‘A knight! Wow! Did he have a suit of armour and a horse?’ Evie was clearly quite taken with the idea.
Archie laughed loudly, so loudly.
‘Plenty of horses, yes. I remember their stables very well, but no suit of armour that I can recall.’
‘I expect he also knew to make garlic bread when serving lasagne, did he?’ Ashleigh fired the sarcasm across the table.
‘I doubt it. He had a cook.’ They locked eyes and the tension flared. ‘But he did know the value of a decent family dinner where kindness and conversation were allowed to flow. He knew it was the glue that bound.’
Kapow! His words landed like a punch.
‘Wow! He sounds marvellous!’ She gave a fake smile.
Evie stared at her.
‘Are you okay, Mummy?’ Her little girl’s voice was small and croaky.
Ashleigh put the fork down, knowing she couldn’t stomach even the smallest mouthful.
‘I’m sorry, Evie.’
‘That’s okay. I don’t really need garlic bread.’ Her child stared at her with big eyes that carried worry beyond her years.
Evie swallowed, and Ashleigh studied her. Her little one looked as if her heart was beating very quickly and like she might feel a little sick. Ashleigh understood how it could happen like this sometimes, when the world felt very big, and you felt very small and entirely uncertain of your place in it. She picturedsitting at the kitchen table on exam day and wishing she could disappear. The thought that she might have made Evie feel similar was gut-wrenching. The very opposite of what she wanted to achieve with this dinner.
‘Can I ... Can I take my supper and go and watch a cartoon?’ Evie almost whispered.
‘Course you can.’ Archie reached out and ruffled her hair. ‘Tell you what. I’ll pop our grub on trays and come and join you. We can watch and eat from our laps. How does that sound?’
Ashleigh watched as her daughter nodded and climbed down from the high stool. Her podgy bare feet made a sticking sound as they padded across the wooden floor as she made her way towards the refuge of the den and those infernal cartoons.
‘Sort it out, Ashleigh!’ Archie spoke firmly, as he reached for Evie’s bowl. ‘Whatever it is, please just get a handle on it!’
She sat at the table long after the two had left, could hear their laughter and the ping and boing of the cartoon soundtrack filtering back into the vast, handcrafted kitchen. Making her way to the den, she put her hand on the door that was ajar, wanting so badly to jump in and sit with her husband and child, wanting them to invite her in, to budge up and make space on the sofa. They were laughing, the two of them, laughing at those infernal cartoons, a team of two. She stood for a few minutes, willing them to notice her, to smile at her, let her know all was forgiven, but they didn’t. It reminded her of being at school, that feeling in her gut that she didn’t quite belong, that this was not her place. At home too, as a teenager, while Remy and Tony danced in that tiny bedroom and she lay on her bed, listening to them, waiting for an invite that never came.
It felt easier to walk away, to go back to the solitude of the kitchen.
Lonely and alone, she wondered what Remy was doing, and was looking forward to seeing her tomorrow in a way she hadn’t for a while. It would be good to get out of London, away from the house, where she felt the walls were closing in, away from the business that felt like it was slipping through her fingers, away from Archie, Guy, and the Bens. Good to spend time with Evie in the car, and good to catch up with the other little dove.
So good.
Remy
Remy sat at the kitchen table, sipped her morning coffee, and mentally replayed images from Sophie’s fashion show. She was barely able to contain her tears as pride rose up in her throat and spilled over. It was amazing to her, the confidence of her daughter, who had set her own course and was running towards her future. It was something Remy was unable to imagine, having never fully cut the ties of duty and penance that kept her close to her mum and dad.
Midge walked in with a fistful of dirty mugs, no doubt gathered from the far corners of the house, and usually only retrieved when the mug tree was bare.
‘All set?’
‘Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about Soph last night.’
Midge rested his hands on his hips. ‘Me too. I didn’t fancy going, not really. I mean, I want to support Sophie, always, but a fashion show? I didn’t really think it was my thing, but honestly, Ren. It was breathtaking.’
‘It was.’ She bit her lip, wondering how long the warm, fuzzy glow of joy that she felt inside might last.
‘You look nice.’ He studied her and she liked the way his eyes sparkled.
‘I washed my hair and ironed my knickers.’
