He’d said that? He’d thought he’d kept it well and truly close to his chest.
‘Actually, I’ve offered to teach her how to make a roast in a few days once I’m freed up from work.’
‘That’s incredibly generous.’ He wanted to reach out and run his hand across her cheeks, the cheeks that rosied up when she smiled.
‘It’s no bother; I enjoy the fact that I’m considered someone who can cook. I’m pretty sure I’ve never been described in that way before.’
Jeremy appeared at his side, citing his extreme thirst and blaming the delayed delivery of beers. ‘Come on, you’re up next.’
Gio grabbed his crutches. ‘I’d better oblige and get back over there. It’s making me feel better at least – turns out that when they have to use a crutch and not put a foot on the floor, they’re way worse at darts than I am.’
She laughed. ‘Good to see you, Gio.’
‘Likewise. You hanging around?’
‘I’ll be off home soon.’
‘Early night with work in the morning?’
‘Something like that. I might even have a couple of glasses of wine first to relax before I go to bed.’
His heart sank again. The thought of his mother around alcohol in any capacity sent a shot of terror right through him. He’d known that if his mum was a lodger with anyone, there might be this issue; it was one of the reasons – among the many others – why the second place they looked at was a terrible idea. The guy had a bar in the lounge downstairs. Gio had had a long talk with Marianne that night, suggested she might want to explain her sobriety to a landlord, but she’d point-blank refused. ‘Then they’ll never rent me the room,’ she’d said. ‘And I’ll never get my independence.’
‘Do yourself a favour, Bess. Don’t open the wine; get an early night.’
Her beautiful face adopted a frown, as well it might. It was a weird thing to say and he wanted to shoot himself in his good knee for saying it. But instead, he went back over to the lads and the next time he looked towards the bar, she was gone.
Gio called his mum before he got into another game of darts. They chatted for a couple of minutes, enough for him to be satisfied that she was stone-cold sober, and he was even happier when she said her movie had finished a while ago and that she was already in bed. With any luck, she wouldn’t even go downstairs when Bess got home so if Bess did have a glass or two of wine, she wouldn’t be offering it around and about to shake the foundations Marianne had so carefully begun to build.
All it would take was one little drink to ruin everything.
18
Bess and her mum had planned to have their delayed Christmas lunch once Bess wasn’t working, but Fiona had come down with a heavy cold and so New Year was almost upon them before they got the opportunity. Fiona had had the big lunch Christmas Day and so had Bess with The Skylarks at the airbase courtesy of Maya and Noah cooking up a festive feast with the works that, for once, they got to finish. That almost never happened.
Malcolm answered the front door at her mother’s. Not only had Fiona and Bess decided that they’d have a regular lunch because they were both a bit over the festivities, they’d decided that Malcolm would join them. In fact, Bess had suggested it because she so wanted to support her mum.
‘She’s got her hands full making the dumplings,’ Malcolm announced as the waft of her mum’s beef stew snaked its way through the air towards her. And on a cold, wintry day, her mum’s beef stew with dumplings recipe was the epitome of warmth and comfort.
‘Mum’s speciality.’ Bess hung her coat on the peg in the hallway and went through tothe kitchen.
Bess hugged her mum the best she could as Fiona shaped a dumpling between her palms. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Much better, love. And this morning, I had a bath with some of the luxuries in the hamper you gave me for Christmas. I feel thoroughly spoilt.’ Her hands were covered with flour as she set down the dumpling and made the next.
‘You deserve it. And I feel thoroughly spoilt having dumplings for lunch. One of my favourites,’ Bess smiled.
‘Malcolm’s favourite too.’
Knowing that felt oddly comforting to Bess – it had been her dad’s most-loved dish when the colder months set in. ‘I hated dumplings when I was a little girl,’ she told Malcolm, who’d sat at the table and looked about as uncomfortable as he had the first time they’d met here in the same kitchen. Her mum was now too busy with the meal prep and it was just the two of them talking.
When Bess sat down, Malcolm seemed to relax a little bit. ‘My kids loved them. Their mother made them as soon as winter hit; she’d refuse to make them in summer, though. Too heavy, she said.’
She already knew he was a widower but hearing him directly share with her a part of his private life softened Bess even more in her approach. ‘Your kids must miss their mum.’
‘They do. But we get through, with each other.’
When Liquorice put a paw up beneath the low-hung branch of the Christmas tree over by the front doors, Bess went to save the day. ‘Oh no you don’t!’ She scooped him into her arms before he could pluck the little nutcracker ornament.
