Tidings of Great Boys (7 page)

“Not sure. Lots going on here. Parties to plan. Maybe tomorrow, when I’m in the village order—”

“Tomorrow?” Honestly, she sounded like a seagull on crack. “I can’t wait until tomorrow. A bunch of us are going to the pub
for shandies. Meet us there.”

“Carrie, are you crazy? I’ve got a houseful of guests. We’ve barely got our coats off, and I’ve said hardly a word to Dad.
I can’t come over now.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you? Come on. Kirsten and Lily and all our old gang are meeting us, and the boys are coming
too. I’m walking there as we speak.”

I had to admit that the prospect of seeing all my old friends after so long was very tempting. And the pub made toffee shortcake
that just couldn’t be duplicated anywhere on the planet. The girls were practically asleep on their feet, so a tour of the
house would be wasted on them.

“All right. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you there.”

Her squeal of delight cut off abruptly as she snapped her phone shut.

When I went back into Lissa’s room, carrying my leather bike jacket, the others had gone. “Not your mom?” She pulled her coat
off the trunk at the end of the carved Victorian four-poster and hung it in the wardrobe.

“No. My friend Carrie, from the village. Everyone is getting together at the pub to welcome me home. I said I’d go.”

“Everyone?”

“All my school friends. I’ve known most of them all my life.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Want to come?”

She’d taken out her contacts, and gave me a look over the tops of her narrow black glasses. “Don’t think so. It’s you they’re
expecting. I’d just be butting in.”

“Not if I’ve invited you.” She shook her head, and her blonde hair rippled in the lamplight. “There will be guys,” I said
slyly.

She looked up. Talk about weaknesses. I may not have known her as well as I knew Carly or Shani, but I did know that. “What
about the others?”

“They’re probably exhausted. We can do the tour tomorrow. Come on, I told her I’d be there in twenty minutes.”

“No, you go. I’ve already taken my contacts out and my eyes are so gritty I’ll never get them in again.”

“Nobody cares about your glasses, Lissa.”

“If there are boys there, I care,” she said. “Deeply.”

“All right. Your loss.” I slipped my jacket on.

She blinked as if I hadn’t been standing there the whole time with it over my arm. “You’re riding a motorcycle?”

“Dirt bike. How did you think I was going to get to the village? Walk?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea where it is in relation to where we are. All I know is, it’s dark and freezing out there. Are
you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course. I do it all the time.” The zipper sang up its track.

“History repeats itself,” she said thoughtfully.

“What?” I turned at the door.

“The last time I was here, you rode off as well. Only then it was on a horse.”

I laughed, as if she’d made a joke. “No chance of that, at least. Selkie and Ambrose are in winter stable at a farm five miles
from here.” I hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen door, where it was a short jog across the courtyard to the garage.
It had been a carriage house a hundred years ago, but now instead of housing barouche landaus, it kept the Range Rover, the
Mercedes, my Ducati, and my dirt bike snug and dry.

I tugged on my helmet, fired up the bike and raced down the driveway, the engine smooth and tuned, the gears cold under my
hands. All of it combined to erase the sound of Lissa’s voice, her quiet words repeating what my guilty conscience already
knew: I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be making my new friends comfortable and serving them hot chocolate until everyone
nodded off where they sat. Not dumping them flat and riding off to see my old friends.

The pub in the village wasn’t really a pub—more like a family restaurant that served the local brew, housed in a stone building
that had been there since people’s great-great-grandfathers were young. On the walls were pictures of kids from the forties
at their gymkhanas, pictures of fishermen, pictures of me—but only a couple of those. Dad had offered the pub samples of his
homemade whiskey, but Blythe Rose, the proprietress, had suggested that as a brewer, he made a wonderful earl.

Poor Dad. His gifts always seemed to lie outside his passions.

I pushed open the door and was swarmed immediately by all my old crowd. “Mac! You’re back!”

“We didn’t think you’d come, with all the Americans underfoot.”

“We missed you!”

You’d think I’d been off exploring the Amazon for a year, not going to school for three months. But the ride had been freezing
(and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit stupid on my part) and the pub was warm, and it felt good to be welcomed and see the smiles
on the faces of my childhood friends.

Carrie grabbed my arm and dragged me to a table, where Lily, Kirsten, Terrell, and Gordon pulled chairs over and crowded round
it with us. I remembered the day when the sum of my and Carrie’s ambition had been to get Gordon to notice us. That was a
long time ago. Now he was just one of my friends, and I was still looking for someone who could put the same look on my face
that Brett put on Carly’s.

So far he hadn’t shown up, and I was getting rather tired of waiting. In the meantime, this lot filled that space inside.

Outside, too. “Move over,” I told Carrie. “You’re squashing me.”

“Am not. Move your chair back. What’s going on wi’ you? Too much chicken-fried steak?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve lost half a stone over the term. All those California salads.”

Carrie grimaced. “Revolting.”

“Have you been surfing?” Gordon wanted to know. “You said you were going to.”

I nodded. “Lissa had us down to Santa Barbara for the Thanksgiving holiday and I actually got up on the board. It’ll be Newquay
next.” The Cornish beach was famous for its waves and surfers came from all over the world to ride them. I know. Right here
in the UK. Who knew?

Carrie made a rude noise. “I can think of things I’d rather do. So what’s she like, this Lissa?”

“Well, you saw the pictures from the premiere, yeah?”

They all nodded. “Never thought I’d see you hobnobbing it in Hollywood,” Terrell said with a grin. “They know about that episode
with old Macaulay’s goats?”

“No, and they never will. Besides, I was only ten. How could I know they were some experimental breed and worth a fortune?”

“So what’s it like?” Lily wanted to know, her sloe eyes alight with interest. “Hollywood, I mean.”

“It’s difficult to say.” I thought for a second. “The red carpet was all about camera angles and which of the news crews would
get the stars the most coverage. We all stuck together, but the spotlight was mostly on Shani.”

“That girl who was dating the prince?” Kirsten asked. “Is he ever a looker.”

“And he’s just as nice as he looks.” I smiled. “He’s ever so good at political science—probably the only reason I managed
to float above a C-plus.”

“Princes and Hollywood types,” Carrie mused. “I’m surprised you condescended to hang wi’ the likes of us.”

“Oh, don’t take that tone with me,” I said impatiently. “You’re my friends. Nothing will ever change that.”

“She’s been horrid these last couple of weeks,” Lily said with a glance at Carrie. “Always on about would you be different,
were you going to come at all, blah, blah.”

“And here you are, same as ever,” Kirsten said. She turned to Carrie, who was sucking up the last of her shandy. “See? I told
you.”

“She isn’t the same.” Carrie gave me the once-over. “She’s lost half a stone, didn’t you hear? She’s all into the California
image thing now.”

“Would you give over?” What had brought this on? Carrie couldn’t seriously be jealous. “I’m eating salad instead of chips,
yeah, and playing an appalling game of football because they don’t have field hockey. But that has nothing to do with anything.
You’re the one who’s all about appearances if you think my losing weight is going to make me less your friend.”

“I’m all about appearances?” Carrie pushed away from me, then got up altogether. “You have no reason to say that about me.”

“Oh, come on.” I reached over and tugged on her arm. “Don’t go getting upset over nothing. It’s my first night back. Come
and tell me what this lot has been getting up to.”

She felt heavy as she allowed me to drag her back down beside me on the ancient slat-back chair. But she seemed to perk up
as Lily and Kirsten dished the gossip, and by the time they got to the part about the chemist’s not-so-secret affair with
the third-form teacher in Inniscairn, Carrie was back to her usual self.

Finally, I got up to go.

“You can’t be going yet,” Carrie complained. “It’s only just gone eleven.”

“Uh-huh. And I’ve been flying for what seems like two days. I need to sleep if I’m to plan for Christmas and Hogmanay. We’re
having a big party and you all must come. No exceptions.”

Amid the chorus, Carrie alone stayed quiet. “Are all your American friends going to be there?”

“Of course. I’m going to start teaching them Strip the Willow straight away in case Dad manages to bribe the band into playing
a country dance.”

“Wouldn’t want them making fools of themselves,” she agreed. “That’s nice of you.”

I shrugged. “Just playing hostess. Have to think of everything.”

She took my elbow and pulled me closer to the door. “Just remember tae think of your old friends once in awhile, too.”

“Carrie, this isn’t a competition. I really want you all to meet each other. You’ll like them, I’m sure.”

Which I wasn’t. I couldn’t imagine anyone more different from Lissa, for instance, than Carrie, with her black-ringed eyes,
micromini leather skirt, and torn stockings. And I could only imagine what Gillian would say when she got an eyeful of Gordon’s
piercings. But that was all surface stuff. Under it all, they were my friends. My history. They knew my secrets, and I knew
theirs.

Nothing was going to change that. Friends were friends, no matter what.

Right?

I
WAS THE FIRST ONE up the next morning. It had been lights-out when I arrived home, so there had been no late-night chat that
I’d been involved in, at least. I have no doubt the girls had had plenty to say about my ditching them.

They would just have to understand. I felt torn between two sets of friends, with responsibilities toward both. Maybe that
was why I’d gotten up before anyone else. My plan was to put together a nice breakfast for them all, to show them I really
did care and I was glad they were all here.

When I got downstairs, I found Dad sitting at the ancient table in the kitchen with a cup of tea in front of him. The big
Aga range made the room cozy—a stark contrast to my room. I pulled down a stoneware mug and felt the teapot. Still hot.

Two teaspoons of sugar, a dollop of milk, and hot tea. It just wasn’t the same in the States. I sipped slowly and waited.

“Find everyone all right?” Dad asked.

I nodded. “All just the same. Gordon had two more rings put in his eyebrow since I was home last.”

“And I suppose the news about Bert and Ellie is all over three counties.”