Sunday 10th December
In the attic kitchen at Brides by the Sea: With bells on
When I wake on Sunday morning, it’s to the sound of the landline ringing and the smell of toast and bacon. When I finally find the phone under my folded shirt and capri pants, it’s Poppy.
‘Hols, an early call to warn you that Rory’s on his way.’ Which sadly rubbishes the idea that she’s the one in the kitchen, making the fry-up.
My groan is loud and long. ‘Brilliant, thanks for that.’ Two seconds later, I’m out of bed, jumping at the sound of clashing crockery in the distance. ‘Actually, I think he’s already here.’
I stagger through to the kitchen, cursing that I’ve lost my opportunity to use the sticky cleansing strip on my nose to clean the last of Friday’s gunk out of my pores. As I rub my eyes into focus, Rory is clattering around by the cooker. ‘Is this an excuse to dump the kids off extra early? And do you know that’s Poppy’s second-best apron you’re wearing there?’ If I’m extra tetchy, it’s because he’s totally invaded my space. And also because as I take in a kitchen with so much mess it looks like Masterchef just happened, I’m thinking ahead to the washing up.
As he turns to me he’s grinning. ‘Lovely to see you too, Holly. I’m sure Poppy won’t mind lending her pinny to keep the photographer’s assistant’s chinos clean.’
‘But what are youdoing? Apart from digging out every pan in the building.’ Poppy’s new maternity aprons are extra large. If I were trying to size up his bum in smart trousers, which I’m definitely not, I’d be limited to a couple of inches of dark fabric between the pink stripes.
‘Don’t worry, Holly B. I’ve got your back here, just like in the old days.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ve always looked out for you. We’re social pariahs who stuck together, and I’ll never forget that. Today might be tough, but we’ll tough it out together. For one day only.’ He’s waving a spoon like he’s been taking lessons from Jamie Oliver. ‘As for the cooking, I decided it’s sensible to have a precautionary breakfast.’
We both know he’s exaggerating the significance of our acquaintance here. And when was rationaleverin his mind-set? ‘So how did the guy who was stupid enough to let his car float away on the tide suddenly become wise?’ I’m asking because it’s a valid question. Most clueless people stay that way for their whole life.
He narrows his eyes. ‘Let’s put you straight on a few things. Mydad’scar got swept out to sea, not mine. And it definitely wasn’t accidental, it wasdeliberatepayback. Me hitting him where it hurt most.’
Being let in on this direct action has me flinching. ‘Jeez, Rory, that’s a bit harsh.’ If people steered clear of me because Freya died and they didn’t know what to say to me, I never minded. As for his family feuds, I knew his parents weren’t together, but I had no idea it was so acrimonious.
He snaps back. ‘It was no less than he deserved. I’ll tell you about it sometime.’
‘I’ll take your word on that.’ I’m already struggling with the concept of baked beans this early. I can’t cope with any more spilled secrets. ‘At least the weather’s good.’ As I peep through the porthole, desperate to find something else to talk about, far below the sun is sparkling off the sea. Although I’m not about to give him credit for being right about the better weather today.
‘Scrambled eggs, wholemeal bagels, mushrooms and tomatoes okay for you?’ He’s already pulling out two stools and pouring coffee with the other hand.
‘Great.’ I blink, trying to wake up my appetite, as he slides two full plates across the tabletop. ‘Thanks.’
‘Bacon rashers? They’re chestnut smoked sweetcure. Fried bread, waffles.’ As he swings them over, he couldn’t be scrutinising my face any more closely if he were looking for blackheads. ‘You aren’t going to throw up with wedding jitters again are you?’
Again? That one word’s the giveaway. ‘You heard about the last time at Zoe’s wedding?’
At least he has the decency to look guilty. ‘Hasn’t everyone?’
That’s what I was afraid of. ‘Is therenoprivacy around here?’ Even as it comes out, in a foot- stamping rush, I know it’s a ridiculous question. In fact, it’s one I’ve known the answer to practically my whole life. And if that’s slipped my mind, it’s only because I’ve been away so long. ‘For the record, it wasn’t a nervous puke, it was something else entirely.’
He gives a rueful shrug. ‘Why else would we be sitting down to a decent, stomach-settling breakfast? Chucking up at a wedding is never good.’
As I hold up my hand, my stomach’s already squelching. ‘Enough, okay?’
His nostrils are twitching as he sits down and piles egg onto his fork. ‘At least I finally get to see what kind of pyjamas you wear. You always refused to tell me, back in the day.’ He’s holding back his laughter.
‘Quite bloody right too.’ Not that I remember him asking that specifically.
His brow wrinkles. ‘Whenever I imagined it, you were in a Wonder Woman onesie.’
I almost snort my coffee out of my nose at that. ‘Total bollocks. Onesies weren’t even invented then. And I’d never choose to wear that, because I’m not that kind of “zippy” or “out there”.’ I brush a crumb off my pyjama trousers and study the Eiffel Tower print.
He’s straight back. ‘That’s always been your problem. You could be zippy, if you’d only put the effort in.’
I completely sympathise with his frustration. Sometimes I even feel it myself. ‘But that’s justme. I like to think about things andthendo them. Freya would have been more your kind of person. She’d have been fine zooming round in a Superman flying suit.’ What’s more, she wouldn’t have been fazed by anything as minor as wedding pictures. She’d have been gutsy enough to have been a war photographer, although in reality she probably wouldn’t have been free to do a job that minor, because she’d have been too busy ruling the world.
