‘I know,’ she said softly.
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘The scan?’
‘No,’ he shifted uncomfortably. ‘Going home.’
‘Okay,’ Anna said. ‘What about it?’
‘I want you to come with me.’
Out of everything he could have said at that moment, those words were the last that she had been expecting. Anna almost dropped her mug in surprise. ‘What?’
Liam leaned forward. ‘I want you to come with me to New Zealand. No – listen,’ he said, as she opened her mouth to speak. ‘Please, hear me out. Please?’
Anna nodded, and he took a breath and began to speak.
‘I know this isn’t what either of us planned. But I wasn’t raised to abandon my responsibilities. If I was the kind of man to do that I wouldn’t be going back to take over the farm in the first place. I’m not going to leave you to do this alone. But I have to go back. I have to. So… I want you to think about coming with me. There’s plenty of room on the farm – there’s an empty cottage I was planning to do up in any case, for me. We can have it for our own.’
‘Whoa—’ Anna said, putting her mug down on the floor and holding up both hands. ‘Liam, stop. We’re not even a couple! If I hadn’t told you I was pregnant, you’d have never thought about me again. Now you want to set up home together, on the other side of the world?’
‘It’s not the other side of the world for me,’ Liam said. ‘It’s home.’
‘But—’
Liam put down his own mug, grasped her hands. ‘We had fun, didn’t we? We enjoyed each other’s company. Why can’t that carry on? It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
‘I can’t just up sticks and move across the planet!’
‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘I did. And you’re not planning to stay here anyway, are you? So why not come to New Zealand? This place is no more home for you than it is for me. You don’t have any family here. You don’t have any ties. In New Zealand you’d have a family. You’d have me, you’d have my mum and dad, and so would our baby, Anna.’
‘But I don’t love you, Liam, not in the way that would make a move like that make sense. And you don’t love me, either. You know you don’t.’
‘Maybe we’d fall in love,’ he said stubbornly. ‘We like each other. We find each other attractive. I’ve known relationships grow out of less than that, haven’t you? Surely it’s worth a try?’
Anna pulled her hands out of his and stood. She turned away from him, putting her hands over her face for a moment before dropping them to her sides. ‘It won’t work. We’d barely been seeing each other two months before your eye was caught by someone else. And that’s fine. But to expect me to give up my entire life, to move to a country I don’t know, with people I don’t know…’
‘You made friends here, you can make friends there. Even if we don’t end up a couple, it’d be a fresh start. You could make something fantastic out of that. You could start your own restaurant there, and you’d be a big fish in a small pond.’
‘I’d have a child. How much time and energy do you think I’d really have to start a new business in an entirely new country? And what about money?’
‘You’d have me and my parents to help you out,’ he pointed out. ‘And our baby would have a dad. Isn’t that worth thinking about?’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘No, it’s not,’ he said, eyes flashing. ‘But then I don’t really see that there’s much about this situation that’s fair to me, either.’
‘Liam—’
He stood. ‘All I’m asking is that you think about it. Please? Tell me you’ll think about it.’
Anna raised her hands, a gesture of helplessness. ‘Okay. I will. I’ll think about it.’
* * *
‘Ah,’ said Cathy. ‘Have to say, I did not see that coming.’
Anna rubbed a hand over her eyes. ‘This is all such a mess. I can’t go. I can’t. It’s ridiculous of him to even suggest it. So why do I feel as if I’m being an arse for dismissing it out of hand?’
‘That’s the patriarchy talking,’ Cathy said. ‘That bit of every woman ingrained to believe they can’t make it without a man around.’
‘But what if I can’t?’
‘Pish,’ said her friend. ‘Besides, you will have men around, just not this one. If he’s so bent on taking responsibilities for his actions, if he wants to be an active part of his kid’s life, then he’s the one who’s going to have to make the tough decision, not you. You aren’t responsible for his parents, Anna, he is, and if it’s a choice between staying here and being a good father and going home and being a good son, that’s his problem, not yours.’
‘That’s harsh.’
‘It is. Also not your problem. Don’t let him make you think it is. If he was that bothered about it, he should have been more careful to be certain his wild oats were going to stay in his own field, shouldn’t he?’
‘I should never have come here,’ Anna muttered. ‘I should have done what you said and gone to Spain for a month.’
‘Well,’ said Cathy, ‘say it quietly, but I think I was wrong about that.’ Anna heard the rustle of paper and knew it was the copy of the Observer that her friend had on her lap. ‘Anna, this review is huge. It’s going to send you stratospheric. I can’t wait to see what happens next.’
Anna sighed. ‘What happens next is probably a nap, to be honest. Doesn’t take much to wear me out, these days. This is far too much excitement for one day.’
Her nap was not to be, however, because no sooner had Anna said goodbye to Cathy and hung up than there was a loud knock at the door. It was Rhona, flush-cheeked and out of breath, as if she’d run all the way from Gamrie.
‘You,’ Rhona cried, flinging an arm around Anna as soon as she opened the door, ‘are the stuff dreams are made of, hen!’
Anna laughed and hugged her friend back. ‘Why, what’s happened?’
Rhona pulled back, a broad grin on her face. ‘Brigitte bloody March, that’s what’s happened!’
Anna had forgotten her phone call amid the tumult of the review and Liam’s visit. ‘Ah! Did she call you?’
‘She did indeed,’ said Rhona, as Anna ushered her in and shut the door behind them. ‘I said you and your restaurant were going to save me, didn’t I? I said! Here, get this open, quick!’ She held up a bottle. ‘It’s prosecco, not champers, but all in good time, eh?’
Anna took the bottle with a grin and went to get glasses. ‘Well then, tell me what she said. It must have been good!’
‘Good doesn’t even cover it, my lass. She said she’d seen the review and the pictures – congratulations, by the way – and that she’s been searching for the right flatware for her new place, and she thinks my work will be perfect. Wants me to kit out the whole bloody shebang!’
Anna returned with two full glasses of bubbles and held one out to Rhona. They chinked rims and sipped.
‘Congratulations,’ Anna said, genuinely delighted for her friend. ‘I’m so happy for you, Rhona.’
‘Aye well, I’ve no one but you to thank for it,’ Rhona said, drinking deeply. ‘You and that wee bench out there. You’re a wonder.’
Anna was tempted to have more of her drink to celebrate with her friend, but decided not to risk it. On her first visit to the doctor, a slightly patrician man who reminded Anna of her first headmaster, he’d pointed out rather bluntly that she wasn’t as young as most of the women who came to him with their first pregnancy. She hoped that Rhona was too excited to notice that Anna wasn’t drinking, but she should have known better.
‘Eh, you can’t still be on the pills, can you?’ Rhona asked. ‘Besides, there’s hardly anything in this stuff. It’s Sunday, you can sleep it off! Drink up, we’re celebrating!’
Anna smiled. ‘I’d best not.’
There was a moment where Anna could almost see the cogs turning in her friend’s head. Then Rhona’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘Oh my G
od.’
‘What?’
Her friend leaned forward. ‘Are you… pregnant?’
Anna felt the heat rush to her cheeks and cursed herself for it. ‘What?’
‘I saw Frank and Pat the other day. I asked after you and they said you were completely exhausted from all the catering, so much so that they thought you were conking out every moment you could get. It seemed strange to me – you’re so fit, clambering over the cliffs like you do, not to mention that you said in London you used to work split-shifts. Then they said you’d cried off helping with the slip clear-up, which isn’t like you at all…’
‘I’ve got a bad back,’ Anna said weakly.
‘What, as well as the ear infection? Really?’
‘No, I—’
Anna glanced up at her friend and knew her face was red. Rhona’s eyebrows were near her hairline.
‘You are,’ Rhona whispered. ‘Aren’t you? You’re pregnant.’
With a burst of relief that brushed very close to euphoria, Anna gave in and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am. And I’m sorry I haven’t told you before, that I lied, but my first scan isn’t for another three weeks and—’
Rhona put down her glass, took Anna’s from her and pulled her into a fierce hug. ‘Are you happy about it?’ she asked, her chin on Anna’s shoulder.
Anna took a shuddering breath. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was such a huge shock at first, but… yes. I am happy. Really happy, despite everything.’
Rhona pulled back, and Anna was touched to see that her friend’s eyes were glistening. ‘Then I’m happy for you, hen, and I’m here if you need anything. Anything at all. All right?’
Anna laughed, another explosion of relief, and pulled Rhona against her again. She’d only known this woman for a few months, but was suddenly so grateful for her that she could barely breathe. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
Twenty-Five
The fallout from the Observer review meant that Anna’s email went into overdrive. Some messages were from surprised old acquaintances, well-wishes from people she had left behind following her split from Geoff. Others were from newspapers and magazines wanting to know the story behind what the Internet was dubbing ‘The smallest restaurant in the UK’, although how they’d got her email in the first place was anyone’s guess. Anna was intensely glad that she’d made her landline number ex-directory, and that her mobile number wasn’t public. That didn’t stop the call she got a few days later, though. Anna looked at her screen and saw a name she hadn’t thought about in years.
‘Hello, Anna,’ said the voice, when she answered the phone. ‘This is Melissa Stark here. You probably won’t remember me, but—’
‘Melissa, hi,’ said Anna. ‘Of course I remember you. The editor of Geoff’s cookbooks, right? How are you? It’s been a while.’
Melissa laughed. ‘I should have known better than to think you’d forget,’ she said. ‘You always were so attentive to detail. I’m fine, thank you. Actually, I’m publishing director now. I would ask how you are, but I’m not sure I need to – I read Adrienne Gail’s review of your place. It sounds so amazing.’
‘Oh,’ Anna said, faintly embarrassed. This woman regularly worked on the cookbooks of hugely popular celebrity chefs. ‘Well, thank you, that’s kind of you to say.’
‘Actually, it’s why I’m calling,’ Melissa went on. ‘Look, I’m going to be honest. I’ve kept your number all this time because I always had a feeling you were one to watch. We both know you were the one who did the heavy lifting on Geoff’s first book. Even then I could see that you had an instinct for how a recipe should be presented. We’ve been on the lookout for new voices in the cookery genre here, and Anna – I think you’re exactly what we need on our list.’
Anna found herself staring out of the window at the quilted seascape beyond the Fishergirl’s Luck. ‘Sorry,’ she said, at a loss. ‘I don’t think I know what you mean.’
‘I’d like to produce a cookbook with you,’ the woman said. ‘ “Lunch at the Fishergirl’s Luck: recipes from the house beneath the cliffs.” It’s early days and that’s only a tentative title, of course, and open for discussion, but I can see the cover now. The press release would almost write itself.’
‘I—’ Anna tried to find something to say, but found she couldn’t.
‘Sorry,’ Melissa laughed again. ‘I know this is out of the blue. You were probably right in the middle of something. I can call back, if you like, at a more convenient time?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Anna said. ‘You caught me a bit by surprise, that’s all. Thank you for being interested. I have actually always wanted to produce a cookbook. I’ve been writing up the recipes I’ve cooked here as I’ve gone along.’
‘See, I knew you’d be a dream to work with,’ Melissa said. ‘Maybe we can schedule a Zoom chat for sometime next week?’
Not all the publicity was as positive as that, however. Anna was upset to read a letter in the same local newspaper that had first told the area of the lunch club’s existence, written by someone who was clearly unimpressed by her little venture. It was by a woman called Jean Padgett, who lived in Macduff and described herself as ‘worried for the traditional and intrinsic fabric of these villages’, and accused Anna of eroding the very nature of what made Crovie so special for the ‘genuine residents’.
‘I don’t know what she means,’ Anna said to Frank, as they discussed it. ‘How am I doing damage? Is it because so many more people are visiting and staying? That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Without people renting these places, how would their owners pay for the upkeep?’
‘Ignore it, love,’ Frank advised her. ‘Padgett is one of those people who’s always angry about something, usually some terrible injustice that she feels has been inflicted on her. She and Dougie go way back.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Anna said. She’d thought she’d finally escaped McKean’s ire. He’d been mercifully quiet for weeks. She wondered whether there was any mention of Jean Padgett in Bren’s cookbook.
‘Don’t let it bother you,’ Pat advised her. ‘What right does she have to complain on our behalf? Frank and I will write a letter of our own, saying how much we love what you’re doing. We’ll ask the rest of the Usual Suspects to do the same. That’ll put her in her place.’
‘Oh no, please don’t,’ Anna said.
‘Looks like the mystery of who called the council on you has been solved, at least,’ Frank pointed out. ‘She also takes the health and safety division to task for not doing their job properly and shutting you down. She all but accuses them of corruption for giving you your five-star rating!’
Anna resolved to do what Frank said and put the letter behind her, but that proved impossible when the BBC’s area office sent a film crew to do a piece for the local news. She tried to be accommodating, even letting them film as she prepped for the Friday service, answering questions as she worked. When she mentioned how supportive the local community had been, though, the reporter interjected.
‘Not everyone’s happy about “Lunch at the Fishergirl’s Luck” though, are they?’ he said. ‘We spoke to a woman called Jean Padgett, who was unhappy enough to write to the local paper about what you’re doing here.’
‘I’m sorry that Ms Padgett’s unhappy,’ Anna said carefully. ‘But she doesn’t live here, or know me or the locals who are in favour of the lunch club. Perhaps if she did, she’d see that so far it’s been nothing but positive for the village.’
‘I know your friends are supportive, but that doesn’t tell the whole story, does it?’ the reporter pressed.
‘What do you mean?’ Anna asked, although she had a horrible feeling she already knew.
‘Well, Mrs Padgett put us in touch with an old acquaintance of hers who does live here. His name is Douglas McKean. We went to see Mr McKean before we came here. Are you aware how unhappy he is with the situation?’
Anna took a breath. ‘Yes, I am. I’ve tried to talk to him, and I’ve even invited him to ea
t here, but he’s ignored my attempts to be friendly.’
‘Mr McKean is the last original resident of Crovie, isn’t he? Do you feel that newcomers have a responsibility to be respectful of such residents?’
‘Of course I do,’ Anna said. ‘But I don’t believe I’m doing anything disrespectful, either to Crovie or to Mr McKean. I’ve made every attempt to be as respectful as I can. I’m not sure he can claim the same. And in fact, I can tell you exactly where Mr McKean’s dislike of the Fishergirl’s Luck comes from,’ she said. ‘For years he has been telling everyone who will listen that he is the real owner of this building.’
‘He told us the same thing,’ said the reporter. ‘It sounds as if the previous owner might have benefitted unfairly from a badly written legal transfer of property. We were planning to do some investigating into the matter.’
Anna took a deep breath. She’d been hoping the subject wouldn’t come up, but had thought it best to be prepared anyway. She turned to pick up a folder that had arrived from her solicitor in the post a few days before. Sliding the contents out, she spread the documents on the table.
‘These are the original deeds to the property,’ Anna said, pointing to the date. ‘Brenda MacKenzie purchased this shed – as it was then – in 1938, from her father, who owned it. If you check the records, you will see that the MacKenzie family home, land and the boat that was their business was transferred in totality to the family of Douglas McKean in 1943, years after Bren had become the owner. Perhaps Mr McKean wasn’t aware of the formal agreement that Bren had made to become the owner of this property, but as you can see, the legal standing is clear. This place has never belonged to any McKean, least of all to Douglas.’
The interview was wrapped up shortly afterwards, and the reporter seemed warm enough as he was leaving, but Anna spent the rest of the day worrying about how the piece would make her look. She had to watch the report, though, Anna knew that – if there was a wider group of locals unhappy about the lunch club she needed to know.
The House Beneath the Cliffs Page 19