‘Good, um…’ he trailed off.
Laurel was straight on him. ‘What?’
‘Is everything okay with Hibbert? With your dad?’ he asked quietly, hoping not to be overheard by anyone.
‘Kind of, and no,’ she said. ‘Look, Nate, I’ve got to go.’
‘Okay, talk to you later,’ he started to say, but she’d already hung up.
Huh. Rude.
Nate set his phone carefully on the grass next to him, putting Paul’s papers underneath so they didn’t blow away in the light breeze.
That was okay, he had stuff to do anyway, and she was busy and stressed.
He had the funding visit to put together, which he had been putting off for a while, but it was creeping closer. Alex needed chasing because he would have to attend to lend BAS’s weight to the dig.
He hated this part of his job with a passion. He was an archaeologist, he was supposed to say things like ‘this belongs in a museum’, not ‘could I have a couple of hundred thousand to support this dig of a possible Anglo-Saxon burial site’.
The schmoozing part of his job was the worst.
Laurel
Well, of course, Old Man Hibbert took the deal.
He couldn’t not take the deal, unless he wanted his son involved in an incredibly large, long and public legal battle. George never admitted it, but they all knew he’d done it. The jungle drums in Lower Houghton would be banging nice and loud and everyone in town would know within approximately three hours’ time. David, the worst policeman she’d ever known, was also the worst gossip she had ever met.
Laurel was sitting in Rebecca’s back garden, Jack putting the twins to bed.
‘And he hasn’t talked to you since?’ Rebecca asked, placing a nice full glass of cold white wine in front of her.
Laurel shook her head sadly.
‘No, not one word.’
‘He’ll come around though,’ Rebecca said, sipping her own glass and propping her feet on the bottom rung of the kids’ slide.
‘We’ll see, you know what he’s like. It’ll be like the Cold War now for ages,’ Laurel groaned.
‘Yeah, but your dad always comes around in the end,’ Rebecca repeated.
Laurel scowled. He did come around in the end, but only after everyone had been made to feel the wrath of his disapproval. Half the time, she just apologised, even if she wasn’t in the wrong, so everyone could move on.
Not this time though. She was not in the wrong this time.
George Hibbert could have ruined their business, and she was only doing what any good business person would do. Why couldn’t her father see that? Why couldn’t Jack see that? Jack, usually her supportive, level-headed brother, thought asking for Hibbert’s fields was ‘over the line’. Would they prefer to see awful, gentrified houses built on that land? Would they prefer the business to go under? For them to lose their home? Their mother’s home? No, they wouldn’t.
So why did she feel so guilty?
‘I won’t stay long, I’ll have this then go,’ Laurel said, resting her head on the back of the chair.
What. A. Day.
‘Why don’t you just stay here?’ Rebecca asked. ‘You’ve been cleaning the sign and the wall all afternoon.’
Laurel swivelled her head to look at her.
‘No. I can’t. I want to go home.’
