‘Sure,’ the contractor said. ‘Believe me, I’ve seen a lot worse.’
Nick was nodding but not seeing a kitchen at all. There were four walls and a floor, something resembling a ceiling above them, though the network of ancient wires and pipes made the space appear more like the aftermath of a multi-car pileup than a catering kitchen.
The restaurant area was no better. In fact, it was worse. A previous flood meant the floor had been ripped up, but not until the sodden plaster of the ceiling above had been dragged down.
‘I have to be open by the end of September. I need to build a buzz in the run-up to Christmas.’
Trevor, his builder, unfolded his thick arms and swiped a hand across Nick’s back. ‘Mate, the plans are finalised, and I’ve got eight of my best men on the job. I’ve done dozens of restaurants, so relax. I’m talking with the architect on a daily basis, so you just need to get working on your menu, interview your staff and pick some wallpaper. OK?’
The décor. That would have been Jess’s job. The furniture, the flooring, the lighting, the paint, right down to the colour of the soap in the toilets would have been her department. She’d have loved every minute of it.
‘I’ll need an interior designer. I don’t have a clue about that sort of stuff.’ Nick’s mobile phone was vibrating in his pocket.
‘I know someone,’ Trevor said, turning to one of his builders.
‘Hello, Nick speaking.’ He didn’t recognise the number. He walked up to the window that overlooked the small yard, wondering what was stirring inside him.
‘Claire? Claire Lucas, how the hell are you? It’s so good to hear from you.’ He didn’t think he conveyed how much he actually meant this.
In a daze, he stared out to where the industrial-sized dustbins were stored. The enormity of what he’d taken on still made him wake up at night in terror.
‘I’m really well,’ she said back. ‘It’s lovely to hear your voice, Nick. How are things with you?’ She sounded bright and sweet and hardly any different to when they’d last spoken, which must be about five or six years ago.
‘Things have been, you know, OK. Up and down.’ He couldn’t possibly tell her everything on the phone. It would be hard enough face-to-face. ‘And I’ve finally bought my own restaurant. It looks more like a war zone at the moment though.’ He attempted a laugh.
‘That’s great news,’ Claire said, although he sensed she was holding something back.
Nick imagined her there with him – taking her hand and showing her around the empty space, telling her all about his crazy plans, how he’d only be serving organically grown and locally sourced food, all the dishes inspired by different times in his life. He was even sketching out a cookbook, had a vision of himself being interviewed on television, and the restaurant becoming a favourite with celebrities. And then the emptiness set in. Doing it all alone just wasn’t any fun. If he thought too hard about what had happened, all he really wanted to do was burn the place down. With him trapped inside.
‘Callum’s fine, thanks,’ she said in response to a question he hadn’t realised he’d asked. ‘Marcus went and got all grown up and Amy’s six now.’
Nick’s heart skipped. She’d been a baby last time he’d seen Claire. The child had broken his heart as well as melted it, drawing a line under what would never be his.
‘How’s the lovely Jess, then? And what about Isobel? She must be a teenager now.’ Claire laughed so sweetly it almost made everything seem all right, as if none of it had happened.
Nick was aware of Trevor approaching, glancing at his watch. It was Saturday morning and the men had only come in for a couple of hours as a favour.
‘Things have happened, Claire.’ He hoped she wouldn’t probe further.
‘OK,’ was her slow, tactful reply. She added a little cough as punctuation. ‘I’m calling because I’m organising a reunion. It’s for Dad.’
Nick listened as she explained everything. He mouthed ‘two minutes’ to his builder.
‘So will you come to Trevellin in July?’ She paused but then added, ‘It’ll be twenty-one years soon.’
‘That long?’
‘She’d be thirty-four.’
They were both silent for a moment.
‘Claire, I’ve got someone with me. Can I call you later?’
‘Sure. On this number though.’
‘Right,’ Nick said to Trevor, after adding her to his contacts and putting his phone back in his pocket. ‘We’ve got a restaurant to open.’ And for some reason – the first time in many months – a tiny smile lifted the side of his mouth. He felt scared admitting it, but it almost felt good.
Chapter Seven
Shona heard her granddaughter before she saw her. Perfect timing, she thought, smiling, as she dusted the cake with icing sugar. The kettle was simmering on the Aga as Claire and Amy gambolled with Russ across the farmyard towards the house. She watched as two of the dearest people to her in the world approached the back door, feeling love and warmth seep through her.
But she also couldn’t help feeling that the welcome she was about to offer – the cake, the tea and the chit-chat – were a mask for reality. Inside, everything hurt.
‘My darling Amy,’ Shona said, going outside to greet them and scooping her grandchild under her arms. She was still just able to lift her and wouldn’t consider herself old until she couldn’t. ‘You wait till you see what Grandma’s got for you.’
‘A present?’ Amy dropped down, scurrying inside.
Claire laughed. ‘Hi, Mum.’ She gave her a kiss. ‘Something smells good.’
‘Just a sponge cake.’ Shona left the door open so Russ, Callum’s Labrador, could come and go as he pleased. ‘And don’t chase the chickens,’ she told the old brown dog, though she didn’t think he’d have the energy.
‘It’s so warm,’ Claire said, fanning herself with her straw hat.
‘Summer at last,’ Shona replied. ‘Earl Grey?’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘And all this, young lady, is for you.’
Amy’s alert green eyes tracked Shona to the corner of the large kitchen. There seemed little point in ever using the rest of the house when this room had an open fire, the cooking range, comfy old sofas and the French doors leading out to the garden. No one ever called at the front door unless they were on official business, and countless dogs and kids and even chickens had tramped in and out for as long as Shona could remember. So far, everyone seemed to believe that selling up was what she actually wanted to do. It wasn’t.
‘This box,’ Shona began, as Amy sat down cross-legged on the rug, ‘is full of toys from a long time ago. You won’t find any noisy electronic gadgets in here.’
Amy gasped with joy and Shona left her to delve inside the box. She turned to Claire, who was filling the teapot. ‘I’ve been having a sort-out,’ she said quietly. She knew there would be a reaction, she just wasn’t sure what yet.
Claire glanced over to Amy as she pulled a pretty rag doll from the box. Her daughter squealed with delight. ‘Mum, no.’ She was wide-eyed.
‘Yes, love,’ Shona replied firmly although inside she didn’t feel at all firm about her decision at all. ‘It’s long overdue.’
‘But—’
‘They’ve sat collecting dust in her room for over two decades.’
They both knew there was little hope now, even though they’d always tried to keep positive. Months after the police had found her shorts in a ditch, even the detective in charge of the case said the chances of finding her alive were slim.
‘I just don’t think it’s right.’ Claire went over to Amy. ‘You’ll have to put those back, I’m afraid, sweetie. Grandma made a mistake.’