Chapter 17
Rose
‘Has your dad gone already?’ I ask Toby. He’s alone in the bakery, wiping down the worktops. Gavin is normally still here when I arrive, having baked for most of the night. Toby tends to come in when I do, and Gavin pops back in the afternoon to check up on things.
‘He left a couple of hours ago,’ he replies bluntly, barely glancing over at me.
‘Is he okay?’ I ask, hunting out my apron.
‘He’s fine,’ he replies, but appears in no mood to elaborate so I shut up.
Toby doesn’t say much. He’s a far cry from his father, who seems to talk about anything and everything, as long as it’s nothing of consequence.
‘Did you bake these?’ I ask, pointing to the baguettes in the cooling racks.
‘Uh-huh,’ he replies, coming over. ‘They should be ready,’ he says, so we load them onto a tray.
‘I didn’t know you could bake.’
He raises his eyebrows cynically. ‘I’ve been Dad’s slave since I was eight.’
‘You don’t enjoy it?’ I ask, following him out of the bakery to the shop floor.
He shrugs. ‘It’s alright.’
Two by two we unload the baguettes from the tray into a tall wicker basket. They stand upright, straight and golden.
‘Why do you do it if you don’t like it?’ I’m curious.
‘Who else will?’ he replies darkly.
It’s not the first time I’ve wondered about his mother – where she is and what’s happened to her.
‘No, I mean, you’re over eighteen, aren’t you?’ I follow him back into the bakery.
‘Yeah, twenty-one,’ he replies, checking to see if some of the other loaves are cool enough to move to the display baskets. I don’t think they are, from the look on his face. We appear to be running late today.
‘Didn’t you think about staying in London? Going your own way?’
‘Nah.’ He pulls a face and pats his jeans pocket. ‘I’m going to nip out the back for a fag.’
‘Mind if I join you?’
He looks surprised. ‘You smoke?’
‘No, but if the loaves aren’t ready, I may as well get some fresh air.’
‘Well, it won’t be fresh, but I’ll stay as far away from you as possible.’
We go out into a small courtyard enclosed by a high brick wall. Weeds are sprouting through the cracks in the paving stones. Toby sits down on a low wall that used to form part of a planter box, judging by the greenery growing out of the soil. I sit beside him. He frowns at me.
‘Do you really want to sit there?’
‘It’s fine. I’m used to passive smoking,’ I say as Eliza’s sneaky teenage cigarettes on her windowsill spring to mind. The smoke would often waft into my room, but I didn’t hate it as much as I claimed.
I look up at the sky as he lights up. It’s only a quarter past seven in the morning, but there’s not a cloud to be seen. The forecast said it would be hot today. Perfect barbecue weather. I wonder if Angus owns a barbecue. I haven’t seen one around. I could pick up a disposable this afternoon along with some grub.
‘I moved into a new apartment at the weekend,’ I reveal, bolstered by my plan for this evening.
‘Yeah?’ Toby doesn’t seem that interested, but he’s going to have to put up with my small talk because I’ve worked in silence alongside him for long enough, thank you very much.
‘My mum’s house sale is set to go through a week today. She’s moved into her new place already, though. She’s renting, so that makes it easier.’
‘Yeah, you said.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yep.’
‘Oh.’
We both fall silent again.
‘You’re not very talkative, are you, Toby?’ I tease after a minute.
He glances at me, blowing smoke in the other direction. ‘Not as talkative as you, Rose.’
He keeps a straight face, but he’s teasing me in return and it makes me warm to him.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘I’m sure you will anyway,’ he replies.
‘Where’s your mum?’
His dark eyes widen ever so slightly. ‘She’s at home,’ he mutters, returning his gaze to the wall.
‘Oh.’ I’m taken aback. ‘I figured, as neither of you talks about her—’
‘She’s not very well,’ he explains, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping on it. ‘That’s why Dad stayed with her today.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ I say quietly.
‘We should open up. The loaves can’t be far off.’ He stands up before I can ask what’s wrong with her. It’s probably a good thing. I don’t think my probing is going down too well.
It didn’t feel as odd as I thought it would, moving into the apartment that should have belonged to Phoebe. Because she never lived in it herself, she didn’t get the chance to put her mark on it. It makes it easier.
It’s on the third storey of a new-build block near the train station. There’s a decent-sized balcony off the living room with a view that reaches to the park and the doors fold right back, so it feels like you’re outside, even when you’re in.
Angus and Phoebe rented a furnished place in London so everything here was bought by Angus. A stylish marl-grey L-shaped sofa separates the open-plan living area from the dining space, and there’s a cool yellow Perspex coffee table in front of it. I’m more of a Cath Kidston girl, personally, but I can’t deny good taste when I see it. I love the giant orange Anglepoise floor lamp that kinks up and over the dining table, which in turn is surrounded by swivelling multi-coloured chairs.
‘Guess what I’ve got for dinner!’ I say to my new flatmate the moment he walks through the door. He looks momentarily startled to see me there. I wonder sometimes if he expects me to be Phoebe. ‘A barbecue!’ I pull out the disposable tray from the shopping bag and hold it up before going to the fridge. ‘And I got burgers and salads and—’ I glance up at the sound of his footsteps and see his face at the same time. ‘What?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says regretfully as he rests his elbows on the island unit and gazes at me. ‘I already have plans for tonight.’
On a Monday? ‘Never mind,’ I reply brightly, putting the food back in the fridge. ‘It’ll keep.’
‘I’m so sorry, Rosie.’
I get a tiny dart of pleasure from hearing him call me Rosie. It’s the first time I’ve heard it in way too long. ‘Gus, forget about it,’ I reply in return.
‘Could we do it tomorrow?’ he asks. ‘The weather’s going to hold out all week.’
‘Of course we can.’
He smiles with relief. ‘How about a drink before I jump in the shower?’
‘Sounds good. What do you fancy?’
‘I’ll get them.’ He spies the bottle on the counter on his way to the fridge. ‘You bought Pimm’s and everything,’ he notes with dismay.
‘It’ll keep, too,’ I brush him off, feeling a bit embarrassed now at the effort I’ve gone to.
Even though it’s only been a couple of days, I adore living here with Angus. I might’ve got a bit carried away in my enthusiasm for it.
‘How about one now?’ he suggests.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah! Let’s do it!’ He opens the fridge and pulls out the lemonade and ginger ale that I put in there earlier.
‘I’ll chop up some fruit,’ I say, retrieving cucumber, strawberries and mint.
We stand side by side at the counter and a few minutes later, we’re chinking each other’s glass.
‘Come on, let’s go out onto the balcony.’ He leads the way.
‘This is such a great place,’ I say when we’re both gently reclining on steel designer deck chairs.
‘Yeah, it’s not bad,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ He flashes me a warm smile that heats up my insides.
‘What are you up to tonight?’ I ask.
‘Er, just grabbing a bite to eat with a mate from the paper.’ He glances at me and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to invite me to join them, but he doesn’t. ‘How was work today?’
‘It was good,’ I reply. I tell him about Toby and his mum. ‘I wonder what’s wrong with her.’
‘If he wants you to know, I’m sure he’ll tell you.’
‘It’s just that, well, maybe there’s something I could do to help, seeing as I’m a nurse.’
‘I know you want to help, Rosie, but just be careful, okay?’
‘I won’t interfere, don’t worry,’ I assure him.
Mrs Dryden’s hip has healed well enough for her to take care of Bicky herself now, but while I don’t lament picking up after her dog, I have missed my daily walks. When Angus has gone, it occurs to me that I don’t need a canine to go for a stroll, so I lock up the apartment and set off. Before I know it, I’m at the park around the corner from home.
Mum used to volunteer in the gardens here and I think about her as I wander along beside the flowerbeds, bursting with colour. She’s settling into her new place better than even I’d hoped and it is an immense relief. Yesterday when I went over she had just come back from having coffee with one of her neighbours, and she’s already been planting in the garden. I’m glad she’s keeping busy. I hope she keeps it up.
A thought comes to me, then, about Jennifer’s. The outside space is a mess, but with a few plants and a bit of a tidy up, we could put a table and chairs out there during the summer months for the staff to use. Access is through the kitchen so it’s no good for customers, but we could open up the windows and provide a pretty view for them.
Mum might give me a hand, if not with the physical stuff, then at least with some suggestions about what to plant.
I walk on with a spring in my step, motivated by my plan. I’ll ask Gavin about it in the morning. If he’s back at work, that is. Toby was knackered this afternoon after being up half the night. I felt quite sorry for him. I really do wonder what the deal is with his mum. Is the bakery named after her? Why does she never come into the shop? What’s wrong with her? Does Toby help to look after her? Is that why he hasn’t left home? He and his dad don’t seem to get on that well, so why do they work together if they don’t have to? Has his dad forced him to stick around? But then, he’s an adult. Surely he could leave whenever he wants.
Up ahead, a guy skateboards towards me along the pavement. I’m about to move to one side when I notice something familiar about his profile.
‘Toby?’ I call as he approaches.
‘Hey.’
He skids to a stop and kicks up the back of his board, spinning it between his fingers as he catches it.
‘Cool move,’ I exclaim, impressed.
He shrugs and I feel a little silly, but then I’m distracted by his face.
‘What happened to you?’ I gasp, taking a step forward to look at the shiner on his right cheekbone. He flinches away.
‘What happened?’ I ask again, alarmed.
‘I walked into a door,’ he says, spinning his skateboard again.
I regard him with trepidation and concern, not about to be distracted by his tricks. The last time a patient told me they’d walked into a door, it turned out to be a domestic abuse case.
‘It really fucking hurt,’ he adds, dropping his board to the ground and hopping onto it, stepping down on the back and balancing the front in the air for a moment. ‘What are you up to?’
‘I felt like a walk.’
‘Me too.’ He pushes away and looks over his shoulder. ‘Coming?’
‘Er, sure.’ I run to catch up with him. ‘Did you put ice on it?’
‘For a bit, yeah.’
‘You should get some arnica cream on it, too.’
‘It’s fine. Honestly.’
‘Hey, I’ve had an idea.’ I’m feeling a little out of breath, now. I wish he’d slow down. ‘How about we turn the back garden into a, well, a garden?’
He gives me a sideways look, his eyes narrowing.
I hastily continue. ‘We could plant a few plants, take the frosting off the windows, put a table and chairs out there...’
He frowns. ‘Sounds great, but who’s got time to do any of that?’
‘I was thinking that I could do it and maybe my mum could help. She loves gardening. She used to volunteer at the park.’
He doesn’t comment and I’ve grown tired of hurrying.
‘Sorry, but this is more like a jog than a walk and I’m really not that fit.’
‘You look fit enough to me.’
I give him a funny look. Is he teasing me? Because it sounded like he was flirting. Neither is appropriate, frankly: I’m way too old for him.
‘See you tomorrow, then,’ he says, smirking at me over his shoulder as he skates away. I stand on the pavement and watch him for a moment before shaking my head and walking on.
He’s a weird one.