‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, brushing biscuit fragments off her T-shirt.
‘Well, I’m glad you two are all right,’ someone boomed, ‘but that’s more than can be said for my blasted table! What on earth got into you? It was like watching a pair of hungry kids fighting over the last chip.’
‘Sorry, Barbara,’ Amy and Sam both mumbled, shamefaced. For a second their eyes met and it felt like that time she’d caught them and Hari, aged sixteen, with a six-pack of cider cans. All three of them had begged forgiveness and pleaded with Barbara not to rat them out to their parents or guardians. To their knowledge, after confiscating the booze and severely reprimanding them, she never had.
‘I’ll pay for the damage,’ Sam said.
‘You willbothpay for the damage,’ Barbara informed him. ‘No more heroics– doesn’t look like Amy is a fan of chivalry. You can split the cost of a new table between you, and in the meantime, you can clear up what’s left of this one.’
After Barbara had stalked off, Amy and Sam gathered the splintered remains of the table they’d smashed and packed it into the vast industrial waste bin at the back of the pub.
‘Jed won’t mind,’ Sam assured her. ‘He’ll probably find the whole thing hilarious when I explain. Listen … I really am sorry about what happened. Can I buy you a drink, perhaps– by way of apology?’
Amy wavered. Some impetuous, impulsive part of her wanted to say yes. But what happened then? If they bought drinks and sat down together as though they were friends, what could she safely say to him that wasn’t snide or sarcastic or bitter? And what could he have to say that she’d want to hear?
Did shereallywant to know whether the cute kid in the dungarees was his? For some reason, she knew she didn’t– at least not right now. If PearlwasSam’s daughter, Amy would have to process this information properly and it would inevitably adjust her view of him. She felt a strong desire to avoid doingthatfor as long as possible.
‘I should probably go and shower the cake crumbs out of my hair,’ she said. ‘Thanks, though.’
‘Right,’ Sam said. ‘Of course. If it’s okay with you, by the way, I’ll suggest to Barbara that she gives Grace the free dinner. I have no idea why I didn’t think of it before. I’m sure she and Ken would love that, and she did bake the best stuff today.’
‘Ken?’ Amy demanded, one eyebrow raised. ‘You mean Mr Bradley?’
‘He’s Ken to me nowadays,’ Sam told her sheepishly, as if he’d been caught sucking up to a teacher outside the staffroom.
Amy nodded. ‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘I should have thought of that, too.’
‘Okay. Well. See you, then,’ Sam said. He turned and walked towards the front door of the pub without looking back.After a few moments Amy shook herself, then began strolling in the opposite direction– wondering why on earth she’d waited to see if he might.
Chapter 10
The following Wednesday morning, Amy was enjoying a fresh cup of coffee and a peanut butter bagel.
Well, she wastryingto enjoy the bagel; Bertie was sitting at her feet whining every time she took a bite, his big brown eyes so mournful she could hardly stand to look at him.
‘Bertie,’ she said, ‘do one. You’ve had your breakfast.’
‘Peanut butter’s his favourite,’ Grace said, looking up from her latest Agatha Christie. She’d read each and every one of them, she’d explained to Amy– but some of them so long ago that she had no hope of remembering whodunnit, which meant she could enjoy them afresh.
Disappointed that his whimpering was having no effect, Bertie stepped up his campaign for a bite of Amy’s bagel by barking at her.
‘You’re ruining my breakfast,’ she told him, ‘and on this, the first morning of our new Nespresso era.’
After too many miserable mornings spent trying to satisfy herself with Gran’s instant, Amy had cracked and bought a proper coffee maker for the kitchen. It made a change from throwing every spare penny at new accessories, she supposed– she’d certainly get more use out of it than she would the latest Mulberry.
‘This little sausage must be the greediest dog in the country,’ she said to Grace. ‘He’s driving me mad.’
‘He is who he is,’ Grace said, shrugging. ‘You can’t train the personality out of a dog, any more than you can a person. He has many qualities besides gluttony to recommend him, don’t you, Bertie?’
The dog pointedly ignored her, his attention totally focused on the plate in front of her granddaughter.
Just as Amy decided to relent and allow Bertie to lick the leftover crumbs from it, the doorbell rang. The little dog shot off towards the front of the cottage, barking at the top of his lungs and with his tail swinging from side to side at speed.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Amy moaned, racing after him. When she got to the end of the hallway, she picked him up and tucked him under one arm so she could get to the door and open it.
Simon stood on the other side in his postie’s uniform, a clutch of letters in his hand and a fancy-looking parcel at his feet.
‘Morning, Amy!’ he cried. ‘And how are you today, Bertie?’ He reached across the threshold to scratch beneath the dog’s chin. Bertie promptly licked his hand, presumably to check for possible food remnants.
