Page 2 of Winter at the Cornish Garden Café
‘Of course,’ Ellie went on, ‘There’s a chance that Wiggy will try to join in.’
‘That dog will definitely get involved,’ Pearl said. ‘He’s a typical chocolate lab with an appetite as big as a bear. Just make sure he doesn’t get hold of anything toxic.’
‘Of course I will. Anyway, we always make him a dog-friendly version. He even has dog-friendly ice cream and coconut macaroons.’
‘Wiggy is absolutely ruined, and he knows it!’ Pearl chuckled. ‘What about you, Thora? Any nice plans?’
‘Oh…’ Thora looked down at her plate. ‘The usual, I guess. Make sure the twins eat, check their homework is done, then I’ll probably have a bath and head to bed with a book.’
She gave a small shrug but kept the smile on her face. She liked her quiet evenings once the twins were home, relishing the calm solitude and being able to please herself. Yes, she sometimes yearned for company, especially at Christmas. Some adult company of themale variety.It had been five years since she’d split from the twin’s dad and the things she missed the most were having someone there to talk to when Rosie and Reggie were out or upstairs in their rooms. Having someone to snuggle on the sofa while she binged Netflix. Having someone to warm her feet on in bed. Having someone to hug her on the days when she felt low or worried about an unexpected bill. Her marriage hadn’t been particularly romantic, but she had enjoyedthe comfort of having a partner in life, and being alone was even more difficult because she’d once had that.
Thora knew she’d done the right thing splitting from Finn because he was now far happier than he’d been during the years of their marriage. He was in a relationship with a very handsome massage therapist called Titus Pinnock and they were deeply in love. Finn hadn’t known he was gay during their marriage; he’d admitted this to her when they’d discussed divorce, but he had thought he might be bisexual. However, following their separation, he spent time in self-reflection and therapy, ultimately accepting he was gay. Thora had gone along to some therapy sessions with Finn so they could work everything through together. It had helped her to understand that it wasn’t about her — it was simply who Finn was. He’d suppressed his feelings for years because his father had been a very strict military officer who wouldn’t have tolerated Finn being gay. However, his death unlocked Finn’s suppressed emotions. They had come in a tremendous rush like a flash flood over a dry riverbed, and taken some time to sink in, but sink in they had, and now Finn was living as his truest self. It made Thora happy to see him comfortable in his own skin, even if she wished she could find similar happiness herself. But she wasn’t one to grumble or dwell on what she didn’t have, preferring to celebrate with an attitude of gratitude.
‘That sounds like a fabulous evening, and I think I’ll be doing the same.’ Pearl picked up her mug and finished her mulled wine. ‘I’ll probably need an early night after this wine, anyway.’
‘Me too.’ Thora sipped her wine and then helped herself to another mince pie. It wouldn’t help her waistline, but she reasoned that without another body in her bed to keep her warm, the food would give her some extra padding. With winterbeing a time of big, baggy jumpers and long scarves, she’d have plenty of ways to cover up any extra pounds from all the delicious food she enjoyed at The Cornish Garden Café.
2
LUCAS GRANT
Pulling up outside the house he’d grown up in was not something Lucas had imagined himself doing anytime soon. And that was silly, really, because he’d known this day would eventually come. His father, Eddy, was getting older, and as he lived alone and had no other children, it was up to Lucas to look out for him and to help him sort his affairs.
Bile filled his mouth at the wordaffairs…
He meant affairs of a financial and practical sense, but over the years the word had held less savoury connotations for Lucas and his mum. Shaking the thought away, he inhaled deeply and prepared himself to go inside. He paid the taxi driver, then grabbed his laptop bag and suitcase and climbed out. He glanced around at the familiar street, then walked up to the garden gate. Placing a hand on the cold iron, he paused as memories of his childhood washed over him, of his rocky adolescence and of the times when he’d broughtherhere.
His heart lurched as the cold wintery breeze enveloped him, rocking him on his feet and sending icy shivers down his spine. It may be years since he’d seen her, but he could recall her faceas clearly as if he’d seen her yesterday. Once upon a time, she was everything to him, and then she walked away, leaving him alone.
And that was just the way he liked it these days. Alone. Single. Free from stress and trying to please someone else. Free from the responsibility of worrying about hurting another person or disappointing them. Because there was nothing worse than being a disappointment.
Shuddering, he pushed open the heavy gate, carefully closing it to avoid the dangerous spring. He’d asked his father to change it several times after it had nearly kneecapped him and the postman, but the older man had refused. He’d said that anyone entering his garden should only do so if they had a legitimate reason for being there, and if not, then they deserved to lose a limb. Typical of his father…
‘Come on, Lucas, get inside,’ he muttered, forcing his feet to move along the path and up to the door. He fumbled in his pocket for the key and slid it into the lock, but then he knocked anyway, not wanting to startle his father.
The hallway was cold, not a shock as his father had always been reluctant to spend money on heating the house, but it also smelt stale — like frying fish, damp and mouldering newspapers. He put his case down at the bottom of the staircase along with his laptop bag and shrugged out of his padded jacket. After he’d hung it on the wooden coat hanger near the door, he called out, ‘Dad? It’s me. I’m home.’
He paused, straining to hear a clue about where his father would be right now. It was eleven thirty in the morning so there was a chance that his father was still in the kitchen doing the crossword or that he was watching TV in the lounge.
Crossing the parquet flooring, he noticed how it tugged at the soles of his shoes, sticky as flypaper. When had his father last cleaned? It seemed like he’d tipped fluids all over it and left them there for months. Of course, Lucas wouldn’t know because he hadn’t been home in … in years.
The lounge was empty, the curtains still drawn against the morning light. The grate was dark, the room cold and musty, with the scent of damp stronger here.
He made for the kitchen and when he entered the large room with French doors that overlooked the rear garden, he spotted his father hunched over the table. Frowning, he stared at the newspaper spread across the table, his upper lip pulled back over his teeth like a growling wolf.
‘Dad?’ Lucas said, waiting near the doorway as if needing an acknowledgment to come forwards. His instincts screamed at him to run, to get out of there and never come back, but unfortunately for him, this time he couldn’t do that. This time, he had to stay and help his father to sort things out. He’d known this when they’d spoken on the phone a week ago and his father had seemed a bit confused. Lucas had been noticing this confusion for a while, but it seemed to be worse some days than others. He had been forced to return to assess the situation in person to see if some intervention was needed.
‘Dad!’ His voice this time was sharper, more assertive.
Eddy Grant raised his head slowly, as if he had people saying his name in the kitchen doorway all day long and this was nothing unusual. He frowned and then pushed his glasses up on his head. Rubbed his red nose. Coughed into a gnarled hand.
‘Oh … It’s you.’
Lucas pressed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He’d once read that this was an effective technique for dealing with stress and anxiety and since then he’d tried it more than once. He wasn’t sure if it worked, but he’d try anything to stay calm when facing his father’s coldness.
‘Hi, Dad.’ He approached the table and pulled out a chair. ‘How are you?’
His father scowled up at him, his glasses still perched on his bald head, his grey eyes matching the colour of his scruffy beard.
