‘To visit her mum.’
‘Oh.’ I turned back around, dropping Giraffe into the pile of road-trip necessities filling up the footwell.Oh.
A revamped 1970s floor-filler reverberated through the car as the glow of the sunset bathed everything with nature’s own disco lights. I found a teething ring in my bag, which Hope chewed down on eagerly. The bittersweet memory of Charlie filled the space between us.
‘Sorry. I know you’ve had other priorities than family fun days out in the past few months.’
Daniel sighed. ‘No. You’re right. It’s not fair on Hope to have a dad who’s too busy to do anything beyond getting her through each day. It’s hardly what her mum would have wanted. I need to sort something so she can be properly looked after in the week, and then I’m free to give her my full attention at the weekends.’
‘Either that or you give up your job and work with me and Becky, at hours to suit you.’
Daniel grinned. ‘I don’t think I’m quite cut out to be a lifestyle guru.’
‘You can change beds and set tables. Plus, I’ve got so many plans for the garden that’ll be a full-time job in itself.’
‘I’m going to be cleaner and caretaker, then?’
I shrugged. ‘There’s accounting and admin, too, if you really can’t live without spreadsheets. But I bet Hope would love to help her daddy bring the farm back to life.’
‘If only it were that simple, I’d resign tomorrow. As idyllic as it sounds, the farm’s not going to pay my bills or provide for Hope’s future.’
‘Your outgoings are practically nothing. Your biggest expenditure is a Friday night pizza. Let’s see how this weekend goes, see what my parents have to say, and when we get back we can look at the numbers.’
‘Maybe.’
‘There’s no maybe about how you and Hope will suffer if you don’t start taking more days off.’
‘Okay, well, your lecture has been sufficiently boring to send her back to sleep, so can we change the subject now?’
We did. We changed the subject more times than I can remember – meandering through childhood memories, dream destinations and whether halloumi is really all it’s cracked up to be or simply cheese that squeaks.
As the shadows crept across the dashboard, Daniel’s playlist softened into easy-listening classics and Hope snoozed gently behind us, I wondered if I’d ever spoken at such length and in such depth to anyone before. Charlie had spent a lot of time with me, but so often I had deferred to her opinions and ideas – not because she chose to dominate, but because I chose to tag along in her shadow. Becky was starting to get to know me, and we had chatted about everything from the evolution of feminism to what on earth Alice was still doing with Jase – which, to some extent, I supposed were the same topic.
But with Daniel, it was different. A whole new level of getting to know someone, and letting them know me.
Except not all of me, of course.
Every time I talked about places I’d been or people I’d hung out with, my role at the newspaper, let alone how I’d ended up there, I had to censor my stories. Who was I kidding? I had to outright lie.
It was well after ten when I directed Daniel down the gravelly lane that led to the Tufted Duck. The only lights were the lamps bobbing on the boats in the marina to one side of us, and the cosy glow from the lanterns my parents had strung up along the porch up ahead.
We swerved around the side of the house to the staff car park at the rear. I gently scooped a rosy-cheeked, sleep-addled Hope out of the car while Daniel grabbed what bags he could manage.
‘Are you sure they’re expecting us?’ Daniel whispered as I led him through the garden that was advertised as ‘a stone’s throw from the lake’, which might be true if an Olympic athlete was the one launching the stone. ‘It looks deserted.’
I smiled. ‘It’s nearly 10.30. The Tufted Duck clientele will all be safely tucked up in bed by now. This isn’t the kind of establishment to encourage late-night carousing.’
At that moment, the kitchen door flew open and we were confronted with the silhouette of an elderly woman wearing a flannel nightgown and a head-scarf, brandishing an umbrella that looked to be nearly as long as she was tall.
‘Who goes there?’ she warbled, pointing the umbrella at us through the dark. ‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’
‘It’s fine!’ I called, hastily passing Hope to Daniel before hurrying over, taking the end of the makeshift weapon and attempting to point it somewhere other than my face. ‘It’s me, Eleanor.’
‘A likely story!’ she growled, managing to jerk the umbrella away and make a thrusting jab at my stomach. Thankfully, her strength was about as effectual as her speed, and I had plenty of time to side-step the attack and move close enough into the kitchen light for her to see my face.
‘Look, Grandma, it’s me.’ I placed one hand on her shoulder and smiled.
Squinting up at me, she took a moment to decide whether to believe her own eyes before grudgingly lowering the umbrella. ‘You’re late. Wendy and Colin are in bed.’
