‘Getting there,’ he replies.
‘Is that driftwood?’ I ask, studying the twisted structure that’s beginning to form around the outside of the play kitchen’s frame.
‘Some of it is. It can be pretty brittle, so I tend to use pine for the base and fix branches and driftwood on top to give it character.’
‘Do you get it from the beaches yourself?’
‘Yeah.’ He materialises at my side. ‘And my friends and family sometimes pick it up when they see it.’
‘It reminds me of the seaside,’ I say. ‘I like the colour.’
‘Yeah, it’s been bleached by the sun. I like the shape,’ he says. ‘It’s been knocked about in the water for so long that the waves have smoothed away most of the rough edges. And I like not knowing where it comes from or how long it’s been adrift at sea.’
I smile at his reverential tone, and he in turn, smiles at his daughter, reaching across to tweak her nose. She giggles.
‘Well, I guess I’d better get home,’ I say, offering April over with more purpose this time. I still seem to have her attached to my hip.
‘Do you want to stay for dinner?’ Charlie asks casually, finally getting the hint and taking her from me. ‘I’ve got plenty.’
‘Oh, no, thank you,’ I reply automatically, and then frown at myself as I walk away from him. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do – and I like a bit of spag bol – but he doesn’t repeat his offer.
Nicki’s bike is still resting in the hall and the sight of it makes me nervous.
I’m reluctant to pick up her helmet, and even more so to pull it over my head, but I do. The fit is good, but the straps don’t quite meet under my chin and I’m struggling to loosen them.
I honestly would be so much happier on hired equipment.
‘Let me help,’ Charlie says, putting April down and coming to my aid. I didn’t know he’d followed me out here.
I’m not sure where to look as he fiddles with the straps, so I focus on his jaw, trying not to flinch as his rough fingertips brush against my throat. His jaw clenches and my eyes dart up to his, my breath freezing in my lungs – his pain is palpable.
‘Charlie, I—’
‘Done!’ He interrupts me, taking a step backwards and forcing a bright smile.
‘Seriously, I don’t want to—’
He covers his hands with his ears. ‘Blah, blah, blah,’ he says, going over to open the door.
I roll my eyes at him to lighten the mood as I wheel the bike past.
‘Height okay?’ he asks when I reach the road and swing my leg over the frame.
‘Fine,’ I reply, wondering if he’s already adjusted it. I’m pretty tall at five foot eight.
He nods. ‘Ride carefully.’ He pats the doorframe with an air of finality and goes back inside, shutting the door behind him. I’m glad he didn’t wait to see me set off. I’m feeling on edge enough as it is.
Chapter 12
A few days later, on Friday, I meet April’s grandmother, and, if I didn’t know that she was going to be there, I’d probably still guess who she was from her identical chipmunk cheeks. Like April’s, they bulge brilliantly when she smiles.
‘You must be Bridget!’ she exclaims, opening the door to me. If she weren’t so warm and welcoming, I wouldn’t feel at all comfortable wheeling her late daughter-in-law’s bike into the house. ‘I’m Pat.’ She offers her hand as soon as mine is available.
She’s of medium height and build and dressed colourfully in a print blouse and trousers the colour of sunshine. Her champagne-blonde hair is long and curly, falling to well below her shoulders.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ I reply, shaking it.
‘Charlie’s taken the play equipment to the school,’ she says, the wooden beads around her neck clattering together noisily as she shuts the door.
