Sunday 10th December
In the attic kitchen at Brides by the Sea: Pension schemes and home improvements
‘You hit the laptop and I’ll get the hot chocolate, Berry.’
As we finally arrive in the little attic kitchen on our way back from the Old Lifeboat Station, I’m still panting from rushing up four flights of stairs with a bag of cameras on my shoulder. But Rory is already over by the hob, clanking saucepans with surprising gusto given how late it is. Although that might have something to do with the fact he just picked up Immie’s message saying the kids were fast asleep and she and Chas were hunkering in at Home Brew Cottage for a night of baby-sitting and Bond movies.
A cosy nightcap with Rory wouldn’t have been my first choice. In fact, it would be pretty high up on my to-be-avoided list. And I’d usually prefer to argue a bit more, rather than doing just what he says. But right now, seeing that finding out which pictures are missing is my first priority, I’m happy to agree to all of the above. It’s hard to believe that we were having breakfast at this same table only a matter of hours ago. Because after the day we’ve had this morning seems like light years away.
‘I didn’t want to stop for pizza, but now we’re back, I’m glad we did.’ As I pull out a stool and push up my screen, however much I grumbled outside the restaurant, I know now I’ll concentrate much better with a delicious meal inside me. Despite Trattoria Remo being yet another place, owned by yet another of Rory’s numerous mates, Remo turned out to be entirely lovely. With a Cornish accent rather than an Italian one, he was a welcome distraction from what was sitting across the table from me. It’s the weirdest feeling to suddenly be living out my most secret teenage fantasies. Back then being whisked away to eat pizza by Rory seemed so out of reach I only allowed myself to picture it occasionally, in the darkest part of the night, with my head completely buried under the duvet. Luckily the goats’ cheese and caramelised onion pizza I had with the crispest green salad drizzled with virgin olive oil was beyond yummy. Concentrating on that stopped me cringing at the memories. Let’s face it, there’s no rational explanation for dodgy taste in guys as a teenager. And when I think about the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled at me as he topped up my low-alcohol wine, I can kind of forgive myself.
Surprisingly Rory dipped out of the ‘boy’s usual’ of every single hot topping, plus extra chili, and instead went for prosciutto, olives and buffalo mozzarella. Then he let me eat a lot of his as well as mine.
‘Although I still say it was mean of you not to let me scroll through my pictures in the café or the car.’ The arguments over that pretty much obliterated my current favourite relaxing playlist for the entire journey. Seeing I was allowed to play my music all the way home, Rory has to be feeling guilty about something. Although the arguing might have been a deliberate ploy on Rory’s part to shut out Lana Del Rey and Christina Perri and what he calls my ‘vommy love songs’.
He swings open the fridge and pulls out the milk. ‘Be honest, if you’d been looking through pictures, would you have eaten any of your pizza?’ His grin over his shoulder tells me he’s not expecting an answer to that. ‘Remo would have been mortally offended if you’d left it. And anyway, it’s way better to do the work back here where you can concentrate properly.’ All shockingly logical, considering who’s talking. I’ve also noticed he’s letting his grin go much more freely since he talked about Paris and ring fenced himself in that place he calls ‘unavailable’. Which is hilarious, given he’s the last guy in the area I’d touch with a long stick, even if he does have really lovely teeth. And the kind of mouth it’s hard to take your eyes off. Especially when he’s biting it. In fact, all things considered, it’s good that Luc’s taking up all my emotional energy.
‘Right, here goes …’ I screw up my courage, open the first file and begin to scroll through. ‘Sheesh, the bridesmaids on the beach are safe. And some of the photos are okay too.’ In fact they’re so much better than I could have hoped for. My heart does a kick as I take in how alive and vibrant they are. Somehow they completely capture the exuberance and poignancy of the morning. I must have got hooked on looking through them, because I’m still on the same file when a flowery mug of frothing hot chocolate arrives at my elbow.
‘Squirty cream, baby marshmallows, grated chocolate?’ Rory couldn’t be more attentive if he were working at the Surf Shack.
‘Please. Five marshmallows not four, though, remember.’ I smile, but carry on without looking up. Just this once I’ll trust him to add the embellishments. Then as I open the next file I let out a scream. ‘Oh my, the ceremony’s here.’ I’m so relieved I want to get up, fling my arms around Rory and squeeze him until he shrieks as loudly as me. But luckily for me, I hang on tightly to my stool instead and slurp hot chocolate all over the tabletop, due to me jumping so violently.
He’s moving around behind me, reaching over to mop up with kitchen roll. ‘Careful, HB. Not that I’m being a lightweight here. But I’m not up to dealing with a cocoa flood on your keyboard at midnight.’
I’m with him on that, so I scrape off a few fingerfuls of cream and take a long drink of thick, delicious chocolate. By the time I open my eyes, after licking my lips, there’s already a tray there to put it on.
I put down my mug. ‘Thanks for the tray.’
‘No worries, best to be safe, all part of the service.’
I brace myself to go in again. ‘Yay! The groups seem to be here too.’ I do a mini air punch. ‘Speeches … cake cutting … the beach … guests relaxing …’ As I work through, I’m almost in a trance. If the kitchen cupboard doors are banging behind me and the plates are rattling on the shelves, it’s all happening a long way away from me. When I murmur, it’s as if I’m talking to myself. ‘These food pictures are making me feel hungry all over again.’ I flinch as I come to a platter of vol au vents. But I’m also beginning to puzzle, because I can’t work out what isn’t here.
‘You’re frowning. What’s wrong, Berry?’ For some weird reason, Rory’s got a tea towel in his hand.
I hesitate. ‘I can’t see what’s missing.’
He’s right over my shoulder, leaning past me, finger on my track pad. ‘Shall I look?’ Slightly late with the question there, because he already is.
And what the hell happened to respecting my personal space or asking me to move? He’s so close I can tell whatever body spray it is he’s wearing has lasted all day, and it’s still just as … Heady is not a word I’d ever use in the same sentence as Rory, so definitely not that. Let’s just say, if Poppy or Jess were asking for ideas for Rafe or Bart’s Christmas present, this particular scent would get five stars on Phwoar Advisor.
I sigh, then reach for my mug as he scrolls down the screen. I’m scraping the last of the froth onto my spoon when I realise he’s stopped at the picture of two little boys on the floor, playing with the same skittles he and Gracie had ignored the other day. I’m about to mention that, but he cuts in first.
‘So were you and Runaway Luc planning to have kids, then?’
I spend a minute picking my jaw up off the floor at the question, then dive in to put him right. ‘I was the one who ran. So technically, it’s Runaway Holly, not the other way around, okay?’
His sniff is dismissive. ‘Seeing as you’re here and he’s in the States, I’d disagree on that one.’ He gives me one of his significant, know-it-all looks. ‘So did you? Think about kids, I mean?’ He’s not backing down on the interrogation, but at least he starts scrolling again.
‘It wasn’t that kind of relationship. We were more in the moment, both busy with our work.’ Even if it’s true, I suspect that’s not going to be enough. Luc wasn’t that preoccupied with the future, beyond his next meeting and his projected career trajectory. Apart from his personal pension scheme, of course, which did seem to occupy an extra large part of his leisure time thinking. But that caution and care was part of who he was, and the reason he was so good at his job. It never particularly bothered me that we didn’t have long term plans. The loft apartment was like a cloud I’d hitched a very comfortable ride on. I hadn’t got as far as looking beyond that.
From the way his nose wrinkles, Rory’s not buying into this. ‘Surely Luc didn’t just produce a ring, like pulling a rabbit out of a hat? Didn’t you ever talk about your hopes and dreams when you were chilling on those ten foot sofas of his?’ If there’s the slightest bitter twang in his voice there, I’m probably imagining it.
Actually the magician analogy is close to what it felt like, watching Luc as he whipped out his surprise ring. On the day it happened I was frozen with that same wide-eyed, startled astonishment and disbelief magicians get in response to their tricks. But I’m not going to admit that now. ‘Mostly when he was home we went out. We didn’t spend that much time at the flat.’ However luxurious Luc’s sofas looked, they weren’t anything like as comfy to sit on as the ones at the Lifeboat Station. As for Luc, he was usually racing around the flat, on his phone, working out his appointment itinerary. He rarely sat down at all, unless he was out with clients. That was just part of how conscientious he was. He used to explain he had until he was forty to get where he was going and, understandably, he had to give it everything.
Looking back, however much I personally enjoyed slurping round in my pj’s, Luc didn’t join in, because he always had too much work on. Watching my boxed sets was alone-time for me. Done on last season’s couch next to an abandoned cross trainer, in the surprisingly small and cosy fourth bedroom. To be honest, I’m not that sure Luc even knew the room existed. He certainly never visited when I was in there. But that wasn’t a bad thing. At least it meant I could watch what I wanted.
Rory pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘So you weren’t that close, then?’ Why the hell is he still pushing this? As he rubs his thumb across his jaw he gives a sigh. ‘Do you remember that party where you drank too much punch and chucked up?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ I can’t help my wail, but I surprise myself by moving on so fast to close it down. It might be great to look back and talk about Freya, but Rory dragging up my most embarrassing moments is the flipside of our reminiscing. ‘I didn’t know it was cider. Lucky for me I have a memory blank for the whole evening. Why?’
He gives a wry smile. ‘Maybe you’re wilder than you think. Back then I was damned impressed by a girl who pebbledashed an entire row of prize roses. You were so warm and chatty and spontaneous, it’s impossible to understand how you’d end up with someone cold and clinical. Harder still to see why you’re desperate to get back with someone who sounds like they don’t understand you at all.’
My voice is shrill because I’m so indignant. I’d rather he’d made me relive the puking and the shame than come out with that damning condemnation. ‘Crap, Rory, relationships come in all shapes and sizes. And they certainly aren’t meant for other people to stick their noses in.’ One way to shut him up is to turn this back onto him. ‘So how about you? How are your plans for kids shaping up? Have you got it all worked out?’ I already know the answer. Anyone as child-unfriendly as he is couldn’t possibly be contemplating them. When you’re as self-absorbed as Rory is, there’s definitely no room for other people in your life. If what he says is true, he hasn’t even got the space for a girlfriend, let alone kids. Which is probably a good thing, seeing he’s hanging round the attic kitchen this late.
His face twists. ‘I was planning lots of things. First the Audi TT. Making the boardroom as a corporate lawyer. The four storey Georgian house complete with a huge family, all haring up and down the stairs yelling at each other. A big basement kitchen, tiles from Fired Earth, massive Sunday barbies in the garden cooked on volcanic rock, rugby kits strewn across the landing …’ His bottom lip pulls into the familiar Gracie pout. ‘Sometimes life doesn’t play out quite as you expect.’
I’m blinking at the detail. ‘In London on-trend people mostly get their tiles from Bert and May.’ And I only know this because after their jobs, Luc’s friends’ main obsession was their homes. ‘If you’re wanting flashy ceramics, they’re definitely worth a look.’
Rory’s shaking his head. ‘My whole point is, I’m not needing tiles, Berry. They belong to the lives my mates are living, not me. I got as far as the car.’ He frowned. ‘Then other stuff got in the way.’
‘Stuff, what stuff?’ It’s a squeal of frustration. Because, if I’m honest, he lost me at ‘volcano’.
His sigh is so long and deep, I feel it on my cheek. ‘Nothing I’m going to go into after a full day at a wedding where the dog mashed the memory card, that’s for sure.’ He’s leaning forward. ‘Actually, it’s the bride walking down the aisle shots.’
Here we go again. ‘Sorry?’ Still no idea what the hell he’s talking about.
The smile that spreads across his face is so broad, he actually gets dimples in his cheeks. ‘The aisle ones are the pictures that are missing. I remember now, you swapped to a different camera for those.’
‘I did?’ I’m busy swallowing back the whoosh that swept through my chest when I saw those slices in his face. But I’ll take his word for it. For me the day is all a blur. Then it sinks in. ‘Shit, Nancy walking down the aisle is pretty significant.’ Even if the aisle was only a gap between rows of bleached wood chairs and twiggy lavender posies. Shit, shit shit. And I used that camera for the confetti shots too.
He’s already pulling his camera out of the bag. ‘If I’ve got them, they’ll be quite near the start of mine, after the pub, and the guys messing around outside when they arrived.’
My voice is like an echo. ‘You took pictures of the groomsmen on the beach too?’
He shakes back his hair and grins. ‘Of course. All the best wedding albums have pics of the guys before. I might look like a washed-up rock star, but I’m not purely decorative.’
‘Or modest.’ I have to mutter it. He might be about to save me, but I still need to counteract his eye-watering big headedness. However short his life-plan plans have fallen, he still comes over as mighty pleased with himself. As I watch him, poring over the screen on the back of the camera, I’m clutching my arms round my ribs, willing him to find the pictures to fill my gaps. If he comes through on this one, I might just have to …
‘Here you go. Am I superhuman, or what?’ He pushes the camera into my hand, then raises his fists in a silent cheer. ‘How’s that for a result?’
On the first shot he’s wobbled the camera, the next has someone’s head in the way, but the third is passable. Nancy is clinging onto her dad’s arm, biting her lip. No idea how it’s possible to look terrified and blissfully happy at the same time, but she does. ‘Wow, I think you just saved me.’ Definitely useable, with a bit of cropping. And the fourth is … ‘Totally bloody brilliant.’ I know the risks of bigging him up. But just this second I couldn’t give a damn.
His grin is rueful. ‘I might be totally shit at nappy changing. But, like I told you, for weddings and parties, I’m a good bet.’
Whizzing through the camera roll, I can see he’s got some good confetti shots too. ‘Brilliant. Thank you so, so much, Rory.’ How the hell can I thank him for this? ‘And thanks so much for taking me, and everything. Another hot chocolate?’
But he’s already looking at his watch, then towards the landing. ‘Thanks for the offer. But if you’re sure you’re completely sorted, I’d better get back for Chas and Immie.’
‘Absolutely.’ Definitely the right answer from Rory. The sooner he gets out of this kitchen and down those stairs, the better, really. As he hesitates by the door my stomach flips.
He gives a low laugh. ‘No need to look so scared. I am leaving.’ Although he’s actually come all the way back into the kitchen and his hand is on my shoulder. The one firm squeeze he gives me sends a seismic wave through my torso. ‘Well done for today, Holly Berry. You definitely nailed it. Carry on like this and you might be needing those Super Woman pyjamas after all.’ Although he’s totally glossing over that a lot of it was down to him.
This time round he’s grabbed his windcheater from the table end. And then he’s gone.
As I listen to the echo of his footsteps as he winds all the way down to the street, I’m bracing myself. ‘Okay, clearing up, and then bed.’ If Poppy’s back here to cook tomorrow, she can’t come in to the devastation of today’s breakfast.
And it’s only when I stand up and brace myself to stagger to the washing-up pile that I look around and see that everything is clean. Sink shining. Hob buffed to Poppy’s exacting standards. Apart from my hot chocolate mug, there’s not a dish out of place.