sore.
‘Um, fine, thanks. Absolutely fine.’
‘That’s good. Love the scarf, by the way. Though aren’t you a bit warm on a scorching day like today?’
‘No, no, it’s OK. I like the feel of it, next to my skin.’
Would Roz understand how she felt about Oliver, would it help to confide in her? Kirsty had known Roz and Bel all her life, even though while her father was alive the two women kept a distance from the Howes. Presumably because of their past affairs with him. Roz was funny and kind and things hadn’t always been easy for her. Chris’s breakdown, for instance, there must be a story behind that,though Kirsty didn’t know what it was. Surely she could trust Roz to keep a secret. The snag was, Roz was bound to take Bel’s side. They were bosom buddies. In fact, everyone liked Bel. They didn’t seem to care that she was too bland, too perfect, the same as her home-made apple pie.
While Bel chatted to Roz, Kirsty trudged into the building. She kept her uniform in a locker and soon she’d changed into the short black skirt and white top cut low enough to keep the old blokes from nodding off during the pensioners’ discount lunch hour. The scarf stayed on. Through the thin wall of the kitchen, she could hear Oliver talking to the Croatian girls who were here for the summer. Veselka and Danica were lively enough, but scarcely soulmates. All they were interested in was picking up a few quid to take home to their families and seeing how often they could get laid.
Moments after she started lugging the tables into position, Oliver wandered out from the kitchen. He hadn’t shaved yet, hadn’t even combed his hair. In his sweatshirt and patched-up jeans, he looked nineteen. Too young for Bel, for sure. She’d insist he smartened himself up before any customers arrived. Pointless, Kirsty thought. People liked chefs to be unconventional, they expected it. If this was her place, she’d change a few things. Liven it up.
‘How are you?’ He fiddled with a hangnail. ‘Got over that hiccup from yesterday?’
‘The letter, you mean?’
‘That anonymous drivel, yes.’
‘My brother received something yesterday; the handwriting’s identical. And this morning an envelope has arrived for Mum. She wasn’t around to open it, thank goodness.’
His face was ashen. Even in her distress, she felt excitement surging inside her. He was genuinely concerned for her.
‘Oh, Jesus, Kirsty. This is dreadful. What – what does the letter to Sam say?’
‘It accuses him of hating our father.’ Her voice was rising, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Not that Sam can complain, he admits it’s true.’
‘Everything all right?’
Bel’s voice made Kirsty shudder. She’d breezed back in without either of them noticing. When Kirsty mumbled a reply, Bel said, ‘You look a bit off colour.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. A touch of hay fever, that’s all.’
‘You poor girl. Have you been sneezing? I heard on the radio the pollen count is at an all-time high. I don’t know what’s best for hay fever. Would a paracetamol help?’
Typical, Kirsty thought, as she murmured thanks. Of course Bel didn’t know about hay fever, she’d probably never had a day’s illness in her life. But she believed any problem could be magicked away, that there was a quick and easy solution to everything. For all her little acts of kindness, she had no idea of how other people struggled to cope. Even when the woman had lost her husband, she’d fallen straight into Oliver’s arms. Her whole bloody life was charmed.
Miranda had joined a yoga class in Staveley and she’d persuaded Louise to come along with her. When Miranda talked about getting in touch with her spiritual side, Daniel expected his sister to cringe. Instead, she started asking Miranda about her take on Indian mystic philosophy.
The old Louise, the Louise he’d grown up with, wouldn’t have had any truck with it. She was down to earth, focused, practical. As their
‘Um, fine, thanks. Absolutely fine.’
‘That’s good. Love the scarf, by the way. Though aren’t you a bit warm on a scorching day like today?’
‘No, no, it’s OK. I like the feel of it, next to my skin.’
Would Roz understand how she felt about Oliver, would it help to confide in her? Kirsty had known Roz and Bel all her life, even though while her father was alive the two women kept a distance from the Howes. Presumably because of their past affairs with him. Roz was funny and kind and things hadn’t always been easy for her. Chris’s breakdown, for instance, there must be a story behind that,though Kirsty didn’t know what it was. Surely she could trust Roz to keep a secret. The snag was, Roz was bound to take Bel’s side. They were bosom buddies. In fact, everyone liked Bel. They didn’t seem to care that she was too bland, too perfect, the same as her home-made apple pie.
While Bel chatted to Roz, Kirsty trudged into the building. She kept her uniform in a locker and soon she’d changed into the short black skirt and white top cut low enough to keep the old blokes from nodding off during the pensioners’ discount lunch hour. The scarf stayed on. Through the thin wall of the kitchen, she could hear Oliver talking to the Croatian girls who were here for the summer. Veselka and Danica were lively enough, but scarcely soulmates. All they were interested in was picking up a few quid to take home to their families and seeing how often they could get laid.
Moments after she started lugging the tables into position, Oliver wandered out from the kitchen. He hadn’t shaved yet, hadn’t even combed his hair. In his sweatshirt and patched-up jeans, he looked nineteen. Too young for Bel, for sure. She’d insist he smartened himself up before any customers arrived. Pointless, Kirsty thought. People liked chefs to be unconventional, they expected it. If this was her place, she’d change a few things. Liven it up.
‘How are you?’ He fiddled with a hangnail. ‘Got over that hiccup from yesterday?’
‘The letter, you mean?’
‘That anonymous drivel, yes.’
‘My brother received something yesterday; the handwriting’s identical. And this morning an envelope has arrived for Mum. She wasn’t around to open it, thank goodness.’
His face was ashen. Even in her distress, she felt excitement surging inside her. He was genuinely concerned for her.
‘Oh, Jesus, Kirsty. This is dreadful. What – what does the letter to Sam say?’
‘It accuses him of hating our father.’ Her voice was rising, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Not that Sam can complain, he admits it’s true.’
‘Everything all right?’
Bel’s voice made Kirsty shudder. She’d breezed back in without either of them noticing. When Kirsty mumbled a reply, Bel said, ‘You look a bit off colour.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. A touch of hay fever, that’s all.’
‘You poor girl. Have you been sneezing? I heard on the radio the pollen count is at an all-time high. I don’t know what’s best for hay fever. Would a paracetamol help?’
Typical, Kirsty thought, as she murmured thanks. Of course Bel didn’t know about hay fever, she’d probably never had a day’s illness in her life. But she believed any problem could be magicked away, that there was a quick and easy solution to everything. For all her little acts of kindness, she had no idea of how other people struggled to cope. Even when the woman had lost her husband, she’d fallen straight into Oliver’s arms. Her whole bloody life was charmed.
Miranda had joined a yoga class in Staveley and she’d persuaded Louise to come along with her. When Miranda talked about getting in touch with her spiritual side, Daniel expected his sister to cringe. Instead, she started asking Miranda about her take on Indian mystic philosophy.
The old Louise, the Louise he’d grown up with, wouldn’t have had any truck with it. She was down to earth, focused, practical. As their
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