Page 53 of The Chef

Great.

“Hi, Cliff. This is Pearl and Davy. Pearl and Davy this is Cliff Finn, my boss.”

Pearl hides behind my leg, sucking her thumb, and Davy looks away, uninterested.

“Well, say hello, guys,” I say.

“Hello, mister,” Pearl sweetly singsongs, scared of the big, tall man. Davy just grunts something inaudible.

And Cliff just glares at them.

“Well,” I say to the man. “Are you going to say hello back?”

Cliff’s eyes sparkle with bewilderment, and maybe a touch of anger, I can’t tell. “Hi.” Without another word he turns and disappears into the house, leaving us to follow behind. I bite my lip, worried.

Cliff doesn’t seem very happy to see them.

He leads us into the main living area of the beachside property. The place is completely empty except for a few gym weights and a single basic chair in the middle of the living room. No TV. No artwork. Just white walls, some weights, and a single chair. A few surfboards lean propped up against a wall.

Wow. Cliff Finn’s taking the term “bachelor pad” to the extreme here.

A few months of living here and this is what he’s chosen to decorate his expensive house with?

Clearly, there’s been no woman’s touch in here.

What’s happened in his past to make him live like this?

I bring the kids into the center of the room, next to the chair. On one side of the room is the kitchen, a large modern and minimalistic space, and dominating the other side is the wall-length window and doors leading out into a long sloping garden into the beach.

It’s an amazing location. Shame about the interior décor.

All you can see outside is the white sand and the blue ocean flowing out into the horizon. A blue sea and blue skies.

Cliff stands awkwardly by the massive window, his back to us.

“I’m sorry I’ve brought the kids,” I say.

He turns to me. “They can play in the backyard.”

Davey’s face lights up and, as if given a cue, sprints out the door and onto the lawn, playing. Pearl, still afraid of Cliff and sucking her thumb, gingerly follows her brother outside.

I shrug at Cliff and wait anxiously for what he’s going to say next. I feel like I’ve surprised him, caught him off guard, and that he doesn’t like that I’ve brought the kids here.

Maybe he doesn’t even like children. Maybe he hates them being in his house.

“I’m sorry about them,” I repeat. “Their dad had to go into work.”

“Are they yours?” he asks. “You never told me you had kids.”

“What?”

“The kids, are they yours?”

Oh.

So that’s why he’s annoyed.

He thinks they’re mine.