Oliver’s laugh was hissing and bitter. ‘Don’t be a fool.’
‘I’m serious. Perhaps you underestimate her, Oliver.’
‘Perhaps youoverestimateher.’
There was another pause, before Jem said: ‘She forgave me, didn’t she? Don’t you think she’d forgive you, too?’
‘No. No I don’t.’ There was an ache in Oliver’s voice, something ragged, and raw – and Ava’s heart stuttered in her chest as she drew back from the doorway, as Mrs Moss called:
‘Ava? Ava!’
‘Coming!’ She plucked up a tray of scones and pushed back into the warm teashop, her thoughts tangled.
They’d surely been talking about her. But what did Oliver need her forgiveness for?
The question settled in her stomach – a faint, nagging sense of unease – but people were already arriving, and taking seats at each of the tables, and when she looked up, and caught Damien’s eye, she almost laughed, despite herself.
For the look upon his face was one of pure terror – and when a group of people finally took their seats, she saw why.
Because sitting at the table with him was her father.
Chapter Forty-One
‘So,’ she heard her pa say, as she drew closer. ‘I suppose I should tell you, here and now, that I shan’t be talking about my late wife. And nor do I want to hear of yours.’
Damien’s green eyes widened. ‘I—’
‘He’s not a member, Pa,’ Ava said, taking the seat on the other side of her father. ‘He’s a friend of mine.’
Her father’s frown deepened. ‘Afriend?’
‘Yes, Pa,’ said Oliver, appearing from behind them with an enormous tray of scones. ‘You must’ve heard of them. I believe you even had some, at one point.’
‘Speaking of friends,’ Ava said, studying her brother’s red face. ‘Where’s Jem?’
‘Couldn’t come,’ Oliver said, casually.
‘Really? Because I thought I saw him with you in the courtyard out back?’
Oliver’s brows shot up. ‘You wereeavesdroppingon us?’
‘I washelping Mrs Moss,’ Ava clarified. ‘Why didn’t he come inside? Say hello?’
‘Said he had a delivery,’ Oliver said with a shrug. ‘That he had to get back to the shop.’
‘You’re sure?’ Ava asked. ‘It wasn’t that you said something that might’ve made him feel unwelcome?’
She watched her brother’s expression shutter, and he turned to Damien. ‘You’ll have to excuse my sister,’ he said. ‘She’s forgotten her manners. I’m Oliver, Oliver Adams.’
‘Damien Carter,’ said Damien – earning a curious look from her father.
‘“Carter”?’ he murmured. ‘Sure I did some work for a Carter once. Lived in across the Mersey.’
‘A different Carter, I’m sure,’ said Damien, reaching for his napkin, placing it atop his lap.
‘Ah, so youdoremember then, Pa,’ Oliver said, reaching for a scone, his blue eyes sliding to Ava’s. ‘Working. Helping out?’
Her father’s expression drew downwards. ‘You’re one to talk, Oliver,’ he said. ‘You’ve been flitting between jobs since you were fifteen years old. I think by now the only thing youhaven’tbeen is “consistently employed”.’
