‘I won’t, but remember it’s two visitors to a bed and I’ll let this trio get in trouble rather than me.’
With a smile and a wave, she left.
And despite the handshakes and camaraderie from his colleagues, he’d much rather see a lot more of Bess right now than anyone else.
It felt like it really could be the start of something between them.
10
The day Bess heard her father had died, she’d been in the same place she was right now: sitting in her car outside her parents’ home, about to head in for dinner. That day, her phone had rung and she’d snatched it up with a chirpy, ‘I’m here! I’m outside, give me a minute to get out the car and in the door,’ which was met not with the laughter she’d expected from whichever parent had called but with her mother sobbing down the line. Bess had run inside and been handed the devastating news, breaking down alongside her mother as she listened to the police officer explain it all over again. Her dad had had a heart attack driving home from work one day and, just like that, he was taken from them.
Bess’s hand was against her tattoo beneath her winter layers – her coat and jumper got in the way but putting her hand there still connected her to her memories.
When Gio had spotted it at the hospital last week, it should have been simple to say she’d got the tattoo of a dolphin following her holiday to Florida. He knew she’d been there. She could’ve explained it away by reminding him she’d swum with dolphins, remembering the crystal, blue waters, the friendly,social animals who’d captured her interest. But that was only part of the truth and she wasn’t sure she could’ve got all those words out without emotion bubbling over.
Bess had taken as many holidays as she could since her dad died; it was part of what had contributed to her ever-increasing debt. The need to escape had been almost overwhelming at times. If she had a few days between shifts, she’d plan to get out of town. If time was limited, she didn’t leave the UK; if she’d accrued enough days, she went further afield. Florida had been one such destination and seeing dolphins was always going to be a part of it because it made her feel closer to her dad. Her dad had always been fascinated by dolphins; he’d bought her first soft toy dolphin when she was too young to register what it was, he’d read her books about them – both fiction and non-fiction – he’d talked about his summers as a boy at Cardigan Bay and told her he’d got so close to dolphins, he’d talked to them. She wasn’t sure how much he embellished but she’d sat with him and made him tell her over and over again about the graceful creatures she’d grown to love as much as he had. You would never have thought it to look at him – a serious man in a business suit through the week, but a much more relaxed character come weekends and holidays. And when she was ten, he’d taken her to Cardigan Bay and she’d fallen in love with the dolphins in their natural habitat, their acrobatic displays, the splash of water on her face as they came up close to the boat. And whenever she saw a documentary clip or read an article about dolphins, she’d always told her dad about it.
After he died, it became all the more poignant. She’d reached for the phone more than once to call him and tell him about what she’d seen or read. And following a trip to Florida, she’d been out with friends having a few drinks on a balmy summer’s evening when a girl had walked past and there on her shoulderwas a tattoo of a dolphin. Less than a week later, Bess had her very own dolphin tattoo etched onto her skin forever in memory of a father who’d been taken away too soon.
Bess looked at the well-kept home she’d grown up in with its spring blooms all gone out front and only greenery remaining apart from the few winter flowers in the pot beside the front door. She hoped her dad wasn’t looking down on her today to witness her having to go inside and admit to her mother that at age forty, she was in financial strife. In the four decades of her life, she’d never had to do this – not unless you counted the times as a teenager she’d borrowed money in advance of getting her monthly allowance so she didn’t miss out on things with friends. She didn’t want to do it now, but what choice did she have? She was drowning in debt and the personal loan repayment, the payday loan, the credit card debts and charges, the bills still waiting to be paid, were all reminders of just how much trouble she was in. Around about eleven thousand pounds’ worth of trouble to be precise and that figure was rising by the day.
She climbed out of the car, her thoughts going back to Gio. Thinking about him gave her some temporary relief rather than constantly stressing about her finances.
When Gio had asked her about her tattoo, it had given her another hint that he might be interested in more than friendship. It wasn’t so much the question as the way he’d looked at her, the softness of his voice, an edge of flirtation despite lying in a hospital bed. And when he spoke about his mum, it reminded her of their days in the shared house, the times he’d been distraught at his mum’s latest drama, the vulnerability he’d tried to keep hidden from as many people as possible. She’d had boyfriends on and off but she and Gio had always stayed friends; she’d always been ready to listen. Perhaps Bess had alwaysknown that there were more layers to him than what she saw on the surface. But maybe at the same time, she’d decided to play it safe, keep him as a friend, nothing more.
A mewling at her feet signalled Liquorice’s presence.
She bent down and scooped up the black cat with huge, round eyes. ‘You crept up on me. How did you manage that?’ He didn’t seem to mind the puffy coat, and she knew he’d start purring in a minute and put his claws into the fabric, which wouldn’t be so good. She wouldn’t feel it but the material would take a battering.
She set him down inside the front door after she let herself in with a call of, ‘Hey, Mum, it’s me.’
‘In here, darling,’ Fiona trilled from the direction of the kitchen.
Bess found her mother with her apron on and flour dusting the front pocket as she wiped her hands. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today.’ But her beaming smile as she came to hug her daughter was enough to know her drop-in was a good thing. It didn’t make Bess feel any better about the reason she was here, though.
Bess peered over in the direction of the kitchen worktop. ‘What’s cooking? Quiche?’ She noted the pastry her mum had fashioned into the pie base, imagined the way her fingers had pushed the mixture into the little grooves that would cook that way and create a pretty pattern.
‘It’s tonight’s dinner if you’d like to stay? You’re more than welcome.’
‘Can’t, I’m on shift at four, but thanks, your quiches are always delicious.’ She watched as her mum lined the pie base with parchment and poured in ceramic baking beans, ready to blind bake the crust.
Many a time as a little girl, Bess had sat in this kitchen and helped her mother cook. She knew that blind baking the crustfirst before the filling was added avoided the crust getting soggy while the quiche baked. Some of the filling should also be pre-cooked, hence the little bowls on the side of cooked mushrooms, bell peppers and broccoli which would be added along with the milk and egg mixture once the crust had had a head start.
‘Remember the day you made your first quiche as a surprise for your dad?’
Bess burst out laughing. ‘Do I ever?’ She’d tried to add in his favourite things – spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, and basically overloaded what wasn’t a great pastry base and the whole thing was a sloppy combination of waterlogged vegetables. ‘He did well to eat as much as he did. I couldn’t manage it and I was terrified it would be one of those dinner times where you both made me sit and finish every last mouthful.’
Fiona’s laughter mingled with her daughter’s as she closed the oven and set the timer for the crust before pulling out a block of Gruyere from the fridge and batting away Bess’s attempts to help her.
Oh, how Bess wished her dad were here now, sitting at the table reading his newspaper, or in the study beavering away on his computer. The house had run well with her parents both at the helm but her mum seemed to be managing just fine even though it was only her now. Both of them would be ashamed at the shambles Bess had made of her own life.
Her mum slapped away her hand when she reached for some of the grated Gruyere and she handed Bess the edges she’d cut away from the block. ‘Nibble on those; you could always get more off.’
Bess wasn’t going to argue. She wished she could stay doing this and not have to confess a single thing. Let her mum believe she was the strong, capable daughter they’d raised, the one whohad a good job, her own home, rather than a daughter who could be about to lose a very big chunk of all of that.
Bess made tea for them both as they chatted, mostly about the weather and the frost that had graced the roofs of Whistlestop River that chilly November morning.
‘I think we’ll get snow before Christmas.’ Fiona poured the egg and milk mixture into the baked crust to cover the vegetables and slotted it back in the oven. ‘There, one hour to go. I’m early.’ She finished her mug of tea. She’d always been good at multitasking in the kitchen and chatting at the same time. ‘I should get on with peeling some potatoes.’ She pulled a bag of potatoes out and took quite a few to place in the colander next to the sink.
