Kitabı oku: «Summer at Lavender Bay», sayfa 3
‘And you still haven’t heard a word from Martin?’ Beth paused in the act of cleaning the glass display cabinet behind the counter of her shop to stare incredulously at her. She’d inherited the old emporium on the seafront at Lavender Bay when her friend and childhood guardian, Eleanor, had passed away earlier in the year. Beth had updated the place to reflect her own tastes, but it still carried the eclectic, fun-loving spirit of the original owner, whose name now graced the business.
Eliza shook her head, glad for the way the tumble of curls shielded her face from Beth’s intent look. Martin was refusing to acknowledge any of the emails and messages she’d sent him. Until they could open a dialogue, she was stuck in limbo. Frustration gnawed at her gut. ‘Nothing.’
She’d sent him a message to let him know where she was, and then followed it up with several requests to talk. The last one she’d sent had been a couple of days ago after she’d transferred the funds from her ISA into her bank account—the interest rate was so low it wasn’t worth hanging onto it—and updated her passwords. She’d felt guilty about it as she and Martin had always had access to each other’s account details but had heeded Libby’s advice to make sure she had sole control over what was rightfully hers. Living at the pub covered her bed and board for the time being, so she just need a bit of spending money to cover incidentals. They’d have to sort out all their financial stuff in due course, but the rent from their house covered the mortgage and she was happy to let the current lease run its course. Hopefully, Martin would come around in time. It would be a lot easier on the both of them if he did.
Eliza flicked a feather duster over the spinning rack of postcards. ‘Can we talk about something else?’
A soft hand touched her shoulder, and Eliza turned to find Beth had abandoned her cleaning. ‘Of course we can, I didn’t mean to pry. I’ll stick the kettle on and we can have a brew…’ The bell above the door jangled, indicating the arrival of a new customer. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘I’ll make the tea,’ Eliza offered.
Beth nodded then turned to the couple who’d entered. ‘Welcome to Eleanor’s Emporium!’
Leaving the couple to browse, Beth accepted a mug from Eliza and rested her hip against the counter. ‘Have you thought any more about what you’re going to do if running the pub is out of the question?’
Eliza took a sip of tea, winced as the too-hot liquid burnt her tongue and shook her head. ‘Not really.’ Setting down the mug, she adjusted the shoulder of her peach cotton blouse where it had slipped down to reveal the edge of her bra-strap. With loose sleeves which stopped just above her elbows, and a row of gentle pleats down the back, it was one of her favourite styles and perfect for the sweltering weather that had settled over the bay. She’d adapted the design from an old pattern she’d found and had built a summer wardrobe around a half-dozen versions of it in various pastel shades.
‘Oh, I love your top, it looks so cool and comfortable!’ Startled, Eliza looked up to find the couple had made their way to the counter with an eclectic selection of items, including a couple of the floaty scarves. It was the woman who’d spoken, and she gestured to the scraps of material. ‘I’m hoping these will keep the sun off without making me any hotter.’
As someone who caught the sun easily, Eliza had every sympathy for her. ‘It’s certainly a scorcher out there. I have to cover up too, or I’ll be red as a lobster.’
The woman smiled, then cast a pretend glare at the man with her. ‘Some people tan to perfection, it makes me sick.’ There was no malice in her tone, and the man flashed a bright grin showing he wasn’t in the least bit offended. Turning back to Eliza, the woman eyed her blouse. ‘You must tell me where you got that lovely top, is it somewhere local?’ She sounded hopeful.
‘I made it myself, I make most of my clothes.’ Eliza stepped back to show the long, tiered skirt she’d paired with the blouse.
‘They’re beautiful, you should sell them,’ the woman said. ‘I’d snap them up in a second.’
The man nudged her shoulder. ‘Come on, you. Let’s find an ice cream and a spot in the shade before you convince this poor girl to give you the clothes off her back.’
Brain whirring, Eliza took another step back while Beth finished serving the pair who left with cheery waves. Her eyes roamed over the cluttered shelves of the emporium. Beth already stocked jewellery and other small artworks from local craftspeople, perhaps she might find room for a few bits and pieces…
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Eliza glanced up to find Beth giving her a Cheshire cat grin.
‘Maybe…’ Eliza bit her lip. ‘But I wouldn’t want to impose.’
‘Oh, rubbish.’ Beth waved away her comment. ‘I’m a hard-headed businesswoman these days and you know it. I’m only interested in stock that will sell, and from the covetous looks that woman was giving your outfit, I reckon I’d be on to a winner.’
‘It would be worth a try,’ Eliza mused. ‘And in addition to selling them here I can set up online. It’s pretty straightforward, and I’ve still got my Etsy store.’ She’d put her account on hiatus, but a couple of clicks and she’d be back up and running.
And it didn’t have to be just clothes. She could run up some pretty cushions and other soft furnishings. Or make some soaps and scented candles. People loved to buy homemade things, and she could even rent a pitch at car boot sales or craft fairs. It would be a lot of work, but it would be her work. And if she could add a local twist to some of her products, something to tie them in to Lavender Bay…of course! When the idea came to her, it was so obvious she could’ve smacked herself for not thinking of it sooner. ‘I need to pay the Gilberts a visit. What do you think about a range of beauty products and scented candles using lavender from their farm?’
Beth sipped her tea, eyes sparkling with excitement over the rim of her mug. ‘I think you’ve got yourself the makings of a fantastic business. You’ll need a hook, though. A brand that reflects who you are and the fact everything is homemade, not mass-produced.’
‘I’m not very good at marketing,’ Eliza confessed. It had been what had held her back before. She’d never been great at pushing herself forward into the limelight.
‘I didn’t have a clue when I took over this place, but it’s a lot easier than I expected it to be.’ Beth reached for her phone. ‘That Instagram account Libby persuaded me to open with Banana Monkey was a stroke of genius. He’s got so many followers, it’s ridiculous!’
Eliza’s eyes strayed to the giant wooden banana standing pride of place just inside the door. The monkey perched on the top was modelling a pair of fluorescent pink sunglasses and a floppy sunhat. Eleanor, the original owner of the emporium, had purchased the monstrosity and he’d been a firm fixture ever since. ‘I love the photos you post on that account.’
Beth grinned. ‘Exactly! I linked it to Facebook and Twitter so everything I post gets shared there automatically. I’ve even had a few customers pose with him and got them to hashtag the emporium.’
‘I’d need something of my own, though…’ Eliza rested her elbows on the counter as she thought about it. ‘If I can get the Gilberts on board then I can make lavender the central theme.’
‘Yes!’ Beth scrolled through her phone. ‘Look, there’s lots of popular lavender hashtags already. What about Made in Lavender Bay?’
‘Hmm.’ It had possibilities, but Eliza wanted something more personal, something to reflect the care and attention she took over the things she made. ‘How about With Love from Lavender Bay?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Or is that too cheesy?’
‘Oh, I love that! And I don’t think it’s cheesy, I think it’s adorable. You could make a little logo, like a heart made from stalks of lavender twisted together.’
Eliza couldn’t help but giggle, the excitement building inside her was too much to contain. If she made the logo simple enough, she could stitch it onto the clothes as well. ‘I’ve got to go and write all this down!’ She’d made it halfway around the counter before she spun back to peck a kiss to Beth’s cheek. ‘You’re amazing. Thank you.’
Feeling positive for the first time in months Eliza practically skipped through the front door of The Siren. A familiar sandy-curled head appeared from behind the bar, followed by a set of broad shoulders as her brother rose to his full height. ‘Hey, where’ve you been hiding?’
The smile on her face threatened to split her cheeks. ‘Not hiding, plotting my new venture with your gorgeous girlfriend.’
A dreamy look crossed Sam’s face. ‘She is gorgeous, isn’t she?’
Eliza rolled her eyes at the goofy expression, though secretly she was delighted to see her big brother so clearly smitten. He’d always been a bit of a rolling stone when it came to previous girlfriends, but Sam had fallen hook, line and sinker this time. ‘I’m guessing she’s about the same as when you left her this morning.’ She’d only meant to tease him, but wondered if she’d missed the mark when a frown crossed his brow.
‘Is everything all right with us? You don’t mind about me and Beth being together, do you?’
Hurrying around to the other side of the bar, Eliza threw her arms around his waist to give him a hug. ‘Of course, I don’t mind. It was a bit weird to begin with, but you guys are so good for each other—anyone can see that.’
Sam squeezed her back. ‘I’m really happy, Eliza.’
She loosened her arms to look up at him. ‘Good.’ A lump formed in her throat out of nowhere. She seemed to teeter on the edge of tears at the slightest thing, and it was getting on her nerves. Leaving Martin had been the right thing to do, and she still had no regrets over it, but that didn’t stop her mourning for what might have been or feeling guilty over her own part in the failure of their marriage. If it had been unremittingly awful—if he’d cheated on her or treated her badly—then things might have been easier. Instead it had been a slow, steady decline, as the bonds of love frayed away until nothing remained but a few strings of familiarity and a legal tie rather than any meaningful remnant of those vows they’d said to each other.
‘Ah, Eliza, don’t look so sad, I can’t stand it.’ Sam tugged a lock of her hair. ‘Besides, crying makes you look ugly.’ He danced back out of reach with an evil grin on his face.
Outrage at his teasing chased away her sadness, exactly as he’d intended, no doubt. ‘At least I’m only ugly when I cry, mister, which is more than can be said for you.’
‘Ouch.’ Sam staggered back clutching at his chest, then grinned at her. ‘So come on then, tell me all about this new venture of yours.’
As she helped him set up the bar for the day, Eliza explained about the customer admiring her clothes and how that had snowballed into plans for her own creative empire. ‘I’ll have to supplement it with working here at first because I’ll need every penny I can lay my hands on to invest in materials and equipment.’ Some of her excitement ebbed away. ‘Mum and Dad won’t be thrilled about it, I think they have their heart set on me taking over this place now you’ve got your restaurant and everything.’
Sam paused in the act of wiping down the bar and fixed green eyes the exact same shade as her own on her. ‘And they’ll get over it the same way they did when I told them about Subterranean. All they really want is for us to be happy and successful. Speaking of which…’ He pulled a thick white envelope out of his back pocket and placed it on the bar between them.
‘What’s this?’ Flipping it over, she spotted the name of the local council on the post mark, and excitement bubbled inside. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ A trained chef, her brother wanted to convert the pub’s old skittle alley down in the cellar into a high-class restaurant. The plans had been drawn up and submitted for planning permission, and Sam had been on tenterhooks ever since.
Sam scrubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yep.’ The look on his face was an agonised combination of hope and worry. ‘What if they said no?’
Coming home to help run the pub after their father fell ill had meant a lot of sacrifices for Sam. The Grand Diplôme from the Cordon Bleu he’d worked so hard towards should have been his ticket to a dazzling future, but life got in the way. His plans for Subterranean offered the perfect solution to achieving his dreams.
She lifted the envelope, feeling the thick wad of paper inside as though she could somehow fathom its secrets. It wasn’t just a single sheet, so that had to be a good thing, right? ‘If you don’t open it, you’ll never know.’
Sam laughed as he approached to pluck the envelope from her hand. ‘Thanks for the deep and meaningful advice, Yoda.’
‘You could always take it next door and open it with Beth.’
To her surprise, her brother shook his head. ‘No. If it’s bad news, I’m going to need some time to think about it before I talk to her.’ He tossed the envelope back on the bar. ‘Christ, just when it seems like everything is falling into place.’ Tucking his hands on his hips, he blew out a breath.
Her heart ached for the dilemma he might be facing. Give up his dream career, or give up his new-found love. Beth might have been ambivalent about taking over the emporium at first, but it had become obvious to Eliza in the past weeks since her own return to the bay that her friend was here to stay. And if Sam didn’t get the approval for his restaurant, she couldn’t see him sticking around for the long term.
God, she was as bad as Sam, borrowing troubles when there might be no reason for it! The idea for the restaurant was a sound one, and surely the council would be keen on something that provided a new attraction for visitors to the bay. Picking up the envelope, she thrust it at her brother. ‘Open it, so we can start celebrating.’
‘When did you get so pushy?’ He was smiling though as he eased open the self-adhesive flap.
Eliza flipped back the curls hanging over one shoulder and stuck her nose in the air with a sniff. ‘It’s the all-new assertive me, do you like it?’
He chuckled. ‘I kinda do, but don’t go changing too much, I’m very fond of my sweet little sister.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘Okay, here goes.’
Impatience gnawed at Eliza as she watched his eyes flicker back and forth as he scanned the top page of the stack of documents. A frown creased his brow, and she had to force herself not to wince. Damn, she’d been so sure it would be good news. Reaching for him, she forced a smile. ‘It’s only the first attempt, we can try again. If they don’t want you to use the pub, we can look for an alternative venue.’
Blinking, Sam looked up from the papers. ‘What? Oh no, it’s good news. They have a couple of alterations they’d like me to make, but I have approval subject to those conditions.’
‘You do? Oh my God, that’s amazing!’ Eliza clapped her hands together, relief flooding through her. It was about damn time their family had some good news.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sam grinned brighter than the sunshine flooding through the front window. ‘I’ve only bloody done it!’
Laughing, Eliza flung herself into his arms. ‘You bloody did it!’ They danced around in a circle, almost falling over each other’s feet in the small space behind the bar.
‘What’s all the noise?’
Eliza turned at their mother’s question, and it was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out the good news. She stopped herself just in time and nudged Sam in the ribs. ‘Tell her.’
‘Subterranean got the go ahead from the council.’ He held out the letter to Annie.
‘You did? Oh, Sam, that’s wonderful! Your dad will be so thrilled.’ There was no mistaking the relief in their mum’s voice as she joined them in a group hug. Her cheeks were streaked with tears when she pulled back to regard them both. ‘Looks like you’re here to stay then, Sam.’ When he nodded, Annie turned her full attention to Eliza. ‘And what about you?’
Knowing it was time to bite the bullet, Eliza took a deep breath. ‘I’m not going anywhere for the foreseeable future.’
Chapter Four
Jack chugged along the ruts on either side of yet another row of lavender, muttering curses over the sweltering weather. Even with the side windows fully open, the glass windscreen of the tractor magnified the heat of the mid-afternoon sun leaving him drenched in sweat. Since the first night after he’d transferred the new plants to the field, there’d been not a drop of rain and the forecast for the week showed little sign of any materialising. After chatting it through with his mum, they’d decided to water manually—well, mechanically. Reaching the end of the field, he turned the tractor and the water bowser attached to the towing hitch, lined up over the next row, then parked up and turned off the engine. The sudden silence came as a relief. Noah had suffered another terrible nightmare and another sleepless night combined with worry over his nephew had left Jack with a banging headache.
After clambering from the cab, he rummaged inside the rucksack beneath his seat and pulled out a bottle of water. He placed the bottle against his aching forehead. Sighing in relief as the chilly surface eased a little of the tension, Jack opened the bottle and drank. The cold liquid soothed his parched throat and he drained half the bottle before capping it again. The cloth he’d tied around his neck to protect it from the glare of the sun was soaked. He tugged it off to wring it out, using a bit of water from the bottle to rinse the worst of the sweat from it, then draped it over the bonnet of the tractor. The combined heat from the engine and the sun would dry it out in no time.
His shirt was in a similar state, and he tugged it away from the base of his back in the hopes of allowing the faint breeze to cool his skin. It did little to ease his discomfort, so he quickly unbuttoned the soft denim and shrugged out of it, shuddering a little as the clammy material stuck to his skin. He tied the sleeves in a loop around the side mirror on the tractor to hang in the sunshine, then took another long draft from the water bottle.
Squatting on his heels, he sighed as the body of the tractor offered a respite from the heat and studied the nearest lavender plant. Strong pale green stalks radiated out from the base, forming a dome with the first hints of the spears which would soon be laden with tiny purple flowers showing. A few more days, a week—maybe two—and the whole farm would be transformed into delicate blankets of every shade from palest lilac to deep imperial purple. There was plenty of work to be done between now and then.
With a soft groan, he stood and stretched his arms over his head to loosen the kinks in his spine. Another couple of hours bouncing around in the tractor’s seat would leave his body vibrating from scalp to toes, but it had to be done. Gritting his teeth at the state his head would be in by the end of the day, he reached for his shirt, intent on untying the sleeves when a soft, feminine voice hailed him. ‘Hello! Mr Gilbert?’
Jack spun on his heel, catching his elbow on the jutting out mirror in the process. ‘Shit!’ He rubbed the sharp pain and studied the small figure waving at him from the other side of the field. Shrouded beneath a huge floppy straw hat and swathed in layers of white linen, it was hard to distinguish much about her, other than her diminutive size.
Shading his eyes with one hand, Jack cast a glance down the sloping path she must have followed. Plenty of locals—and tourists—liked to stroll along the public footpath which led them out of the bay, along the edges of the farm and back towards the cliffs that tumbled into the surf marking the far end of town. His unexpected visitor had strayed far from that route though, ignoring plenty of ‘Private Property – Keep Out’ signs in the process.
Striding along the top of the field, he closed the gap between them. ‘Are you lost? The public footpath is back that way.’ He gestured impatiently hoping she’d take the hint.
The wide brim of the hat tilted up, revealing a pair of pale green eyes and a small, slightly upturned nose spattered with freckles. She was a lot younger than he’d expected from the way she’d buried herself under layers of white cotton and linen. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place her. For a brief moment he wondered if they’d dated in the past before dismissing it. She looked too sweet for his tastes. A shy smile lifted the corners of her delicate mouth, confirming his instincts. Definitely too sweet. For some reason that only served to irritate him further.
‘Not lost.’ Her smile faltered for a second before she tried again. ‘I knocked at the farmhouse, but there was no answer. I looked for a shop, but you don’t seem to have one.’
Well, she’d certainly had a good nose around the place. Jack folded his arms across his chest, remembering belatedly that his shirt still fluttered from the tractor’s wing mirror. ‘This is a working farm, as you can see. We’re too busy to play bloody shopkeepers.’
Her eyes seemed to follow the motion of his arms, then skittered away as a ruddy blush brought roses to the pale cream of her cheeks. ‘Oh…um…I assumed you’d have one to sell your lavender. That’s why I’m here…to buy some, I mean.’ Her hand waved vaguely towards the field at his back.
Hot and tired, and with still several hours of work left to do, Jack felt the reins on his patience slip. ‘We already have a wholesaler we deal with, and I’m not in the market to change. Especially not to some random cold-caller who can’t be bothered to make an appointment first.’
Her face flushed, her embarrassment at his sharp words etched plain in her shocked gaze. Jack shrugged away his momentary discomfort. It was her own bloody fault for trespassing.
Her next words wound his frustration levels back up again. ‘Oh, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I’m not from a company, I was just looking to buy a few things for myself. I want to use it for making soap, scented candles, that kind of thing…’ Not even a company rep, then. Just some woman with a new hobby looking to buy a tenner’s worth of product—twenty quid, tops. He scowled. This conversation with her had cost him more than that in wasted time.
A sudden gust of wind tugged at the brim of her hat and she clapped a hand on top of it to hold it in place. ‘Well, I can see you’re busy…I’m sorry to have bothered you…’ The woman took a sidestep which placed her directly in the line of the sun, turning the diaphanous drapes of her skirt almost see-through. His attention strayed to the shapely curves of hip and thigh, then to the way the angle of her upraised arm strained the cotton of her blouse over her breasts. Who’d have thought so many secret delights lay beneath all those layers?
God, she’s lovely.
The thought completely blindsided him, and he faked a cough as an excuse to turn away from her. When he looked back, her eyes were fixed on him, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. That hesitant expression making it clear she hoped for some reassurance otherwise, but she had bothered him, and in ways he wasn’t ready to analyse. There was too much going on in his life, the last thing he needed was a distraction—not even one as pretty as this delicate beauty. It wasn’t like he was in a position to ask her out, or any other woman for that matter. The sorry state of his romantic life added another layer of frustration to his already frayed temper.
Jack rubbed his aching temples, wishing like hell he’d never got out of bed that morning. ‘If you’ve finished wasting my time, I assume you can find your own way back out?’
He was already striding away as more stuttered words of apology spilled from her lips, and he hunched his shoulders as though to ward off the guilty waves lashing him over such rude behaviour. It didn’t matter how attractive she was, after that display she’d likely run a mile if she ever laid eyes on him again.
Frustrated, hot, and overwhelmed by a sudden sense of longing for simpler days when his only responsibility was to stick in a hard day’s graft, Jack snatched his shirt from the mirror and thrust his arms into it, then grabbed his now-dry neckerchief and knotted it around his throat. He swung into the cab of the tractor and turned the key, wincing as the engine coughed, shuddered and rattled into an ominous silence. No, no, no, don’t do this. He tried again and the starter mechanism whirred, but didn’t catch.
Flinging himself back down to the ground, Jack stomped around to the side of the engine block and unlatched the cover. A hint of white caught his eye and he turned to watch the woman disappear around the corner of the hedge edging the field. He didn’t believe in karma, or any of those flights of superstitious fancy…but if he did, then the universe had just given him a serious kick in the arse for his behaviour towards her.
Covered in grease, dust and sweat, Jack finally parked the tractor in the rear yard. He was in such a foul mood he couldn’t even be bothered to uncouple the bowser and return it to its storage spot. He just stomped into the mud room and kicked off his boots. Turning the tap over the metal sink on with his elbow, he reached for a thick bar of soap and began to lather his filthy hands and lower arms under the stream of water. The tangy scent of the mass-produced soap stung his nostrils, and his mind strayed unwillingly to thoughts of the woman from earlier. He could picture her delicate little nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell, and—he gave himself a rueful sniff—not just from the bar in his hands.
She’d been too far away for him to catch a hint of her perfume, but he would bet his last pound on it being something as pretty and fresh as she’d looked. Something sweet and tempting—cherry blossom, or roses. One of the ideas he’d had for expanding the farm had been to turn the old, neglected vegetable patch they’d abandoned since his father’s death into a huge bed of roses. Good quality rose oil was in as high a demand as lavender, and the scruffy, weed-strewn patch was over half an acre. More than enough room for a trial area. If Jason had agreed to the plan they would’ve had their first batch of oil—something else the pretty soap-maker might have been interested in. Jack rolled his eyes; he was not in the market for tuppenny ha’penny deals, no matter how sweet her smile.
The inner door to the kitchen swung open, and Jack glanced over his shoulder at his mum. ‘Hello love.’ She greeted him with a smile. ‘You’re late tonight. I’ve stuck you a plate in the oven and Noah’s just finishing off his reading and that’s the last of his homework.’
Thank God she was there to pick up the slack. His weren’t the only plans that’d been thrown into chaos by Jason’s death. Their mum had wanted to take a back seat on the farm, had even talked about finding a little place to live down in the bay before setting her heart on the old farmworker’s cottage. All that had gone on hold for the foreseeable future, though. ‘Cheers, Mum. I’ve had a shit afternoon, not helped by some random woman swanning about the place thinking she can buy a couple of sprigs of lavender for some stupid bloody craft hobby, and then the tractor breaking down. I managed to get it going, but it doesn’t sound happy. If I can’t work out what the problem is tomorrow, we’ll have to get someone in.’ And that would cost a small fortune, no doubt. They had an annual budget set aside for repairs and maintenance, but still, it was another complication they could do without.
His mum gave him a sympathetic wince. ‘You look fed up. Get yourself showered and then eat your dinner, hopefully that’ll make you feel better.’
He nodded. ‘And I might treat myself to a cold beer, too.’
Her next words depressed him even more. ‘I don’t think there’s any in the fridge, but I’ll check.’
She turned aside, making room for Bastian to come wagging out of the kitchen to greet him with a cold nose shoved against the bare skin where Jack’s shirt still hung unbuttoned. Jack yelped and flicked his wet fingers at the dog. ‘Get off, you daft thing.’
His mum reappeared. ‘No beer, love, sorry. Why don’t you take this one for a walk down into town and treat yourself to a pint and a bit of company? You’ve hardly stopped for days and I can see to Noah for the rest of the evening.’ She closed the gap between them to cup his stubble-roughened cheek. ‘I’m worried about you, Jack. You need to take a break.’
His bad mood evaporated under the deep concern in her. ‘I’m all right, I promise.’ Stretching his legs after a long day cooped up in the tractor sounded like a bloody good idea, though. And just maybe he could find a pretty girl down the pub for a chat, maybe a stroll along the promenade and a kiss or two if he was lucky. The image of a pair of moss-green eyes and a freckled snub nose rose in his mind before he dismissed them. If he bumped into the woman he’d been so rude to that afternoon he’d be lucky if she didn’t kick him in the balls. ‘A walk will do me good, and poor Bastian too, I bet. Thanks, Mum, you’re the best.’
She winked at him as she dropped her hand. ‘And don’t you forget it. Go on, hop to, and I’ll butter you a slice of bread to go with your dinner.’
As his mum had predicted, a shower, change of clothes and a hot meal had done the power of good to lift his spirits and chase the worst of his fatigue away. She and Noah had ensconced themselves on the sofa in front of The Lego Movie and had both seemed perfectly content to carry on without him. With a whistle to Bastian, Jack gathered the dog’s lead, a disreputable looking tennis ball and a pocket torch for the way back and set off across the circular driveway towards the footpath leading down into Lavender Bay.
