My skin is speckled with freckles, something I usually hide at all costs. But now they beam out of my face with pride and I suddenly feel quite attached to them. My hair, which has had a constant spring since being swept up in the Welsh sea air, is glistening with light streaks of blonde stolen from the sun. I smile at myself. I look different, but not in a bad way. The stress line that’s normally creased across my forehead has vanished. I look happy.
‘Right.’ I turn back to Bruno, who is staring up at me imploringly. ‘Shall we go, boy? Shall we go on an adventure?’
My voice slides up at the end, and he tugs on his lead. I stagger behind him, the grin staying firmly on my face as he pulls me towards the front door.
‘Give me a second!’ I laugh, stuffing some dog biscuits in my coat pocket. I pull open the door and gasp as Bruno yanks me forward, straight into Isaac.
‘Oh!’ I cry. ‘Hey.’
For the first time since I arrived in Wales, he’s not head to toe in farm gear. Instead he’s wearing jeans and a maroon fitted jumper that hugs his arms. He smiles at me and my heart turns over.
Stop that, heart. You do not have feelings for Isaac. We’re just friends now.
‘Going on a walk?’ he says, rubbing Bruno’s ears.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I think I remember one me and Rachel used to go on when we were teenagers, but if I get a bit lost, I’m sure Bruno can bring us back home.’
I grin down at Bruno, who is sitting by my feet panting up at me. At the mention of Rachel, I feel a small pang of worry.
The moment Peggy left, my mind started to spin with thoughts about what Rachel was hiding, but only one option seemed plausible.
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I spoke to Rachel last night.’
Isaac frowns at me. ‘Last night?’ he repeats. ‘We didn’t leave the pub until like, half eleven!’
I grin. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m surprised she picked up. Do, er, do you know how long Danny has been away?’
The question that has been pulling at my mind since I hung up last night spills out of my mouth, and I feel my cheeks pinch as I ask it. I should know the answer to this; I shouldn’t have to ask Isaac. She’s my sister.
Isaac looks back down at Bruno. ‘No,’ he says, ‘I’m not sure. A while, though. How come?’
I ignore his question and plough on. ‘And do you know whether she did anything for her birthday?’ I say. ‘Our birthday, I mean. It was earlier this month.’
‘I know when your birthday is.’ Isaac grins at me. ‘March the first.’
I smile. Something else he remembers about me.
‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t think so. She hasn’t been out much recently.’
I look at my feet, and the small balloon of worry that has been growing in the pit of my stomach expands.
Right. There is something wrong. Why didn’t anybody celebrate Rachel’s birthday with her? Where are her friends? More importantly, where is Danny?
‘Okay,’ I say, ‘thank you. Right.’ I shake the lead and Bruno springs back up. ‘Come on then, buddy.’ I go to walk down the path, and then turn back to face Isaac. ‘Do you want to walk with us?’
He smiles, and to my annoyance, I feel my heart flip again.
‘That’s okay,’ he says. ‘I’ve got stuff to be getting on with. I just wanted to see what your plans are for today. I’ve got a surprise for you.’
I place my hand on my hip and raise my eyebrows. ‘Does this involve another goose?’
He laughs. ‘I’ll pop round at about four.’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘See you then.’
He walks past me and gets into his car. As he pulls off, Bruno barks.
‘Don’t you get any ideas,’ I say quietly. ‘We’re just friends now.’
Although as I look down at Bruno’s blank face, I’m not sure whether I’m saying that to him or to myself.
*
A wave of heat wafts in front of my face as I pull open the oven door and carefully clasp my towel-covered hands around the cake, which trembles slightly in my nervous grip. Without quite meaning to, I drop it onto the counter with a clatter and stare down at it, a feeling of pride tickling the back of my throat.
Well, it certainly looks like a cake, and it smells great.
I peer down at it, half expecting it to combust.
I didn’t mean to eat the entire cake Rachel left me. I mean, Christ, I’ve only been here four days! After I got back from my walk, I made myself another coffee (I really must buy one of those machines for the lodge. After a week of coffee that tastes like silk, I simply cannot go back to plain old Nescafé), then went to the cake tin to cut myself a modest slice to nibble on, only to find a pathetic crumb looking back up at me. And unless Rachel has a family of mice living here (very unlikely) or Bruno has been cutting himself the odd slice without me realising (even more unlikely), I must have eaten it all.
I can’t have Rachel return home to find that I’ve drunk all her posh coffee, finished her fancy bubble bath (by accident, I should add) and guzzled all her baked goods. I mean, Christ. I’m like Goldilocks on her period.
So I decided to re-create Grandma’s recipe so I can leave it as a peace offering. A peace offering also acting as a decoy from the fact that I spilt hot chocolate on one of her posh cushions, which is now hidden under a lovely throw.
I drop back into the kitchen chair as I scoop another spoonful of delicious chilli into my mouth. I don’t know why I was scouring the cottage for clues of whether Rachel was really a vegan, when all I had to do is open her freezer and find all of our favourite meals. Let me tell you, if I was struggling being a vegan before (and by struggling I mean, I have been ‘having a day off’ for the past five million days), then seeing Rachel’s home-cooked meals stacked up and ready to go would have broken me. I’ve been eating like a queen! Bolognese, chilli, curry . . . it’s been fantastic. I’ve eaten nearly everything, which Rachel will be pleased about. She takes great pride in her cooking.
Bruno skirts out from under my feet as I hear a knock on the door, and my eyes flick to the wall clock: four o’clock. Isaac is bang on time. Not that he would have any excuse to be late, seeing as his journey literally takes seven seconds. But still, nice to know he’s eager.
I smooth my hair down and pull open the door, stepping back to let him in. He grins at me, giving Bruno a ruffle of the ears.
‘Oh,’ he says, ‘something smells good.’
Before I can stop myself, I puff out my chest.
‘Yes,’ I say lightly, ‘I just baked a cake.’
God, no wonder Rachel does this sort of thing all the time. I feel so smug.
‘You can’t have any, though,’ I add as Isaac peers at the steaming cake tin. ‘It’s for Rachel, when she comes home.’ I raise my eyebrows. ‘Really, I followed a recipe and everything.’
‘I’m impressed,’ he says, pushing off his shoes. ‘I thought Rachel was the family baker.’
‘We can both be good at baking,’ I say, picking up a gingham towel and throwing it over the cake like Bree Van de Kamp in Desperate Housewives.
Wow, look at me go! Next thing you know I’ll be commenting on soggy bottoms and moist sponges and pronouncing layers as laaaairs.
‘Very nice,’ he says. ‘So what did . . .’ He trails off as his eyes move to my empty chilli bowl.
‘Where did you get that?’ he asks.
‘Rachel made it!’ I say happily. ‘Her freezer was filled with food, and she told me to help myself to anything. Isn’t that nice?’
Isaac doesn’t stop looking at the chilli, and I can see his brow twitching.
‘So,’ he says slowly, ‘have you eaten everything in the freezer?’
I feel small patches appear on my cheeks.
‘Not in one go,’ I say, plucking the bowl from the table and stacking it in the dishwasher. ‘Why do you care?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t,’ he says, and when I turn round, his smile is back.
He is so weird.
‘Ah,’ he says, sitting down and unzipping his rucksack, ‘I’ve got you a present.’
‘Oh?’
He sticks both hands into the depths of the rucksack and drops a large plastic bag on the coffee table with a loud thud. I stare down at it blankly. He catches my expression and laughs.
‘Open it,’ he says. ‘You’ll like it.’
He pushes it towards me and I lean forward, shooting him looks of confusion until I pull the bag open and my eyes land on an enormous lump of clay. My jaw drops.
‘I thought it was really sad that you don’t make anything any more,’ he says, ‘so I spoke to some people in the village about where to buy clay and thought I’d get you some.’
He pauses, waiting for me to say something. But I’m trans-fixed.
‘I know how much you used to love making stuff,’ he continues. ‘Remember that dream we had where you’d open your own pottery shop? Rachel would make the cakes and the coffee and I’d provide eggs and milk from the farm.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘I know you’ve got different dreams now, but I just thought this might be fun.’
Finally I force myself to look up at him, and as I do, I feel a tear spill out of my eye. I brush it away quickly.
I haven’t made anything since Grandma died. I made excuses about how I never had the time or it wasn’t a cool thing to do in London, but really it was just something else I pushed down inside of me.
Isaac jolts, his smile vanishing.
‘Oh my God,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry, Katy. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know it’s something you used to do with your grandma and . . .’ He trails off and I wipe my cheeks with my sleeve.
‘Sorry.’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘It just brings back so many memories being here. We haven’t scattered her ashes either, and I think a part of me feels like I’ve never said a proper goodbye to her.’
I take a deep breath as I hear myself say the words aloud. It’s the first time I’ve admitted that to anyone.
Isaac looks at me helplessly and I shake my shoulders, pushing the tears away.
‘Sorry.’ I take a deep breath. ‘This is so thoughtful, I love it. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.’
‘Well,’ he shrugs modestly, ‘it was meant to be a surprise.’
I grin at him and he laughs, relief washing over his face. He moves closer and grabs the lump of clay.
‘I didn’t buy it just so we could stare at it,’ he says. ‘Let’s make something. I can be your student. Do you still have the wheel?’
I look at him, my heart thumping in my chest as his eyes spark at me.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It’s in the shed.’
*
I push the door of the shed with my shoulder, trying to ignore the nerves that are dancing around my body with such force they may as well be doing the Macarena.
I had no intention of going in the shed while I was here. I was actually having quite a nice time pretending it didn’t exist, or that it was just a shed filled with old gardening equipment and rusty old bikes like everybody else’s. But our shed was much more special than that. Dad made it into a home studio for me and Grandma when I was about twelve, and we’d sit in here for hours making pottery. Rachel would join us occasionally, but only when we had breaks to drink juice or eat lunch. Most of the time it was just the two of us.
I couldn’t see the point of going inside now, though. I knew Grandma wouldn’t be there, and I wasn’t going to be making any pottery, so why would I?
I did keep an eye on it through the kitchen window, though, and sometimes I—
‘God, did someone die in here?’
I snap out of my thoughts and glare at Isaac, who has tucked his face into his T-shirt in disgust.
‘Isaac!’
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘It just smells so bad.’
I glare at him. ‘You are such a princess,’ I snap. ‘It’s not about the smell. It’s about the pottery.’
I step into the shed defiantly and try not to gag as a thick, damp smell sticks to the back of my throat.
Okay, perhaps it does smell terrible in here.
‘Let me grab some candles,’ Isaac says, ducking back towards the house, ‘or some air freshener or something.’
I nod absent-mindedly and look around, putting the basin of water I’m carrying down. My wheel is still there, covered in a thick layer of dust, and next to it is my chair. Grandma and I would take it in turns to make something, while the other would watch and chat. We always said that one day we’d get another wheel so that we could work at the same time. But as she got older, Grandma found it harder to control the clay.
‘Okay.’ Isaac reappears, his arms filled with candles and cans of air freshener. ‘I think this will do it.’
I try and scowl at him, but as soon as I catch his concerned expression, I can’t help laughing.
‘Honestly,’ I say, taking some candles from him and placing them around the shed, ‘and you say I’m uptight? You’re supposed to be the farm boy.’
He hands me a lighter, and I flick the orange tongue towards the wicks.
‘Don’t use the air freshener!’ I say quickly as he gives a can a shake. ‘It’s really flammable. The candles will be fine.’
He looks down at the can and shrugs.
‘Okay,’ he agrees, ‘candles are more romantic anyway.’
I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through me as I light the final candle, trying to hide my blushing face.
‘Right,’ I say, turning to face him, ‘what do you want to make?’
He blinks at me. ‘I thought you were making it?’
I grin. ‘You wanted a lesson, didn’t you? We can make it together. Come on.’ I pull the chair out and nod my head towards it. ‘Sit.’
Isaac places the cans on the floor and sinks into the seat. I heave the lump of clay from the bag and drop it onto the wheel.
‘What’s easy to make?’ he asks. ‘A bowl?’
I cock my head, moving the basin of water to the ledge next to the wheel.
‘Sure,’ I say, crouching down next to him. As I dip my hands in water and lay them on the clay, I feel a rush of heat spread through my body.
I haven’t done this in years. Why haven’t I done this in years?
I look up at Isaac and try not to laugh as he gawps back at me.
‘Okay,’ I say, ‘so you need to get your hands wet.’
I gesture to the water. He dips his hands in dubiously. As he places them back on the clay, I feel my stomach turn over.
I need to try and ignore the fact that we’re taking part in an activity that has literally been proven to lead to sex. There was a whole film about it, for goodness’ sake.
‘What next?’
I focus my eyes back on the clay, trying to control my roaring cheeks.
‘Do you see that pedal by your foot?’
He moves his foot onto the pedal, and I almost fall over as the clay spins into my hands.
‘Wait!’ I laugh. ‘You need to do it gently at first, then you can speed up.’
My face burns as Isaac leans into the wheel.
Oh God, why does everything sound so bloody sexual?
‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I’m ready.’
I try and shoot him a cool smile, but as my eyes catch his, I feel as though I’ve been electrocuted.
Bloody hell, I’ve got to calm down or I’ll pass out with hysteria, like a poor damsel in distress.
‘Okay,’ I say. I place my hands on the opposite side of the clay to Isaac’s and brace myself for it to come to life. As soon as the wheel starts to move, my hands move with it. I don’t even have to think about what I need to do for this to work. I just know.
‘We’re shaping the clay first,’ I say, my voice hoarse as I carefully move my hands, ‘then we’ll make it into a bowl.’
The clay spills over my hands and I dip them back into
the water. Isaac does the same, and our fingers touch. For a second, we just stare at each other, before he grabs my face, kissing me firmly on the mouth. I sink into him, the wheel slowing to a halt as he moves towards me.
The candles really are more romantic.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RACHEL
I hover at the front door, taking in the murky red paint and the brass number that shines under the flickering hallway light. My hands, which have been clenched into fists since I arrived, are hanging by my sides, tense and useless. I was so fuelled with an urge to speak to my dad that I sent the messages without much thought. The silence in the cabin had seeped into every corner, and I felt like I was sinking. Grandma has gone, Mum never calls, and I can’t seem to tell Katy the truth about anything for fear of her not giving me the reaction I need. Dad is the only one left.
But now I’m here, I feel like I’m drowning all over again.
I lift my clenched fist, my other hand instinctively reaching for my stomach. Before I can talk myself out of it, I rap on the door, making a quick staccato sound, and stand back. Within seconds, it swings open. At the sight of him, I almost burst.
He’s got rounder since I last saw him, and his hair is flecked with grey, but his electric-blue eyes shine at me the way they always did. As I stand in front of him, I realise that the pain I was so afraid of is nowhere to be seen, and when he smiles at me, all the anger I felt at him for what he did to Mum leaves my body and the tears break free and fall onto my cheeks. At this, Dad steps out of the flat and puts his strong, safe arms around me in the way only a dad can, and in that moment, for the first time since Danny left, I feel like everything might be okay.
*
Two wobbly mugs are placed on the table, next to a plate of biscuits. Shining jammy dodgers, fat bourbons and gooey chocolate cookies lie side by side, and as I stare at them, my mouth fills with saliva.
‘Here you are then,’ Dad says, handing me tea in one of Katy’s mugs.
I cup my hands around it, smiling at her teenage handiwork. ‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘this is perfect.’
I jump as a loud, outraged yelp echoes through the flat from under the door of Dad’s bedroom. He locked Betsy in there after I nearly tripped over her as she danced around my feet.
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