PC Brenda popped round the next day to tell me they’d not found anything to be concerned about, and while they’d keep checking in on the woods she was certain it was kids messing about. She did suggest I rethought travelling alone at night all the same. ‘You could break your neck on a branch. Or skid on a patch of mud and go head over heels, impale yourself on a fence post. Believe me, Jenny. These things do happen.’
Nice.
I messaged Mack to say Ellen would drop me home.
He replied the next day: Car ready. Key in ignition. Petrol tank full. Be careful.
And when I replied by asking how much I owed him for the battery, I got the longwinded reply of: £45.
I tested the Mini out on Friday morning by driving to a large supermarket, seven miles away, almost reaching the speed limit on the quieter roads. I danced up and down the aisles (which seemingly stretched on forever in endless rows of wondrous variety) splurging on items never to be found in Middlebeck (luxuries like avocados, cinnamon bagels and winged sanitary towels), feeling deliriously wild and carefree enough to toss a bottle of wine and a chocolate cheesecake into the trolley.
I drove home, brushed my hair, practised my casual, but of course we’re just friends smile and knocked on Mack’s door. Phoned him, still standing on his doorstep. Knocked again. Went home, sorted out a suitcase full of tatty old maps into the ‘useless rubbish for recycling’ pile and called round again. This time he answered.
‘Oh! Are you ill?’
Mack eyed me. His beard, which had reached the point where it could be classified as a separate life-form, eyed me too. Pale-faced, hair like a toilet-brush, smelling nearly as bad, in a T-shirt I had almost certainly seen in the women’s section of French Connection: Ouch.
‘I brought wine, and cheesecake. To say how grateful I am for the loan of the car. Oh, and the money I owe you.’ I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and offered an envelope.
He took it. ‘Thanks.’
‘But perhaps now’s not a good time?’ I let the question die away…
‘Not really.’
‘Do you, um, want the wine and the cake anyway?’ There was probably a law about not offering alcohol to a man in that state, but I didn’t know what else to say. Mack rubbed a hand through his hair, looked as though he was trying to remember how to speak in full sentences. ‘Maybe another day.’
‘Are you okay?’ I considered whether this time I could force my way inside, and offer some sort of intervention. Intervention against what, exactly, I wasn’t sure…
‘Yes. No. The car… brought back memories. I’ll be fine in a few days.’
‘Mack, if the owner of the car has, um, passed away, you should have said. I’d never have accepted it if I thought it would upset you this much.’
He shook his head, irritated. ‘I’m not that upset.’ Then his eyes widened, and a look of utter dejection and misery fell across his face. ‘And they haven’t died.’
So. Wife: alive. Location: still unknown. Mack: still in love with her.
I tried not to feel too weirded out at driving Mack’s missing wife’s car. Or at how his dealing with the car had resulted in seriously bad personal hygiene and women’s clothing. Instead I kept my head down and tried not to rev the engine too much every time I bounced down the unpaved road.
School, and therefore my work, had a week’s break at the end of May. The Saturday, 2 June, was my birthday. Way back in January, Will and Ellen had required my date of birth as part of their background check, and, being two of the kindest, most optimistic people ever, they had noted it on their calendar even back then.
‘The kids are throwing you a party,’ Ellen had told me. ‘It’s not going to be the height of sophistication. Balloon animals, a bouncy castle and rainbow jelly are involved. Oh, and Dawson is preparing a magic show. But hopefully a firepit, summer cocktails and Kiko’s karaoke machine later in the evening will bring us back from the brink of full-on kids’ party hell.’
‘It sounds perfect.’ I cleared my throat, blew my nose and tried very hard to pretend I wasn’t crying about being thrown a children’s birthday party.
When I was very young, every birthday had been shared with Zara. Unsurprisingly, the attention, choice of activity, number of friends (and therefore number of presents) had not been an equal split. Later on, they had been spent visiting Zara at boarding school, where I’d tried to appease her irritation at having to share her special day by remaining as insignificant as possible. Birthdays as an adult had been worst of all, sitting alone in the apartment while Zara had gone off celebrating. I had pretended I wasn’t bothered about birthdays, but the truth was I had managed to convince myself that nothing about me or my life was worth celebrating.
For the first time, that was starting to change.
And then, three days before my party, it started to rain. And rain. And then it rained even more – a power-shower of rain, hammering on my repaired roof and racing down the window panes, filling the yard with puddles. By Friday the puddles had merged into a lake. Several inches of water lay between me and the Mini, hidden away from Mack’s memories in the shed. I could only hope it kept the water out better than it had the rats. Pulling on boots, I sploshed to the road, and then round to the footpath. I was up a creek without a canoe, let alone a paddle.
Head down against the downpour, arms tightly folded to keep out the chill, I smacked straight into Mack as I turned back towards the house.
‘Oomf.’
I bounced off him, managing to stay upright, and just stood there, too miserable to do anything else.
‘Hey,’ he said, holding his umbrella out so it covered both our heads.
‘Hi.’ I tried to smile. My mouth wobbled.
He peered closer at me. ‘Are you crying?’
I shrugged.
‘The roads aren’t safe. We’ll have to wait it out.’
I nodded. He frowned. ‘The rain will have stopped by morning. It’ll be clear a day or so after.’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘Do you have something you need to do? Because, really, it isn’t safe to try to leave.’
‘Yes, I have something to do.’ I sniffed. ‘For the first time ever I was going to spend my birthday with other people. People who I think might like me. Love me, even.’ My voice cracked. ‘The kids have baked a birthday cake. Maddie has made pass the parcel, and Dawson has been practising his tricks. There’s pancakes with bacon and maple syrup for my birthday breakfast, and I’ve made a giant chocolate trifle.’ Okay, Jenny, bring it down an octave… ‘And without meaning to sound presumptuous there might have been a present and some cards and singing happy birthday and fun and happiness.’ I gulped in a huge, honking sob. ‘There would be happiness.’
Mack looked slightly alarmed.
‘And now, once again, I’m spending my birthday with a bowl of soup and my own sodding company. I can’t even get to the Common to buy a decent coffee. What is this place? Why would anyone choose to live here?’
I took a deep breath. Mack carefully stretched out one hand, took off my glasses, wiped them on a tissue and handed them back to me. I breathed in again, tried to suck in some of his calm.
‘What are you doing out here, anyway?’
‘I saw you leave. Thought you might try to swim it.’ He blinked. ‘Ellen invited me, but I had plans this weekend, too.’
I sighed. Pulled my thoughts back into line. ‘I’m sorry I called you a hermit.’
‘Don’t be. I have been living a hermit-like existence the past few months.’
‘And I’m sorry for ranting on like a madwoman. It’s a bit of a thing for me, birthdays. Though not quite as bad as Christmas. At least on my birthday the rest of the world aren’t celebrating while I’m feeling crap. Now Christmas, I really hate.’ I gave a small shudder.
‘You hate Christmas?’
‘I don’t hate Christmas in principle. I just happen to have hated every Christmas so far.’
‘Now that is really sad.’
‘I need to get into some dry clothes.’ We waded back towards the house, where I trudged inside, had a long hot bath and, in blatant disregard to it being eleven in the morning, crawled into my softest pyjamas and pulled the duvet over my head. For the rest of the day I wallowed in self-pity, left a fake-cheerful message for Ellen, cried, giggled, gasped and oohed at the Hillary West book I’d bought myself as a birthday present, and ate over half the trifle. The rain died to a drizzle as dusk fell, and I went to sleep praying for a birthday, road-clearing, miracle.
On reflection, I’m rather grateful God said no to that prayer.