Scarlett said, “I still don’t see why we had to dress up. It’s just tea at somebody’s house. Somebody’s house where they don’t evenlikeme.” She made no move to get out of the car, either.
Georgia said, “The sea’s right there, Dad! Look, you cansee it! Can we go down to the beach and run and twirl? I like to twirl on the beach best of all.”
“As the sun’s about to set, there’s a pretty sharp wind blowing, and it looks like rain,” Zane said, “I’m going to say ‘no.’ We’re going to have dinner, is what we’re going to do. George will probably show you his toys, though.”
“Oh,” Georgia said. “OK.”
Zane got out of the car, since nobody else was, and gave his grandmother a hand out. She said, “Thank you, love,” with total serenity, as if she had no doubt this would be a perfectly lovely evening. Since Zane’s communication with Skylar had consisted of a text from her that read, in its entirety,Five o’clock Sunday OK? It’s fish,Zane wasn’t positive he agreed. And yet he still wanted to be here, bruises, late night, hours-long flight this morning, and all. Odd.
Up the walkway to the front door, which was painted a cheery blue, and he put his finger on the doorbell and pushed.
And waited. He could hear scuffling in there, and muffled voices, and then a more audible voice, a boy’s, saying, “I’m going. IsaidI’m going.” The door swung open, and it was Finlay. Looking guarded.
“Hi,” he said. “Come in.”
As they did, a streak of white dashed across the floor, went straight through the forest of legs, and was out the door.
“Oh, no,” Finlay said. “Snowball! Snowball! He’s not meant to go out,” he told Zane. “But he always tries. Now I suppose I have to go find him. Olive!” he suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs. “Come help me look for Snowball!”
No answer, or the second time Finlay yelled, either. Duncan said, “I’ll help. I like cats.”
“You do?” Finlay looked at him curiously. “Why?”
Duncan shrugged. “I like most animals, I guess. We don’t have any, but I still like them.”
“Oh,” Finlay said. “Well, come on then.”
Zane shut the door behind them and looked at his grandmother. She looked back at him, eyes bright and somehow mischievous. Fortunately, Geoffrey arrived at that moment. He clapped his hands on seeing them, beamed, and said, “There you are. And thereyouare,” he told Nan. “A sight for sore eyes, as always.” He kissed her cheek, stood back, laughed, and kissed it again, and Scarlett muttered, “Hopeless.”
Zane nudged her, and she said, “Ouch!” just as Geoffrey finally got over the shock of seeing the woman he’d been seeing five days a week for months on end and said, “Come in. Come in. We’re a bit at sixes and sevens still, I’m afraid. Oh, you brought the wine. Good. Skylar’s in the kitchen, and she’ll be wanting that. For the cooking, you know, as well as the drinking.”
“Fortunately,” Zane said, lifting his carrier bag, “I came well prepared.”
“Maybe you’ll take that in to her, then,” Geoffrey said blandly. “She’s looked out some games and such for the kids. Come help me get them started with that, Maureen, if you will. Oh, yes, here are George and Olive come to join us. Well, now. Isn’t this cozy.”
It wasn’t hard to find the kitchen. It wasn’t a very big house. Small lounge, smaller dining area with an oval table and six basic wooden chairs. A turn to the left, and there she was. Curls, flushed cheeks, jeans, and a purple jersey, the clothes hugging those curves. Bare feet, and toenails painted pink. At the moment, she was turning off the fire under an enormous pot, then grabbing the handles with two tea towels.
“I’ll do it,” he said, setting his carrier bag on the benchtop.
She jumped, hit the heel of her hand on the pan, and swore under her breath.
“OK?” he asked. “Burn yourself?”
“A bit. I’ve got this. Just a … just a second. Bloody— I need todrain these noodles right now.” She was waving the burned hand in the air.
“Let me.” He took the pot from her and headed to the sink. There was a colander in there. Good. He dumped the boiling water carefully, and as soon as the noodles landed in the pot—fettucine, that was—said, “Go ahead and—” And jumped himself.
Water was coming out under the cabinet door. Not a little water. A gush of water. He stepped back, and Skylar said, “What—” and moved forward.
He threw an arm across her chest. She gasped, and he said, “Stand back. It’s hot.” There was steam rising from the puddle, because that boiling pasta water had gone down the drain and straight out the pipe. “You have a leak.”
“I have a …” Her hands were in the air, then in her hair. “No. How?”
“Pipe,” he said.
“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’d sussed out that much.” She laughed, not quite steadily, then put a fist to her forehead. “Give me a second here. This is …” She waved an arm. “This isn’t the only thing. Oh, bugger.” She looked around fast, but nobody else was in there. “Sorry. Language. But—oh,bugger.”
He took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and said, “Go get some house shoes on and bandage that hand while I clean this up and sort out what to do. No worries. This is fixable.”
