‘It’s okay.’ It’s not okay, of course. ‘They were killed in a car crash,’ I reveal to save him wondering.
He looks wretched as he places the knife on the chopping board, giving me his full attention. ‘Is it just you?’
‘I have an older brother. He lives on Stippy Stappy. You might have walked that way to the bakery and the St Agnes Hotel – the cute row of Victorian terraces that step sideways up the hill?’
‘I know the ones you mean. Are they old miners’ cottages?’
‘I think they were initially built for ships’ captains.’
He shakes the contents of the frying pan and picks up his knife again, slicing the onion. ‘This area is so interesting.’
‘What brought you here?’ He stiffens. ‘I mean, why did you choose Cornwall?’ I amend hastily, sensing he’d rather not talk aboutwhyhe’s seemingly taken a month off work.
‘I came here when I was a kid and really loved it,’ he replies, concentrating on what he’s doing. ‘My grandad lived on the Lizard peninsula, near Helston. He’d take me to watch the Sea Kings taking off from RNAS Culdrose.’
‘I was sad when they stopped flying,’ I say of the mighty bright yellow helicopters the Royal Navy once used for search and rescue.
The service is run by a private company now. I wonder if that’s who Tom works for.
‘Me too,’ he replies, getting a blender out of the cupboard and plugging it in.
‘Can I help?’ I belatedly think to ask.
‘No, you just relax.’
I take a sip of wine and realise Ihaverelaxed. I feel strangely at ease in his company, considering the almost constant underlying jitteriness that accompanies me whenever I’m with him.
‘So would you say your grandad was your biggest influence?’ I ask, sticking with a subject he doesn’t seem to mind talking about as he sets about poaching two chicken breasts, adding bay leaves and peppercorns to the water.
I’m enjoying watching him cook.
‘Yes. He was in the navy too, actually.’
‘How cool! My grandmother was my biggest influence.’
He glances up, his eyes alight with interest. ‘Really?’
I tell him about how she used to take me to art galleries and museums when I was younger while he blitzes the tomatoes, garlic and chilli along with some fresh oregano in the blender.
‘I fixed your driveway gates, by the way,’ he says after a while.
‘You did?’
‘Yeah, I hope that’s okay. The hinges needed tightening. I found a screwdriver in the garden shed.’
‘Oh! That’s amazing. Thank you so much. I thought they might need oiling, but I hadn’t got round to it.’
‘I hope I didn’t step on your toes.’
‘Not at all.’ I’m struck again by a feeling of being cared for.
‘Does your brother help out much?’
‘Er, no.’ I shift on my bar stool. ‘He’s not very handy.’ I feel the need to explain. ‘He has Down’s syndrome.’
He searches my face while frying up the onions. ‘Do you have any other relatives?’
‘Only an uncle who lives in Spain. But we have friends,’ I reply. ‘And Michael has a personal assistant slash support worker who comes most days. She’s awesome.’
