Darby settled herself on one of the barstools that was tucked under the kitchen island and flicked her eyes between the view and Archie as he opened a range oven and pulled out a rectangular cast-iron casserole dish. A plethora of herbs, garlicand all sorts of delicious smells wafted in her direction. On first impressions, he could cook, too. Hashtag keeper. Darby inhaled. ‘Yum. I hope I can take a goodie bag home.’ Darby did not want to go home. Ever. ‘Do you love the house?’
'I do. This place came on the market just when I was starting to think I might have to look further afield. You know what it’s like in Pretty Beach. It’s so tightly held. It needed quite a bit of work on the kitchen and bathrooms, but the rest of it was maintained well. The bones were good and the location was exactly where I wanted. Yeah, so here I am. It works for me.'
It worked for Darby, alright. 'It's absolutely perfect. A nice place to come home to after a day of wrestling with Grade II listed walls, if you ask me.'
'For sure. Sometimes my job does my brain in, to be honest. Lots of planning applications and heritage reports and trying to convince councils that sometimes the best way to preserve old buildings is to actually use them rather than just wrapping them in cotton wool. What do I know, though?'
'Sounds tricky.'
'I've developed what my ex-wife used to call my professional persona. Very calm, very reasonable, very committed to working within the system rather than ranting.'
Darby noticed the casual way he mentioned his ex-wife without any bitterness. He’d clearly moved on and the whole thing was amicable. Unlike any of the three menshe’dbeen involved with.
The timer on the oven went off and Archie pulled out another dish. It was fair to say that Darby was impressed. They were a long way from IKEA meatballs and chips. Rice mixed with herbs and spices, pieces of chicken that had been cooked until they were falling apart, pomegranate seeds and olive oil. The kitchen wafted with the scent of herbs and cinnamon. 'That looks and smells delish.’
'I've probably cooked this dish fifty times, so I've had plenty of opportunities to work out what goes wrong and how to fix it.'
'It’s your party piece, is it?'
'Yeah, the next time you come for dinner, you’ll probably get pasta with shop-bought sauce or a jacket potato with cheese. This is me at my absolute culinary peak, so I hope you appreciate the effort.'
‘Noted.’ Darby laughed and joked, adoring that he’d mentioned a next time because most certainly she was up for a next time. She bantered and loved it. 'I'm very flattered that you've deployed your skills for my benefit.'
'I aim to please.'
About fifteen minutes later, the chicken dish was wearing a lovely scattering of fresh parsley, Darby’s wine had been topped up, and a green salad had appeared in a very nice wooden serving bowl. Sitting at a small table by one of the kitchen windows with the killer view and with two candlesticks flickering away, Darby felt dreamlike and there was the ‘H’ word again, only this time it was wearing a capital. Happy. In fact, all the letters were capitals.
Archie dished up a couple of portions. 'Right then, let's see if this is as nice as it looks.’
The first mouthful confirmed that he had been underselling his culinary abilities just like he’d waved off the fabulousness of his house. How attractive was that? Mmm, very. Darby chuckled. ‘You were clearly underselling yourself. I’ll come again, ha. This is absolutely delicious. I think I need to raise my game.'
'It’s taken me a long time to be able to do this, and let me tell you, when it’s a meal for one, I don’t have this sort of thing.'
Darby nodded and thought about the dreaded toast for dinner she’d had often over the previous few years. 'It's hardto motivate yourself to create elaborate meals when you're only cooking for one sometimes, isn’t it?'
‘Indeed. I lived almost entirely on sandwiches and takeaways for a while because I couldn't see the point of cooking for myself. In the end, I sort of shamed myself into having decent meals.'
‘Oh, I hear you.’
The conversation shifted to Archie’s sons. ‘They stay here every other weekend and for chunks of the school holidays. Having them here regularly was a big part of why I wanted a house rather than a flat. They needed their own space. I miss them when they’re not here, but you know…'
'Oh, I know! When my children left home, I felt like I'd lost my primary job without having any idea what I was supposed to do next. It's strange how much of your sense of self can be tied up in taking care of other people.'
'I still can’t believe you have three adult children and you're forty-one.’
Darby flushed. Funny how when he said the same thing every other person ever said to her, she didn’t mind it. ‘Everyone says that. I was very young and very stupid.’
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘Not stupid as such. I love my girls. They are the best thing that ever happened to me, but I wastooyoung.’ Darby changed the subject. She didn’t really want to talk about her children, not because she didn’t love them, but because she wanted the date to be all about her. She pointed to the ceiling. 'What sort of work did the house need?'
Archie took the hint. 'The usual things you get with old coastal properties. Some of the weatherboards needed replacing, the kitchen and bathroom were stuck in about 1995, and the heating system belonged in a museum, although to be fair, it did still work. But the structure was sound and the previous ownerhad maintained everything properly, even if he hadn't updated it.'
'How long did the renovation take?'
'About eighteen months, working on it gradually rather than trying to do everything at once. I wanted to live in it while I was working on it.'
'I keep looking at my place and thinking about all the things I'd like to change, but it feels completely overwhelming, which is why I’ve not done much.'
