‘Miles is bringing Thai.’
‘That’s basically the definition of a hot date for me these days.’
‘It’s just dinner, a nice cosy night.’
‘And the way you’re smiling about it isn’t giving anything away at all,’ Annabelle teased. ‘A fun-filled night awaits you. Daise gets a sleepover of a very different kind from her daughters…’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘Shut up, Bells.’
Daisy followed Annabelle through the hallway into the kitchen, the floor echoing as the girls’ voices faded upstairs. The kitchen, as usual, looked straight out of a glossy interiors magazine that normally resided on a posh coffee table. It was all very Annabelle; classy, understated, beautiful, and somehow spotless no matter what time of day or night you turnedup. A nice fat bank balance, twice-weekly cleaner and interior addiction enabled it all.
The old flagstone floor was worn in a way that hinted at both expensive renovation and the actual patina of age. The walls were painted a soft putty colour that probably had a ridiculous name, and along one side, cupboards framed a range cooker, in addition to its sister, the permanently on Aga. A brass rail held fancy French tea towels and a stack of neatly arranged cast-iron pans sat below. On the central island, which was big enough to land a small plane, an oversized wide white bowl was filled with lemons and a board with a loaf of sourdough was half covered with a linen tea towel. The windows above the butler sink were flung open, and a breeze drifted in gently, moving a linen-striped blind just enough to make the whole thing look like it had been staged by a film set designer. Probably because it had, at least metaphorically, by Annabelle herself. If there was one thing Annabelle did well, it was interiors.
Daisy dropped her handbag on one of the kitchen stools and sank into the one beside it. ‘This kitchen is so nice, it’s offensive. How are there no crumbs? Where are the abandoned pieces of toast everywhere? The blob of jam that ends up welded to the worktop?’
Annabelle chuckled and opened the cupboard that held her mugs, which were all gloriously matching cream with little hand-painted patterns. ‘You should know by now I run a strict “no crumb left behind” policy. Also, Piers cleaned up after breakfast. I think he’s afraid of what happens if I find a crust under the toaster.’ She put two mugs on the island and opened a tea tin, then moved over to a boiling water tap and filled the teapot. Of course, she had a boiling water tap. ‘How’s the shop doing? Have you had a busy day?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘Good.’ Daisy pulled her hair out of its topknot, ran her fingers through it and twisted it all up again. ‘It’s all been abit bonkers today. I had something to sort out for Pete, the bakery admin and I had to clean the shop before opening tomorrow. Also, someone posted a reel of the shop that has gone everywhere. Did Maggie tell you? People tagged their book clubs and all sorts. I got an email from a woman in Hampshire asking if I’ll post her a personalised book bundle because she “trusts my taste implicitly”.’
Annabelle jiggled the lid on the teapot. ‘Ooh, I haven’t seen that! Well, you do have excellent taste. That and you’re good at talking about books without sounding like you’re trying to sell them, which I reckon is a very niche skill.’
‘It’s all a bit strange. Lovely, but strange.’ Daisy thought about the fact that while far from rolling around in money, overall, the fact that she was no longer paying rent had worked for her like a charm.
‘A strange success.’
‘Yeah, it has taken off quite well. Lotta’s involvement was gold, I reckon.’
Annabelle nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah. It certainly helped it get some traction right from the word go.’
‘For sure. However, I can’t help wondering how long it’ll last. You know? It’s very early days.’
Annabelle poured the tea, pushed a little jug of milk across the counter, and raised her eyebrows. ‘Why wouldn’t it last?’
‘Because it’s me. I’ve spent the better part of the last few years just about holding things together. I can do panic, I can do scraping by, but success? That’s uncharted territory for me. It feels weird.’
‘Rubbish!’ Annabelle handed Daisy a mug. ‘You’ve worked your socks off. You didn’t just luck into this, Daise. You made it happen. Remember all those nights you stayed there working until the early hours, got a few hours’ sleep and then started again all before the twins were even up?’
‘Yeah, well, I also nearly set fire to the back room last week with a dodgy lamp. So, I’m not exactly businesswoman of the year.’
Annabelle chuckled. ‘You didn’t mention that in your last update on Instagram.’
‘No, because you’d have taken the lamp away and replaced it with something worth more than my car.’ Daisy stared into her mug. ‘I just hope I don’t mess it all up.’
Annabelle gave her a look, one that had followed Daisy since they were little. Half loving, half “pull yourself together”. ‘You won’t. You’ll worry, you’ll overthink, you’ll question everything, but you won’t mess it up. The Henley family won’t let you. We are Henley girls, we do not mess things up.’
You don’t.
As they sipped their tea, the sounds of the girls wafted down from upstairs: a thud, followed by shrieking laughter and then the squeak of a door opening and slamming.
Annabelle didn’t even flinch. ‘They’re fine.’
‘They packed last night like they were heading off on a ten-day expedition.’
‘They’re funny. Once you’ve gone, we’ll walk to the park and I’ll get them supper.’
Daisy glanced over at the large fridge tucked behind a cleverly disguised cabinet. ‘What have they got? Something Ottolenghi-inspired? Prepped by candlelight while you sipped wine and listened to Radio 4.’
Annabelle didn’t miss a beat. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, it was Nigella. Anyway, you’re the one who is going to be surrounded by romance and candlelight this evening, not me. How is it with Miles?’
