Page 7 of No Kind Words

“And you said yes. You’re a bloody fool, Jamie. Maybe you deserve to be together. Don’t come back to me when he starts all his shit again.”

I turn around and walk back to the lift, refusing to look back. I get home on autopilot, then proceed to get drunk.

Very drunk.

As I turn into a vaguely familiar road, Maeve counts the numbers on the doors until we reach the one she booked. A truck is parked at the kerb, with two men leaning against it. One of them is holding a baby. As I pull up behind the truck, the man gives the child to the other and kisses them both. When he turns to us, recognition flashes through me. Although Ivan is, I think, a year or two older than me, in a town with limited numbers of kids, we all hung out together.

With lightly shaking fingers, I switch off the engine but don’t open the door. Maeve places her hand on my arm, obviously sensing something is wrong. “You can wait here. I’ve booked in my name, so you don’t have to meet them.”

Do I really want to do that? It’s stupid if I’m considering moving back here again. Having friends is a must. I just hadn’t expected to meet one in the first five minutes of arriving here. “No, I’m good. It will be good to see old friends.”

And it will be. Why haven’t I thought of this angle of being back here? I used to know these people. Although I don’t recognise the man with Ivan. Nor do I miss the tender kiss he plants on both of them. That is interesting. Memories come back of Ivan having both girlfriends and boyfriends, but he seems settled with the latter now. Not sure where a child comes in, though.

I get out of the car and look down at my torn black jeans, matched with an old grey Stone Roses T-shirt that has seen better days but is still one of my favourites. My black leather jacket covers the full sleeves of tattoos on each arm, but the earrings and leather studded bracelets tend to give off a bit of a bad boy vibe, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Maeve has already introduced herself and is bouncing her slim 5’3” body in excitement. Ivan takes me in from the tips of my tattered black high-tops to the top of my scruffily styled hair. He narrows his eyes, obviously trying to work out who I am. I need to put him out of his misery and introduce myself.

“Hello again, Ivan. Jet Palmer.” I hold out my hand.

It still takes a moment of scrutiny. Then his smile broadens from polite to recognition. “Fucking hell, Jethro. You’re a blast from the past. Where the hell have you been?”

“Edinburgh.” I shake his hand. “University, then stayed on.”

“Wow.” He frowns a little and looks over his shoulder. “Hey, Brodie, come here.”

The other man walks up to us, the baby asleep in his arms. Ivan wraps his arm around Brodie’s waist. “Babe, this is Jethro Palmer. He grew up in your farmhouse. Brodie bought it and renovated it. You should see it now. It’s unrecognisable.”

I smile but don’t comment. I have no intention of setting foot on that piece of land ever again. “I’m glad you like it there.”

Maeve can sense my anxiety and turns the conversation back to the here and now. “Is there anything we should know about the house?”

“Shit, yes, of course. Come in. I’ll show you around.”

Five minutes later, we’re left alone, with our luggage by our feet. “Do you want me to take your luggage up to your room?” I ask her.

“Please. I’ll have a look in the kitchen.”

After I put our bags in our rooms, I return to her.

“Your friend has thought of everything, but maybe we should get some breakfast stuff. There’s some coffee for the morning, but not enough to get you on your feet.” Maeve closes the fridge. “What time is the viewing?”

“I’m not sure we’re friends just yet. We may never see him again if the practice isn’t what I’m looking for.”

“True, but I get a good feeling about this place. I think you’re going to find everything you need.”

“Is that your spidey senses talking again?” I laugh, but my friend does have a canny knack for getting her predictions right.

In the end, we decide to stay in. With all the groceries Ivan provided, we don’t need to go for breakfast produce. I’ve had enough excitement for the day, and Maeve is happy to watch some TV with some wine and the cheeses we bought en route.

The morning is cold but dry. I’m grateful for the scarf and beanie I packed at the last minute when I remembered how cold the wind can be coming off the sea. Maeve looks as if she’s prepared for an Arctic expedition. I laugh at her. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Anyway, you grew up in Scotland. You’re used to the cold.”

We can walk to the vet’s, which is in a prime location with parking. I had to come here with one of the dogs, but I doubt it’s the same vet. It was over twenty years ago. The high street is busy, and as we walk past one of the cafés, my mouth waters at the tantalising scent of good coffee and sweet cinnamon.

“God, that smells amazing.” Maeve breathes in deeply and gives me puppy dog eyes. “Can we come back here later?”

I look up at the name. That Seagull.Strange name, but does it matter? It can be called every strange name in the book with smells like that. I peer through the window. All the tables are full, and people are waiting at the counter to be served. Worth a closer look, for sure.

We carry on along the smart shops and restaurants. The town is quite different from when I left. It’s all gone upscale, which shouldn’t surprise me. The towns and villages in Devon have become very popular with city dwellers, who have houses here many as second homes.

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