by Jenny Colgan
‘I heard your boss is here,’ said Innes. ‘Why? To check up on you?’
Flora briefly coloured as she imagined what that might be like.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘He’s here to help Colton. We’re fighting the wind farm.’
‘The wind farm?’ said Innes after a pause.
Flora nodded.
‘He’s called up expensive lawyers and got everyone scuttling about… for a wind farm?’ Innes was shaking his head.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The problems… the things he could be doing. Improving local employment. Putting money back into the island instead of importing everything. Looking after his properties – that pink house has been empty —’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘But instead he wants to bring businessmen up here to shoot pretty animals… Fuck’s sake, Flora, he doesn’t even get his milk from us.’
Flora blinked.
‘Is that true?’
‘Good luck finding anyone willing to go along with what he wants. This island is under siege, for God’s sake. Wind farms…’
Flora was starting to realise the size of the task ahead.
‘Okay then.’
She propped up the recipe book and put Charlie on onion-chopping duty. Soon the aromatic smell of caramelising beef and garlic and onions filled the kitchen, steaming up the windows. She popped round to the back of the house and, to her absolute amazement, found, with the spring, a few of her mother’s herbs still growing in their pots. She’d have thought the winter storms would have taken them long ago. She snipped some thyme happily into the pot.
Charlie made up a spinach salad to go with it. Oddly, she liked having someone else in the kitchen with her. They didn’t get in each other’s way, but instead moved around each other neatly as she passed him a knife or the grater, and by the time Fintan, Hamish and Eck came in from the fields, groaning and removing their boots, everything was ready, the top of the pie had puffed up into a great delicious golden bowl in the oven, and there was plenty of gravy. Hamish wore a broad grin as they all tucked in. Even her father ate, Flora noticed, rather than sitting staring into the fire as he usually did.
‘That was great,’ said Charlie eventually, as everyone scraped the very last bits of gravy off their plates.
‘What’s for pudding, Flora?’ said Hamish, who’d had three helpings. Flora looked at Fintan. Then she grinned.
‘Oh, okay,’ she said.
She went into the larder and, with a flourish, brought out what she had put together that morning when she should have been working on her files but was too restless waiting for Joel.
Sitting there on the ancient cake plate was a beautiful, shining fruit cake.
‘It hasn’t steeped,’ she warned. But the effect on the room was instantaneous. Everyone brightened up. Hamish grinned broadly. Flora caught Charlie’s eye and realised he was staring straight at her, and she couldn’t stop blushing.
‘Are you sure you didn’t know I was coming?’ he said, grinning at her. Then, as she searched unsuccessfully for a knife, he took out a large Swiss army knife from his pocket and flicked open the biggest blade, handing it over with a flourishing bow. She smiled and started to cut huge slices.
‘I like having Flora home,’ said Hamish quietly as Innes went over to make the tea.
‘You know what we need?’ said Flora, looking straight at Fintan.
He shook his head.
‘Naw.’
‘You can’t have fruit cake without a slice of —’
‘Leave me out of it, Flora.’
‘Leave you out of what?’ said Innes.
Fintan glanced nervously at their father. Flora folded her arms and looked as if she was about to withhold cake. Fintan got up and went outside.
When he slipped back in, they cut slices of the cheese and served them up with the cake. The idea was that you took a bite of cake quickly followed by a bite of cheese and washed it all down with red wine. They didn’t have any red wine, but tea was working equally well.
Charlie looked up appreciatively.
‘Well,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That is something else.’
Fintan smiled.
‘Thanks.’
‘Did you make it?’
Eck turned his head.
‘Did you?’
Fintan shrugged.
‘Ah, just something I’ve been looking at.’
‘But it’s… it’s…’
‘I just matured it next to some old whisky vats.’
Eck shook his head in consternation.
‘Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Instead of helping out in the fields?’
‘Well, I wasn’t at the cinema, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
There was silence, and Eck put the rest of his cheese down without tasting it.
Picking up on the tension, Charlie told a funny story about one of his awful Outward Adventures teams getting into a fight with a sheep, and Bramble came up and put her head on Flora’s lap, and everyone had a glass of Eck’s homemade wine, which was perilous stuff at the best of times, and Flora sat back near the Aga, listening to the happy voices, and felt, for the first time, almost content; even more so because Charlie was clearly enjoying himself too (she figured it had something to do with being indoors and not under canvas in a storm, whatever he said).
At eight o’clock he took his leave, even as the big old kettle was being boiled up once again.
‘That was amazing,’ he said. ‘Are you that good at being a lawyer too?’
‘What, rather than just chef and chief bottle-washer to an overgrown bunch of lads?’ she said as she walked out with him to take Bramble down the hill. ‘I hope so.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Charlie, rubbing Bramble on top of his head. ‘There you go, lad. It’s important what you’re doing. Food. Bringing your family together. I almost saw your dad smile.’
Flora rolled her eyes.
‘Not at me.’
‘It’s a skill. A gift. You should be proud of yourself. Anyone would want to do something as well as you can.’
‘It’s all from my mother really,’ said Flora, feeling she didn’t deserve this. ‘She taught me.’
‘She taught you very well. Hang on. Fintan!’
Fintan was crossing the courtyard, heading back to his beloved dairy.
‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘I need a kilo of that cheese. For the catering. Can you sell me some? It’s tremendous.’
Fintan coloured.
‘Well, I don’t know… I mean, it hasn’t been passed by the cheese council or anything…’
‘The cheese council?’
‘To sell it. You need to make sure it won’t poison anyone.’
‘You just fed it to us.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s just us. I mean, if you’ve got clients and stuff…’
‘You could leave yourself wide open,’ said Flora self-importantly. ‘To a civil case. Maybe even criminal, seeing as we’re just discussing that it could poison people.’
Charlie sniffed.
‘I let them drink out of mountain streams filled with nineteen different types of cow piss,’ he said. ‘I reckon they can take a little unpasteurisation.’
In the end, Fintan agreed to sell it to him on the understanding that he’d make everyone eating it sign a waiver that Flora promised to draw up. Charlie nodded with an amused look on his face.
‘Or,’ he said, ‘you could just get the cheese people round to okay it.’
Fintan looked confused, but Flora nodded.
‘You should, Fintan.’
Flora and Bramble accompanied Charlie back to the gate.
They stood either side of it, and looked at each other. The wind had dropped, but the familiar pattern of dark clouds and bright sunshine lit up the side of the hill like an alien landscape. The heather pressed down quietly; the air tasted of spring. Charlie leaned down to scratch Bramble on the nec
k, which Bramble liked very much.
‘So,’ he said.
Flora looked up at him. He was so solid. Joel was tall, but he was fine-built; lithe. She groaned mentally. When would she stop comparing every other man in the universe to one annoying one? When she would get over her crush and start living in the real world?
Charlie’s handsome, broad face was completely open, but also calm. She could see how safe he must make his charges feel. When she was with him, she just… she felt like she was in the moment. Not worrying about the island or what people thought of her; not thinking about work, or missing her mum, or anything other than standing with this slow-talking, solid, comforting man. She smiled at him. He smiled back shyly.
‘Well, it was good to run into you,’ he said, just at the very second her phone, which could just about get a bar of connection out here, rang. She jumped and turned away.
‘Flora.’ There was no greeting. ‘I’ll need to see your notes and who you spoke to today. How the land lies. Can you get them over to me? First thing in the morning? I don’t know how much longer I can stay here.’
‘Of course,’ said Flora. She looked up at Charlie, but the spell was broken. ‘That was my boss. I have to —’
‘I know, I know,’ said Charlie. He smiled. ‘Your real job.’
He turned to go.
‘I’ll see you in a week.’
‘Unless it rains!’ said Flora, grinning.
‘Especially not if it rains.’
And she watched him walk, nimbly for such a big man, all the way down the track, raising his hand briefly in farewell, before she turned back to the farmhouse to shout at the boys to do the dishes.
Chapter Twenty-two
Dr Philippoussis was the closest Joel got to… Well. Whatever. Joel often called him at antisocial hours; and he didn’t bother to ring when he didn’t have something on his mind. Dr Philippoussis was also, fortunately, about the only person on earth who could put up with this behaviour. He just wanted to know that the grave little boy he’d got to know as he’d bounced in and out of child services – and who had now become a serious, hugely successful high-flyer – was okay, or as more or less okay as anyone could be.
In his years as a professional child psychiatrist, Dr Philippoussis had seen many difficult things, and done his best not to think too much about his clients, beyond how he could help them professionally. But when it came to Joel, who had escaped – in such spectacular fashion – he found it hard not to think about him. Because, as he and his wife often reflected, they were the only people who did.
‘Where are you?’
‘God knows,’ said Joel. ‘Seriously, it’s the end of the earth.’
He peered out of the window.
‘It’s ten o’clock at night, and it’s broad daylight.’
‘Yeah? That sounds awesome.’
‘Well, it isn’t. I can’t sleep.’
‘What are you doing instead? Work?’
‘Sure,’ said Joel, looking at the files on the rickety desk in his room.
‘Can’t you take a walk? Have a look round?’
‘It’s an island. There’s nowhere to go, and it’s a bullshit case, and… I dunno. I think I might be ready for another move.’
‘You haven’t… you haven’t met anyone?’
‘I’ve told you. I’m not… that’s not what I’m about. Work helps me. Work is what I want to do.’
‘There’s a whole world out there, Joel.’
‘Good. Well, I’ll move to Singapore then. Sydney maybe. See some more of it.’
‘Did you try any of those mindfulness exercises?’
Joel snorted.
‘I’m not your worried well, Phil.’
Dr Philippoussis knew better than to try and fix Joel. He just needed to be there to pick up the phone.
‘Okay, Joel. Marsha says hi.’
Joel nodded, then hung up and pulled his laptop towards him. He considered drawing the curtains, but there was nothing outside except the waves beating gently against the beach, patiently, for ever.
Chapter Twenty-three
Flora had now seen all six members of the island council except for her dad, who she was going to leave to Joel and Colton to tackle. None of it was particularly encouraging, although at least the heavy-set vicar had been kind to her and interested in what she was up to. Although that may also have been because she’d taken him a box of jam tarts she’d made that morning.
It was the oddest thing: it felt like now she’d begun, she couldn’t stop. It was as if she’d shut that side of herself down when she’d moved, as surely as she’d suppressed every other bit of her old life. But the simple act of sifting flour; of chopping in butter and one-handedly cracking eggs actually made her feel closer to her mother, rather than giving her sad memories, and she wished she’d thought of it before.
Even with the vicar (possibly) won over, though, there was still some pretty bad news for Colton. And, she remembered, tonight they were having dinner. With Joel.
‘What are you so cheerful about?’ said Fintan, sitting in front of the fire back at the house, listening to her sing little island songs as she put together a seed cake. He didn’t think she realised she was doing it. He remembered his mum doing it too.
‘Come here, Fintan,’ she said. ‘You’re going to have to step up when I go. You’re obviously massively talented. Let me show you how to make a shepherd’s pie.’
Fintan frowned.
‘Oh, now it’s my turn to get Mummy’s tuition, is it?’
Flora turned round, surprised and cross.
‘What do you mean?’
Fintan, who’d already had a bitter row that day with his father about wasting his time on this cheese nonsense, was in no mood to be conciliatory.
‘It was always you, wasn’t it? Always you that Mum had up at the stove. Sending us outside so you could have peace and quiet for your precious exams. Always special little Flora with her mum.’
The words stung, and tears sprang into Flora’s eyes.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You hardly have to come back here, rubbing it in how much time she spent with you.’
‘That is so unfair,’ said Flora, utterly riled. ‘So unfair. For years everyone has been on at me to come back and do my “duty”. And when I do, I get abuse for it.’
Fintan shrugged.
‘Well, good for you. I don’t need you to impart your amazing secrets of fricking shepherd’s pie.’ He scowled. ‘I can cook fine. I just didn’t get to learn at Mum’s knee, did I? Out you go, boys.’
He was mimicking their mother, and Flora wanted to hit him.
‘What are you saying?’
‘What do you think I’m saying? You were always her favourite. You’re the one who got to go away and do whatever you liked. Oh no, Flora’s school work is so important. Oh no, Flora needs new dancing shoes. Oh, Flora’s off to university!’
The pain on his face was clear. Flora put down the knife she’d taken out for the carrots.
‘You can’t think that. She adored you.’
‘She never saw past Innes and you.’
‘Of course she did.’
There was a pause.
‘Well, if she did, she never saw me.’
Flora moved forward.
‘Oh, Fintan. I think she was just… She saw the life she had. And she didn’t want it for me; she wanted me to get away, that’s all.’
There was a horrible silence then, and Flora turned, knowing somehow without knowing that it was her father; that he had come home at exactly the wrong time and had heard what she’d said.
Her face went a deep pink.
‘Dad! Dad. Hi! I was just… I was thinking about making a shepherd’s pie with Fintan.’
Eck looked at both of them. His face was so tired.
‘Neh, no need, lass,’ he said quietly. ‘Chippy will do us. Don’t want to put you to the trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble!’
�
��Is that what you reckon?’ he said. Then, with the entire kitchen still in silence, he picked up his newspaper and went and sat by the fire.
‘Right,’ said Flora, wiping her hands on a dishcloth and slamming the seed cake in the Aga. She couldn’t make things any better; she was getting out before she made them much worse. ‘I’m off.’
‘Off where?’ said Fintan sulkily.
‘I’m going to the Rock. I’m having dinner with Colton Rogers.’
Fintan blinked.
‘It’s open?’
‘Nearly. I think they’re having a test run on us.’
‘They’ve got a chef and everything? I’ve heard… I’ve heard it’s amazing up there.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Flora truthfully.
Fintan stood up.
‘Take me,’ he said.
‘You’re not invited,’ said Flora.
‘Oh yes, with your posh proper London people, isn’t it? And Americans, of course. You’ll all sit round and quaff champagne and giggle at the rubes who live here. The idiots, as you think of them.’
‘Fintan! Stop it!’
He threw himself sulkily back into the chair.
‘Don’t worry about me! I’ll just stay here by myself.’
Flora snapped.
‘Oh for Christ’s sake. Where are all your friends, Fintan? I mean, you’re young, you’re apparently not bad-looking. But you just sit in all the time looking at cheese and blaming me. What’s the matter with you?’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed,’ said Fintan, ‘my mum died?’
Eck was ignoring them both.
Flora moved towards her brother.
‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘And that’s when I needed my friends more than ever.’
‘Well, mine all moved to the mainland,’ said Fintan. ‘But I couldn’t. Could I?’