'Of course. I'll make sure I'm available.’ Cally lowered her voice. ‘Have you heard anything about Octavia?’
'Not well, I'm afraid. She's still in shock. Can't quite believe it's real.'
Cally nodded. 'I can't even imagine.’
Doreen clicked her fingers. ‘All those dreams and plans, gone in an instant.'
'It's strange, isn't it? How life just goes on,' Cally gestured towards the fields. 'The flowers are still blooming, the birds arestill singing. It feels like the whole world should stop, but it doesn't.'
Doreen nodded. 'That's the way of things, I'm afraid. The world keeps turning, as they say.'
'I suppose.’
'Speaking of life going on,' Doreen said, glancing at her watch, 'I'd better get back to work.'
‘I hope you’re okay. I know it can't be easy organising all of this.'
'It's the least I can do.'
With that, Doreen picked up her recycling containers and headed off towards the main house, leaving Cally standing by the bins. After depositing her recycling, she walked back to the cottage, her mind full about the funeral. When she walked back into the kitchen, it was a vast improvement from what she’d found. The dishwasher hummed away, the worktops gleamed, fresh air came in through the window, and she’d put away stuff that had been all over the kitchen table. Strolling into the laundry room she put a load of whites on and started to fold things from the tumble dryer. Then in the sitting room, she wiped down the coffee table, plumped up the cushions, and went to the mantlepiece to dust. She sighed as she picked up a picture of Alastair and Logan in a framed photo she hadn't noticed before. Logan and Alastair, arms slung around each other's shoulders, grinning widely at the camera. They looked to be in their late teens or early twenties, standing in front of the stables. Both of them looked so happy and carefree. Putting the photo back down, she sighed, glanced at her phone, felt surprised to see how much time had passed, found her iPad, and made her way back out.
Walking down the long driveway as she stared ahead at the swathes of poppies swaying back and forth in the wind, she couldn't stop thinking about the funeral and how manypeople would be attending. How sad it was going to be. She squeezed her eyes together at what it would be like for Cecilia and Reginald dealing with the unthinkable task of burying their child.
As she reached the main gates, Cally paused and looked back towards Lovely Manor. The grand old house stood as it always had not looking any different. It appeared seemingly untouched by what was going on in and around it. Shouldering a loss that had shaken the Henry-Hicks family to its core. Cally sighed. Perhaps their life wasn’t quite as gilded after all.
28
Cally blinked one eye open, frowned, puffed out her lips and rolled over. No Logan. She propped herself up onto her elbows and frowned. She was not, in fact, dreaming. It was correct that she’d woken up to the smell of bacon, eggs and frying onions. Was there the smell of croissants, too? Whatever it was, she liked it. She checked the time on her phone. It was stillveryearly. Pulling on her pyjama top and slipping on the matching bottoms, she twirled her hair into a bun on the top of her head and made her way to the kitchen, where the bacon smell just got better. She could hear pots clanking and the coffee percolator bubbling. Logan was barefoot and bare-chested, leaning against the tiny worktop with his phone in his hand. Cally let out an inner sigh of relief that he looked a bit better.
Logan glanced up. ‘Morning, Blackcurrant.’
‘Morning. Sorry, what are you doing?’ Cally asked, gesturing around the kitchen.
‘Putting up some wallpaper.’
‘Funny.’
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’
‘I don’t know, but Idoknow it smells amazing.’
‘I am making you a good luck breakfast for your first real day in your new job. Now you’ve got the training thing over with and you’re going to be out on the road, I thought I would see you off.’
Cally shook her head. ‘Youreallydidn’t need to do that.’
‘Ireallydid. I know I’ve been a nightmare to be around...’
‘Your cousin just died.’
‘Still.’ Logan gestured into the sitting room where the table was laid with a white tablecloth, a little jug of flowers and a carafe of fresh orange juice.
Cally raised her eyebrows. ‘Wow, do I get this every day now?’
Logan widened his eyes and swore. ‘Pah, no you don’t, this has nearly killed me. You might have to live off the memory of this for a while. It’s been a task in coordination.’
About ten minutes later, Cally sat at the table with the tablecloth and the flowers, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in her hand, the coffee pot in front of her and a plate of food ready to be tucked in. Rashers of bacon sat artfully arranged next to a little gathering of avocado and rocket, a poached egg sat on top of fancy sourdough bread, tiny little circles of bright red chilli and snips of chives winked at her, and a round of homemade hash browns was nudged up on the side. Cally smiled. Not quite home-brand cornflakes. A high-ranking trust fund breakfast if ever she’d seen one.
‘So, thoughts about today?’
