‘No more of this thinking you can’t do it. Jess, I need you…’
‘Everything OK?’ Robyn asked, appearing behind us. ‘Can I help? Oh yum, those look good. What are they? They look like little nests, Jess. You are clever!’
‘Good. That’s the intention. You know, Easter nests?’ I bent to put the finishing touches to my dessert, immediately feeling the loss of Fabian’s attention on myself for the one he so patently loved and adored.
‘What’s in them, Jess?’ Fabian was back at my side once more. ‘A Kataifi pastry nest…?’ he asked, breaking one open and popping a morsel into his mouth.
‘Speak English, will you?’ Robyn laughed.
‘Ginger marmalade steamed sponge pudding,’ I said, moving to the steamer that was rolling merrily on the hob and wiping at my forehead. ‘That English enough for you, Robyn?’
‘…and there’s both dark and white chocolate mousse with, hang on, a hint of rhubarb…?’ Fabian was savouring every morsel of the Easter nest.
‘Forced from Wakefield.’ I smiled.
‘Forced to leaveWakefield?’ Robyn frowned. ‘I rather like Wakefield: the Hepworth Gallery, the Yorkshire Sculpture Park; Sandal Castle, the fabulous little cathedral…’
‘Forcedrhubarb, you daft thing, Robyn: Wakefield’s biggest claim to fame.’ Fabian laughed, scooping Robyn up into his arms before feeding her the remains of the nest. ‘She’s no idea, has she, Jess?’
‘No!’ I smiled. ‘Where food’s concerned, no idea at all.’
18
‘Jess, have you thought any more about it?’ An hour later, most of the diners, with the exception of Pat Butterworth, who’d taken herself back to the sitting room and was now fast asleep, mouth open and snoring, had moved outside, breathing in what remained of the Easter Sunday spring afternoon. Kamran and Mum had led them along my garden path and through the gate into Mum’s beautiful and well-kept patch, proudly showing off the artful display of daffodils and tulips as well as the promise of her annual carpet of bluebells.
‘Sorry?’ Leaving the last of the washing up, I was watching Joel Sinclair through the open kitchen window chatting to Mum as he drank tea from a large mug. ‘Oh, blimey, Sorrel.’ I sighed.‘Who the hell am I going to end up with next door once Mum rents her place out?’
‘Well, that’s up to you, Jess.’ Sorrel raised an eye.
‘Oh, don’t you start!’ I sighed again. ‘Not this daft idea of renting Mum’s place to my ex-husband?’
Sorrel grinned. ‘He’s not your ex. Yet. Look, Jess, it’s great that you’ve finally made this decision about Dean, but I hate to think of you and Lola here without me and Mum. As you say, you don’t know who you’re going to end up with next door. Could be some pervert you’ll find gazing at your knickers on the washing line.’
‘What! Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sorrel.’
‘Or someone who’ll just let Mum’s gorgeous garden go to rack and ruin.’
‘It would be part of the rental agreement that they keep the place tidy.’
‘Yes, well, agreements go by the board, don’t they?’
‘You seem to know a lot about it for a sixteen-year-old. This time last year you couldn’t have given a toss about any of it.’
‘Things change. People grow up. People find happiness.’ Sorrel glanced out of the window.
‘You really like this boy, don’t you?’ I turned, scrutinising Sorrel’s pretty face carefully as she continued to gaze out at Joel. ‘But don’t mess up your future…’
‘I won’t!’ Sorrel grinned and then paused. ‘On one condition…’
‘Sorry, I’m not up for bargaining.’
‘…that you let Dean rent Mum’s place.’
‘No, Sorrel. I want him out of my life.’
‘And I get that. But look, Lola appears to have grown an attitude overnight.’
‘As well as a bosom.’
