life in Ren Dullem; it was all so fast and busy here.

‘You eaten?’ asked Gene.

‘Er . . . no, not yet.’ Gene indicated left and turned into a roadside café. It had a large sign above it: F annies.

‘Sounds delightful,’ said Lara.

‘Frannies. The “r” has fallen off,’ Gene explained. ‘The dog people asked if I’d call at eleven instead of half-past ten. I thought we might as well pass the
time by having some breakfast.’

‘Oh, okay.’

He helped her out of the truck with a hand supporting her elbow, and passed her the crutch.

‘You’re just missing a parrot,’ he said, a twinkle creeping into his eyes and warming them. He had a totally different face when he smiled, thought Lara. Almost pleasant.

A waitress led them over to a booth. The seats were bright red and bouncy and everything looked very clean. Gene handed her a menu.

‘Have what you like,’ he said.

Lara looked at the extensive list of offerings: everything from blueberry pancakes with cream to the Fancy Full Franny, which must have lent itself to lots of mispronunciations and made her
wonder if that’s what the person who created the menu had in mind.

‘What can I get for you?’ asked the waitress, pen poised over her pad.

‘Frannie’s sausage filler,’ replied Lara, very carefully. ‘And a filter coffee, please.’

‘Same for me. With an orange juice,’ added Gene, handing the waitress the menus.

‘It’s like a
Carry On
film in here,’ whispered Lara. ‘Do you think that menu is deliberately saucy?’

‘As saucy as this bottle of HP,’ said Gene, picking it up. Lara noticed how hairy his arms were. She turned her head to the window to stop noticing.

‘So, what made you apologize, then?’ said Gene. ‘Local gossip machine been working overtime, has it?’

Lara puffed out her cheeks. ‘I just heard that I didn’t have the monopoly on mashed hearts,’ she said. ‘I could cringe at some of the things I said yesterday. Way over
the top and not what I really think at all. I was just angry and spouting off.’

‘Hmm,’ he replied. ‘Well, I imagine you’re a bit raw. I’ve had longer to get over things.’

‘Are you over them? Her?’

Gene shrugged. ‘There’s no way back, if that’s what you’re asking me.’

‘The answer doesn’t quite match the question, no.’

Gene sat back against the seat. ‘With the perspective of time I’ve come to realize that it would never have worked. Colleen was restless. Even when we were kids she couldn’t
enjoy anything because her eye was always on what the next thrill would be. She had to have drama, excitement or she grew very bored very quickly. She was tired of me until I didn’t want her
any more and then she saw me as a challenge. It wasn’t me she wanted; it was to win the game.’

She sounded like Tianne. A living, breathing grenade whose purpose was to cause as much noise and fire and destruction as possible.

‘Do I still hurt? Yes, but it’s getting less,’ he went on. ‘But I think it’s more to do with my ego being battered than my heart.’

They were briefly interrupted whilst the waitress brought the coffees and orange juice.

‘When I walked off after finding her with my brother I was resolute that it was over. It wasn’t as easy to say no to her when she arrived at my door the next morning, crying,
begging. I wanted to believe everything she said about never doing it again and how sorry she was,’ said Gene, his eyes on his hands resting on the table.

‘But still you didn’t change your mind?’

‘It wasn’t the first time she’d been unfaithful. But I was determined then not to take her back. All the other times I’d fallen for her promises and lies, so when it
happened again I knew I couldn’t keep pinging between the pain of thinking I’d lost her and the ecstasy of having her back. Whatever she felt for me wasn’t love. Not my sort of
love anyway.’

He raised his eyes to hers.

‘You might think you’re strong now, but be prepared for a charm offensive when you go back home. Promises are easy to make and easier to break. And you’ll want to hear him
apologize and promise you everything will be okay.’

Lara nodded. She knew really that, however resolute she intended to be, faced with a begging, pleading James she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t weaken. She was dreading finding
out.

‘Two Frannie’s sausage fillers,’ announced the waitress, appearing at their side, holding the edges of the plate in a folded towel. ‘Watch out, the plates are furning. I
mean burning.’

‘She must be so used to saying “f” words they take over her whole language,’ confided Lara across the table. Gene laughed. It was a nice sound, thought Lara. Genuine and
from the depths of him.

‘Has it put you off relationships?’ asked Lara, squeezing ketchup over the sausage, muffins and eggs.

‘Yes,’ said Gene. ‘Ren Dullem isn’t exactly awash with women, as you know. That suits me fine.’

‘Not all women are the same,’ said Lara, hoping they weren’t starting that argument again.

‘Didn’t say they were. I just don’t want another one.’ He speared a sausage as if imagining it were Colleen’s neck.

‘I’ll take it that this isn’t a date, then.’ Lara laughed, then wished she hadn’t made the joke, as it sounded flirty.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Gene Hathersage, spearing another sausage as if it were her neck this time.

Clare dragged May down to the lagoon for a swim. May stayed half an hour and then left her to it. She went back up to the cottage to dry her hair before going out to the
baker’s. She thought that fresh cream cakes might be a nice treat for this afternoon whilst sitting outside on the small terrace.

It was a lovely day, despite those annoying pretend clouds. May put on her favourite summery dress and strappy sandals and decided to sit on the front with a coffee and a pastry from
Jenny’s. She found a bench and watched the seagulls squealing and circling and noseying above a fishing boat bobbing at the edge of the cove in the hope that it might offer them some
pickings.

‘Hi,’ said a voice behind her. An unmistakable deep man’s voice with a smile in it. May wiped her mouth quickly because the pastry crumbs had welded themselves onto her
lipstick.

‘Hello, there,’ she said, shielding her eyes from the sun.

‘Breakfast?’ said Frank.

‘Yes.’

‘Me too.’ He was holding a paper bag and a coffee from the kiosk of rude Mr Unwin. ‘Mind if I join you?’

I’d be absolutely chuffed to bits if you did
, said May’s heart. ‘Of course not, no,’ said May’s mouth. Frank wavered. ‘I mean no, I don’t mind
– not no, I do mind,’ explained May before bursting into a chuckle. ‘Just sit down.’

As Frank opened up the bag the delicious smell of fried egg and sausage escaped from it. ‘I’m just grabbing a light bite,’ he said and winked.

‘Doing anything special today?’ asked May, hoping she didn’t look like the singing detective with all the flakes of pastry on her.

‘Daisy’s gone to the hospital this morning with her cousin, Pauline. I always try to take her out for a nice lunch or dinner when she gets back from her appointments. She gets a bit
upset with all the tests they make her do.’

‘You don’t go with her, then?’

‘She doesn’t want me to go. She doesn’t want to rub it in,’ said Frank. ‘I’m presuming, because nothing stays quiet around here for long, you know that it was
me who caused her to be paralysed.’

‘I had heard.’ May was thinking she obviously didn’t know Daisy Unwin that well, then. May would have put money on her being a master rubber-inner.

‘Your pastry looks nice,’ said Frank after a few mouthfuls of his sandwich. ‘Come from Jenny’s shop, by any chance?’

‘Yep.’

‘She’s a good girl, is Jenny. It’s just a shame she has so few customers. The old ones don’t like to spend their money eating out and there aren’t many young ones
left.’

‘This village needs a serious kick up the butt,’ May said. ‘I’d love to get my hands on it. Even the name of it is . . . dull.’

‘You know the proper name for it?’ asked Frank.

‘Proper name?’

‘Reines de la Mer. It’s French. It got shortened over the years to Ren Dullem.’

‘Reines de la Mer?’ May rolled the words around in her mouth. ‘Queens of the sea? Why was it called that?’

‘People said that strange sea creatures used to inhabit the harbour once upon a time.’

‘What, like giant squid? Sea serpents?’

‘Sirens, mermaids, whatever you want to call them. Attracted by the handsome sailors.’ Frank grinned. ‘For good luck, the village was named in their honour so they’d be
flattered enough not to cause any damage to the fishing boats.’

‘How charming! And what a shame that the name was shortened. That would be the first thing I’d change back.’

‘Is that what you do? Are you some sort of town planner?’

‘No, I help set up new businesses,’ explained May. ‘I like to think of myself as a sort of financial fairy godmother.’

‘Sounds a lot more fun than my job. Although I wouldn’t be anything else. All I ever wanted to be was a farmer.’

‘Nothing wrong with farming,’ May said. ‘I always wanted to keep chickens. Dad had a couple when I was a young girl: Elsie and Deirdre. I used to have a freshly laid boiled egg
every morning, till an urban fox broke in and killed them.’ She remembered that her dad had cried when he’d found them, for the fox hadn’t eaten them, just worried them to death.
He didn’t get any more chickens after that.