Chapter Seven
Ellie grabbed Sam’s hand and raced ahead, leading the way from the school, past the church, the corner shop and the butcher’s to their house overlooking the beach. Alex knew she loved their new house, because she told him so, about twenty times a day. Apparently, the quirky curves and slightly bumpy walls made it a fairy-tale cottage. He wasn’t so sure that damp featured quite so heavily in fairy-tale cottages but was assured by Lottie who worked in the village shop that, in Cornwall, it absolutely did.
He glanced quickly sideways at Sylvie walking alongside him, her wavy red hair falling across her face, covering the small smattering of freckles. There was something elfin about her, otherworldly. Words likegracefulandetherealsprang to mind when he wanted to describe her; everything she did was measured, contained and beautifully done – until he had seen the way she attacked the cheese fondue. That had made him want to roar with laughter. There he was surrounded by women chattering in high-pitched tones at him, like a chorus of very noisy and irritating starlings. And there was Sylvie, ripping into the bread rather like a bird of prey would a mouse. There was a lot more to her than the reserved image she showed to the world, and he was looking forward to finding out who the core of her was.
His daughter’s friendship with Sam was delightful and he was grateful for it. But it was Sam’s mother who intrigued him. This juxtaposition of ethereal combined with a laugh so hearty thatit just didn’t fit the body it emitted from, was fascinating. The captivating woman he had met on the beach versus the one that had run away from him on that first day of school, pretending she couldn’t hear him calling after her and never alluding to it again. He had a feeling that there were many layers to Sylvie and he was charmed by each one. Or rather imagined he would be.
Her company was easy and she had a way of making him laugh, particularly cute because most of the time she wasn’t trying to. Bringing up Ellie was so much fun, but it could be lonely at times. Chase was great, and Angelina too – although in her very own unique and not-quite-fit-for-children way. But neither had kids of their own and sometimes it took another parent to understand the highs and the lows. Sylvie was doing this all on her own too, or so he assumed from Sam’s hilarious request on that very first day, and she seemed to just get it. Truth was, she seemed to just get everything. Pizza night was going to be fun.
Ellie stopped outside their front door, still bouncing on the spot, her favourite thing to do at the moment, and remarkably never leaving her as exhausted as he hoped it would.
He clicked the key in the lock and felt Ellie whoosh past his legs, dragging Sam behind her.
Grinning, he held the door open for Sylvie.
‘It’s still a bit of a muddle. I only got the keys last week and the stuff from my London flat isn’t fully unpacked yet, so if you don’t mind manoeuvring around the odd box or two then do come in.’
‘Ha, I don’t mind. We’re at opposite ends of the box spectrum – you’re unpacking and I’m filling.’
‘Really, how come? Coffee? Tea?’ He led the way through the tiny hall, into a dining room, floored with slate that in turn led to an archway into a kitchen, complete with exposed granite walls and a gleaming Aga.
‘Yes, please, tea would be lovely. Since Sam started school, I’ve been sorting through my mum’s things. I have been too scared to do it for months and then had some kind of epiphany on the kid’s first day.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.’
‘Oh no, don’t worry. Of course you didn’t. She passed in February after a long illness. She had motor neurone disease so we all knew it was coming, prepared for it even and my goodness she put up a fight, but still, grief hits us all in unexpected ways. And I was just frozen. Have been frozen. But I’m putting things in boxes now and have even been able to cry, which hadn’t been happening. Sorry. Burbling. Don’t know why. Anyway, boxes, yes. You do seem to have a lot of them!’
‘I do, they feel never-ending, but burble away, it’s good for the soul. Here you are. Drink and burble.’
‘I’ll just drink if that’s OK. So, tell me about your London place. Have you moved everything down now?’ She looked around the kitchen, as if she were both sizing it up and looking for something specific.
‘Pizzaaaaaaaaa!’ Ellie came roaring in and started banging on the table. ‘Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!’ Sam stood behind her in the archway, looking utterly entranced by her naughtiness.
‘Hey! Stop that, Ells, or we’ll be doing it without you. If you want to make pizza then you need to get everything together. Without banging.’ Alex used his firmest tone. He hoped it would work; experience taught him it could go either way but it was worth a try. He had to at least attempt to get her to behave, especially with witnesses.
Sam was a great friend for Ellie, and he was hoping he might calm her a little. He didn’t want Sylvie thinking Ellie was a brat and stopping them playing together. Honestly, managing a five-year-old was way harder than negotiating war zones. The minute he thought it that same repeated scene, the one wherehe first set eyes on Ellie, flashed into his mind; he felt his body involuntarily shudder, his eyes close and his breath whoosh out. Compelling him to make a silent apology for thinking something so stupidly flippant.
‘What do we need?’
‘What do you think we should get?’ he answered Ellie, thankful the memory had passed so quickly. It didn’t usually, sometimes it liked to stick around. He felt Sylvie’s eyes on him, gentle, sympathetic but mildly quizzical. She was far more intuitive than most, it would appear; however, glossing over this was a skill he had perfected and not even the cutest sprite in the forest was going to get that close.
‘Sam, what do you think?’ Ellie shifted responsibility to her friend.
‘Um… tomatoes?’
‘Yeah, tomatoes. What else, Sam?’
‘Uh… um… cheese? Oh, and I like sweetcorn.’
‘OK, have we got sweetcorn, Dad? We reallyneedsweetcorn. Likereallyneed.’ He exchanged a smile with Sylvie. How Ellie could sound quite so like she was thirteen was always a bit of a shock.
‘I reckon I could rustle it up – even better, why don’t you get those things from the fridge, ooh, and more tomatoes from the pantry, the corn should be there too. What else?’
Alex could feel Sylvie’s eyes on him as he prompted the kids to get everything they needed and lay it out on the table.
‘What can I do to help? I love a pantry, not many houses have them now.’
‘Yeah, I do too.’ He admitted, ‘I was brought up in the country, well, Essex, but a country bit of Essex, and when I saw this place had a pantry I was sold. They remind me of childhood.’
