Mairie is dozing by the range when Astarte taps lightly on her door. She opens her eyes with a start, calling ‘Come in!’ as she shushes Blackfoot. Astarte enters and places a cake tin on her lap. ‘For you,’ she says. ‘I’ve been experimenting, and I thought you might not mind being my guinea pig.’ Mairie opens the tin and peers in at an iced fruit cake. She breathes in the rich fragrance, making appreciative noises.
‘It’s my first try at this one,’ Astarte tells her. ‘I cut into mine back at home, and for some reason most of the fruit seems to have sunk to the bottom, but it tastes fine. I thought I could get away with calling it a layer cake.’
Mairie cackles. ‘It looks and smells grand. Will you have some with your tea?’ She hobbles over to fetch some plates and a knife, sliding the cake carefully out to slice it, even though Astarte shakes her head. ‘And the heart shape on the icing looks very professional. It seems a shame to spoil it.’
‘I was playing, really. And I thought Sinead might like it. Love’s young dream in action.’ Astarte smiles as Mairie, still standing, sinking her teeth into her piece of cake and taking the remainder over to her chair, murmuring that it is delicious, and Astarte is becoming a fair cook.
She licks crumbs from her fingers, and cackles. ‘Ah now. Love! The world would be a sorry place without it. And how is it going for you? I hear that you and Flynn spend a lot of time in each other’s company.’
Astarte looks surprised. ‘We’re just good friends,’ she says lightly.
‘Hmmm.’ Mairie leans forward to stare hard at Astarte. ‘You’re running scared, so you are. Let me tell you something. You hear all this modern talk about how you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. Well, in my experience, most people are so obsessed with themselves that there is no room left in their hearts for anyone else. You have to make that space for other people, Astarte. You have to open the door and welcome them in. By fearing the thieves who will steal your heart, you do yourself a great injustice. You stifle your willingness to love.’ She heaves herself out of the chair and takes another slice of cake. Astarte muses over what Mairie has said.
When Mairie has resumed her seat, Astarte drains her tea and replaces the cup in its saucer. ‘I don’t want to repeat past mistakes,’ she says.
Mairie cackles. ‘Then make new ones! ’Tis no use hiding away. You’re young, bright, pretty. The world is there in the palm of your hand if you will only unclench your fingers to look at it.’
‘You’re saying I’m uptight.’ Astarte’s tone is defensive. ‘That’s a bit harsh, Mairie.
‘I’m just after saying that you should relax more, my girl. A good man considers you to be treasure. Why not give him a chance?’
Astarte shrugs her shoulders and changes the subject. ‘Why did you never marry?’ she asks.
‘It wasn’t right. There’s none I would have. Like you, Astarte.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘Well, there was one, a long time ago, who it seemed I would marry. Sure and I gave my heart at the time, but I was young and foolish then. It caused such a fuss that I was black and blue for a month afterwards, and the shame of my family.’
Astarte’s eyes widen. She takes another slice of cake over to Mairie, who munches happily with a sly look on her face. ‘Tell me,’ Astarte begs, pouring more tea for both of them.
‘There’s very few here old enough to know of it, and the past is a closed door now, Astarte. But still, ’twould do no harm for you to know, only you must keep it to yourself. No mention to Sinead or Flynn. ’Tis interesting, is it not, that sometimes you can tell an outsider, and I mean no insult here, what you cannot speak of to those who have been here all their lives. ’Tis to do with a different perspective, don’t you agree?’
Nodding, Astarte leans forward expectantly. Mairie strokes Blackfoot’s head, a faraway look in her eyes.
‘Well,’ she says slowly. ‘I was Sinead’s age, fifteen moving towards sixteen. A boy and I, we fell in love. We thought the earth turned just for us. We were convinced that none had ever truly known the feeling. And we made plans, as lovers do. When my parents discovered us, God rest their souls, they threatened to send me away unless I ended it.’ Her eyes meet Astarte’s briefly, twinkling mischievously. ‘Well, we talked of running away, but I could not bear to leave this place and neither could he. And where would we go, so young? And so that was that.’
‘But why did your parents dislike him so much?’ Astarte regards Mairie closely.
Mairie cackles. ‘Old feuds, and there are many of those around here, die hard. At the time we thought we were Romeo and Juliet, but had the sense to avoid sharp objects and poison. Though sometimes harsh words and actions bite deeper into the soul than any weapon can. He married another, more suitable girl, and I turned up my nose at every suitor, just to spite my parents. So there you are, Astarte. You’ll not want to end up an old maid sitting by a range, I’m sure.’
‘Is he still alive?’ Astarte asks.
Mairie nods slowly. ‘He is, but ’tis all in the past now.’ She cackles again. ‘Now, there’s a story for a fine spring day. And now I have something for you as a reminder of it.’
Rising, she goes to the dresser and brings out a small muslin bag. She hands it to Astarte, who raises it to her nose. ‘Lavender,’ she says, breathing in the sharp fragrance. ‘Thank you, Mairie. It smells wonderful.’
‘Keep it under your pillow,’ Mairie tells her. ‘It will help you to relax those high principles of yours.’
Astarte hugs her. ‘You are so like my grandmother,’ she says. ‘And she was the person I loved best in the world.’
Mairie laughs. ‘Ah, be off with you and sort your life out, girl, instead of going all sentimental on me!’ But she returns the embrace and smiles fondly as she watches Astarte walk down the path.