Jenna had never really thought about it before, but Orla had been the axis upon which they had all revolved. They were, she now saw, adrift without that dynamic and guiding force. Funnily enough, if asked, Jenna would have said it had been Alastair who had been the driving force, but it was clear he was as adrift as the rest of them. She had never witnessed that in him before. It was strange seeing him behave so differently.
‘Are you two girls going to stand there daydreaming all day, or are you going to lend a hand?’
Catching a look from her mother, who was cracking eggs, separating the whites from the yolks to make one of her famous Pavlovas, Jenna said, ‘What would you like us to do?’
‘For starters that pile of potatoes won’t peel themselves.’
‘Mum!’ remonstrated Rachel who had only just surfaced from her bed and was still in her nightclothes, and helping herself to orange juice from the fridge. ‘It’s not even lunchtime and you’re going nuts over preparing for dinner tonight. If it’s okay with you, I’d like some breakfast before I do anything else.’
‘You missed breakfast, that was hours ago,’ replied Sorrel briskly.
‘Bloody hell, it never used to be like this when Orla was alive,’ muttered Rachel, which earned her a thunderous look from her mother. ‘Come on, Jenna, let’s go out to the garden and get some peace and quiet and enjoy the sun.’
‘How about we peel the potatoes in the garden?’ suggested Jenna to Sorrel.
‘God, you’re such a goody-two-shoes!’
‘Thank you, Jenna,’ said Sorrel, ‘I’m glad I can rely on someone.’
‘Oh give it a rest, Mum, we’re on holiday and apart from anything else, you should be cosseting me as I recover from having my heart broken.’
‘Maybe I would if I honestly believed you were heartbroken.’
Rachel put a hand to her chest. ‘Harsh, Mum, harsh.’
‘Your mother’s got a point,’ Jenna said, when she and Rachel had carried the large bag of potatoes, saucepan, chopping board and vegetable peelers outside to the table on the terrace. ‘You don’t really seem that upset about Paul dumping you. Only a few days ago you were over the moon that he said he loved you.’
Making no attempt to help Jenna, Rachel said, ‘Yeah well, I got that wrong, didn’t I? But I hope you’re not about to say I told you so. I swore on the train yesterday that I’d chuck you in the river if you did that.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. But are you sure you’re all right, you’re not putting a brave face on it, are you? You know you don’t have to pretend with me.’
‘Nah, I’m good. I’m determined not to waste my energy on trying to figure out what happened. He’ssonot worth the effort.’
‘Good, so I don’t need to treat you with kid gloves, then? You won’t bite my head off, or throw me in the river, if I say you deserve better.’ Jenna knew that deep down Rachel had to be upset by what Paul had done, but she knew her friend of old; pride would not allow her to admit just how upset she was. She might not like it, but in so many ways Rachel was very like her mother. Pride and saving face were paramount to them both.
In the same way Jenna knew that she had inherited her parents’ natural desire to keep the peace, to smooth the ruffled feathers of those around her; it was one of the reasons she had followed in her father’s footsteps and studied law, seeing it as a way to bring calm and order to troubled lives. How naïve that seemed to her now!
‘Yeah, yeah, of course I deserve better,’ replied Rachel. ‘So tell me about your Mr Sexy Pants, Blake Darnell.’
‘Nothing to tell, and as I’ve told you numerous times before, he isn’tmyanything. We’ve established ourselves as co-working friends, nothing more.’
‘Is that what they’re calling it these days?’ sneered Rachel. ‘What about Callum, have you explained yourself to him yet?’
‘I don’t suppose you fancy going back to bed do you, so I can sit here without being interrogated?’
‘I’m only thinking of my big bro’s welfare.’
‘That must be a first.’
‘Having been treated the way I was by Paul, let’s just say I’m sensitive about other people’s feelings.’
Which was a step in the right direction, thought Jenna with a half smile.
But as Rachel closed her eyes and leant back in her chair to better enjoy the warm August sunshine, Jenna reached for another potato and pondered how she was going to tackle Callum this evening. He hadn’t joined them last night, and his not being with them for the first night of their annual summer stay at Linston End had never happened before, which added to the general feeling that nothing was as it used to be.
At the sound of a boat passing at the end of the garden and children’s voices singing out – they were dressed as pirates, complete with hats, stripy tops, eye-patches and armed with plastic cutlasses – she thought of all the childhood summers she had spent here with Rachel and Callum. Rarely had they allowed outsiders to infiltrate their little gang; they’d had no need for anybody else.
One summer Orla had nicknamed them The Swallowtails and the name had stuck. They had formed a club – The Swallowtail Club – much like the children in Arthur Ransome’sThe Coot Club, and had devised a code of conduct, most of which had been designed to keep adults from knowing what they were getting up to. Membership was strictly limited: once or twice a child who was visiting the sailing club in Horning would insinuate his or her way in, but on the whole it was not something they welcomed or encouraged.
