Examining the door hinges on a row of cupboards behind her, she realised it would be simple to whip off the doors, paint the shelves, add pretty knobs and hooks and if her budget could stretch to it, invest in a few appliances. She pulled out a pen and started noting lists and ideas as she leant against the worktop with her mind going nineteen to the dozen. With the Pinterest image open, she noted what she would need to do to get the look of the eclectic Somerset writer-owned kitchen. Her list included, but was not limited to, removing cupboard doors, sanding and painting interior shelves, adding mug hooks, finding nice baskets for onions, garlic and lemons, sourcing a cheap way to get a hanging rack for pans, hunting for a stand-alone dresser style unit for plates and glasses, new knobs and checking the hospice shop in the Old Town for old stools.
Pausing, Daisy looked around again, trying to visualise the tiny kitchen barely big enough to swing a cat as a version of the Pinterest board in her hand. She could see it if she really squinted and used her imagination; open shelves with her crockery on show, a row of her favourite mugs dangling above the kettle. She chuckled as she imagined her saucepans hanging on the wall like she lived in a cookery show and maybe if she really pushed the boat out, a new light fitting instead of the sad old one with the dusty shade that had definitely been there since the eighties, if not before and had Uncle Dennis written all over it.
Feeling quite pleased with herself as she scanned her list and realised that what she was proposing was doable, she tried to ascertain the amount of work and a timeline. In actual fact, if she got her head down, it wouldn’t take too long at all. Flipping the page on her pad, she jotted down a rough budget, guessed at prices she’d seen in the little hardware shop near the Spar and wondered how long it would take her to find what she wanted second-hand on Marketplace or on clearance.
Mulling over the list, Daisy tucked it just beneath the jug of flowers and made her way over to the little alcove by the back door where she kept string bags and the boot tray. Giving the tray a nudge back into place, she moved a pair of sandy flip-flops to the side and crouched to straighten up a pile of thrifted books and recipe cuttings that had built up on the shelf above and pottered around thinking about updating the kitchen on a minuscule budget. Musing suchlike was exactly the sort of thing she’d never had time to do since opening the shop, working her other two jobs and looking after the twins. But with Miles on his way with dinner, the girls safely deposited at Annabelle’s, and a bit of quiet in the house and that thing they called her brain for once had a spot of breathing space. Time to think about gettingthe place looking halfway decent and a plan on how she was going to spruce it up.
Her stomach grumbled at the thought of the Thai food on its way and she shook her head at how nice it was to be having takeaway at all. Opening the fridge, she scanned the shelves out of habit; a bottle of tonic water, a lonely half cucumber, a bottle of half empty Hendricks, half a dozen eggs, wine, a jar of chutney she didn’t remember buying and the yoghurts Margot and Evie wereobsessedwith. All classic signs that she needed to do a proper food shop, but also a reminder of how far she’d come. There’d been a time not all that long before when the fridge had been a place she’d avoided both looking into too closely and knowing its precise contents at any given time. Back before the chandler property, making her food shopping stretch had been a full-time sport. Now, she felt as if someone had loosened that noose from around her neck. The worry was nowhere near as bad, she could allow herself not to meal plan down to the last egg and even revel in the pleasurable laziness that came from a takeaway. Oh, how things had changed.
Adding a couple of pretty things to the table, she took a large vintage jug from the cupboard, sliced a lemon and grabbed some mint from a tub by the back door and swirled it all around in a lovely little calm and happy clink. Taking another walk around the room, as if checking it from every angle might somehow magic it into something else, Daisy continued to ascertain its potential. The floor tiles had hope that they could brush up well, even if there was a chip in one that looked like a dog’s face if you squinted in the right light. As she mused, she noted that whatever the state of the kitchen, it had done its job. She’d made a hundred cups of tea in it since moving in, she’d cried into the washing-up when she’d thought Miles had ghosted her, she’d wrapped birthday presents at the table when the girls were asleep and even once had sat under the open window onthe phone to Maggie with a hot water bottle under her jumper, trying to feel something other than utterly exhausted. Uncle Dennis’s kitchen had heard her talking to herself, to her girls, to the kettle, to the walls and wondering more than once if the move had been the right thing. If the kitchen had been missing life since Uncle Dennis had passed away, Daisy Henley had certainly brought it back with a bang and then some. Now she was going to give it not only life but Daisy-fy it to the max.
She spoke to one of the old cupboards on the wall as if it were a person. ‘Yep, we’ll fix you up. Bit by bit.’
The bell from the front dinged just as she was wiping the handle of the fridge; it stopped her spiralling further into a Pinterest fantasy whereby she was the owner of a Nigella-esque kitchen, all cost-of-a-car fridges and shiny mortgage-level pans. Passing through the bookshop, it glowed: the fairy lights were on, the armchairs looked inviting, and the whole place smelled of books, lavender, Annabelle’s candle and calm. Daisy thought again how good old-fashioned lucky she was. Not in a smug, grand, dramatic look-at-me-and-my-bookshop kind of way, but in a quiet, thank goodness sort of everyday way. A sense of having created something out of the mess of her life. As if she’d pushed and swum and gulped her way up from being underwater and found the air.
Sliding back the old-fashioned inner cage security gate, she unlocked the door and opened it with a smile. Miles stood there, balancing a large brown paper carrier in one hand and a smaller bag tucked under his arm. Wearing jeans and a soft-looking jumper, Daisy secretly swooned as she felt the lucky feeling multiply by a billion trillion.Oh, yeah, baby.
Right away, she bantered as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as inside she felt like saying a prayer to the relationship gods. ‘You didn’t have to bring enough food for a wedding party. It’s only the two of us!’
Miles kissed her cheek as he passed. ‘I know how much you like leftovers, so I ordered anything I liked the look of. I have found it’s a very good strategy for knowing what is for dinner for the rest of the week.’
Loving that he was right, Daisy shut the door behind him and followed him through to the kitchen, watching as he took in the tealights, the clean table, and the flowers in the jug.
‘Well, this is very charming. Have I walked into an actual supper club?’
Daisy laughed. ‘Don’t get used to it. It’s a one-night-only event. I was avoiding my inbox and I went down a Pinterest well. I now have plans for this kitchen that involve painting, Suntanned Pete and hard work.’
Miles started to take the food containers out of the bag. ‘Oh, right, does this hard work involve my skills? Am I lucky to be included? You’d be surprised to know that I know my way around a power drill and wall plugs.’
Daisy passed him a glass of wine. ‘You’re lucky every day, Miles. Don’t you forget it.’
He lifted the glass in a mock toast. ‘To takeaway and low lighting.’
‘The best kind of date night.’
Miles sat down at the little table and looked around as Daisy put the takeaway containers in the oven. He peered past her at the far cupboards. ‘You’ve done something here, already, have you? It looks different.’
‘No, I haven’t. I’ve just tidied up and cleaned. It’s all a bit tired, don’t you think?’
Miles looked around. ‘Tired maybe, but it’s still you. It’s got charm or at least it’s lurking somewhere...’
Daisy raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s a nice way of saying it looks like I’ve been too busy to do anything since I moved in.Which is accurate. I feel as if the ghost of Uncle Dennis is peering out at me from the cupboard doors.’
‘Well, it smells good in here. It always smells good in here.’
Daisy handed him a glass of water, tucking one leg underneath her. ‘I think it’s the candles.’ She pointed to a row of wall cupboards. ‘I’m going to take the cupboard doors off and go for that open shelving look.’
Miles paused. ‘On purpose?’
Daisy showed him her list and joked. ‘Yup. Open shelving, then I can hang mugs from hooks and do those baskets where people keep their veg as if they’re running a smallholding.’
Miles squinted at the row of overhead cupboards on the other side of the kitchen. ‘You could pull it off with a bit of work.’
‘You think?’
‘Definitely, very umm, slow living. Though I draw the line at chickens outside the back door.’
Daisy chuckled. ‘Ha. They’re next on my list.’
