Page 45 of The Rising Tide

This is a celebration not just of Billie reaching eighteen but of every hurdle climbed along the way. The early years weren’t easy, particularly during Lucy’s darker travails around Europe. Even back in Skentel, their fortunes took a while to improve. Lucy worked such long hours, for such low pay, that she hardly saw her daughter at all.

Now, standing at the kitchen counter in her gold slip dress, arranging vegetable crudités on a board, she’s determined to make this night unforgettable.

Beside her, Billie taps a watermelon with a manicured finger. ‘You think it’s worked?’

‘Of course it’s worked.’

‘It certainlysmellsof vodka,’

‘Then it’s worked.’

Billie grins. ‘I bet it tastes gross.’

‘Please don’t feel obligated to try any.’

‘Are you shitting me?’

‘Such adelightfulturn of phrase,’ Lucy replies, digging her with an elbow. ‘It makes you sound all grown-up and edgy.’

‘That’s because Iamall grown-up and edgy. Don’t I look it?’

She looks more than edgy. She looks downright dangerous: black leather jacket, rockabilly dress in red polka-dot, blonde hair twisted up inside a fifties-style headscarf. Billie’s eyelashes are extravagantly curled, her lips the same letterbox shade as the dress. She’s a blazing sun, radiating heat.

The back door swings wide. New arrivals spill into thekitchen. Lucy beams, greeting the guests with kisses and hugs. Prosecco corks detonate. Beer-bottle caps fly. Alcohol fizzes and froths.

Ed appears, scrubbed and scented. Billie wraps herself around him and they disappear to the living room. Daniel comes in from outside, apron smudged with charcoal. The frozen evening hasn’t stopped him barbecuing. Later, there’ll be enough pulled pork to feed everyone for a week.

Usually, the gold slip dress stops him dead; likewise, the Guerlain scent clinging to Lucy’s skin. Right now, though, it barely registers. ‘Have you seen Nick?’ he asks.

She shakes her head, noticing a pinch to his eyebrows that wasn’t there an hour ago. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Sure. Weird conversation is all.’

Draining her gin and tonic, Lucy watches him rifle through the cutlery drawer. Unsettling, how his momentary lack of interest instantly ignites her old insecurities.

Growing up, she couldn’t resist any attention thrown in her direction. Sad little Lucy – unable to distinguish between those who genuinely liked her and those who just wanted sex. Later, her teenage promiscuity evolved into a serial monogamy that left a litany of casualties in its wake.

And then, nine years ago, she stopped in a lay-by outside Skentel and everything changed. Although – considering her sudden uneasiness – notquiteeverything.

Daniel finds what he needs in the drawer. He looks up. This time, he properly notices her. The tension ebbs from his expression. When he grins, it lifts her heart. ‘Bloody hell, Luce. You outshine every living thing on the Point.’

‘In a houseful of eighteen-year-olds, I doubt it,’ she snorts.

But Lucy flushes with pleasure at his words; and at theknowledge, despite her fleeting insecurity, that seven years of marriage have eroded nothing of their love – that it suffuses the walls of this grand old residence and fortifies everyone it touches.

Coming close, Daniel kisses her. His lips are warm against her mouth. ‘You smell even better than you look.’

‘I’m not sure that’s quite the compliment you intended, Goof.’

‘Well, I’m an engineer, not a poet.’

‘Yousmell like a Cub Scout on summer camp,’ she tells him.

‘Barbecue smoke and pig’s blood.’

‘Woof.’

Daniel chuckles and returns to the garden. Lucy grins and pours herself another drink.

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