A burst tyre and a slick, wet road had robbed them of their future; those dream babies that Mia had pictured holding would never fill her empty arms. ‘Shit, shit, stop it, Mia!’ She shook her head to dislodge the memories threatening to encroach.
Needing to hide for a moment to regain her compose, she crossed the kitchen and entered the narrow pantry that ran the length of the room. It was a treasure of a space. Sturdy, wide shelves down one side and a built-in wine rack at the far end. The bare stone floor helped to keep the temperature cooler than the rest of the kitchen, but was brutal underfoot this time of year, even with thick woollen socks on.
Mia grabbed the cob loaf wrapped in a muslin cloth and returned to the main kitchen space, wiggling her feet gratefully on the warmer floor in front of the Aga. She unwrapped the bread and tested its freshness. She’d baked it a couple of days ago, but the cloth had helped to keep it from drying out. Opening the fridge, she retrieved half a roast chicken, a pot of single cream and some stock. She placed them on the board and turned back towards the pantry. Daniel watched her, a slightly quizzical expression on his face.
‘I thought I’d make some soup, nothing too testing if your stomach is still feeling a little rebellious. We’ll both feel better for a hot meal, I think.’
She carried on past the table and back into the pantry to root in her vegetable basket for the bits she needed to thicken the soup and up the nutritional punch. Since moving to Orcombe, she’d made a conscious effort to eat well, having neglected herself for too long after Jamie’s death. Cooking and baking had always been a source of comfort and enjoyment. Originally it had been a chore that she had learned through necessity thanks to her mother’s negligence and her father’s steadfast refusal to notice his wife’s drink problem.
As the oldest of three, it had fallen to Mia to assume the responsibility for the day-to-day care of her two sisters. Each of them had taken on a different role to survive their upbringing. Kiki had been the pacifier, covering for their mother and making excuses for their father spending so many hours buried in his work. Nee had been the warrior protector of her elder sisters. A tiny bundle of spirit and fury from a young age, she was the one who verbally sparred with their father, driving him to distraction and the sanctuary of his study in her vain efforts to get his attention. Her exhortations to their mother to put down her glass and give a damn led to tears on both sides.
Together the girls had done their best to look out for each other but they had scattered to the winds as soon as they could. Mia and Kiki to young marriages; Nee to art school and more recently overseas. Mia glanced over to the pinboard at the postcard of Times Square lit up in all its seedy glory. She hadn’t heard from Nee since that last card had arrived about three weeks ago and it struck Mia suddenly she had no idea where her little sister was other than somewhere in Manhattan.
‘I’m not a great cook, but I take instruction well. Is there anything I can do to help?’ Daniel’s deep voice broke through her reverie.
Mia blinked at him, trying to gather her thoughts before pointing to the cooked chicken. ‘You can shred the meat from that if you don’t mind; that would be a great help. Take it over to the table with you so that you don’t get under my feet. I’m not used to anyone else in the kitchen these days.’
‘But you used to have someone else in your kitchen?’ Daniel prompted and Mia couldn’t stop her whole body from stiffening.
She kept slicing and chopping, her hands working automatically as she reeled under an assault of memories. At least Jamie had never been in this kitchen. It was her own space, manageable most days. ‘No sad stories, remember?’ She jabbed her finger at the radio on the countertop next to her.
A commercial music station filled the kitchen with a rhythmic beat and Mia flicked the volume up a couple of notches, erecting a wall of sound that separated them. She chopped the vegetables with a practiced hand, added them to a large saucepan with the chicken stock and set it to simmer on the top of the Aga.
Daniel bent to his task, stripping the meat from the carcass of the chicken, shredding it as he placed it on a clean plate. Mia paused to check his efforts before she returned to the stove, tapping a wooden spoon against the pan in time with the music as she checked the progress of the soup.
The music caught her in its rhythm and she swayed and sang along, waiting for the stock to boil. She couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she loved to sing. Aiming for the high note in the chorus, she missed her target by a country mile. A soft chuckle behind her reminded her that she wasn’t alone.
If her face glowed, it was the heat from the stove and most definitely not a blush.
Chapter Five
Daniel relaxed back in his chair and focused on Mia. He was surprised to find that he was hungry after his earlier disgrace, but the scents filling the kitchen soothed him and gave him a little more strength to push away the embarrassment threatening to rise again. And not just over his performance earlier. He’d have to call his client from yesterday and apologise for his unprofessional behaviour.
Over the last year, his agent had pushed him into more and more private sittings, trying to turn him into a half-baked celebrity snapper. Soap actresses, footballer’s wives, and the idle rich had jumped at the chance of a personal portrait sitting with sexy, brooding Fitz, so bloody Nigel reckoned. He couldn’t deny the money had been good, more than good, and the constant round of parties had been fun. Until suddenly they weren’t.
Yesterday’s client, a sweet girl engaged to her childhood sweetheart who’d been swept into the celebrity bubble because he could kick a ball, had borne the brunt of his hangover and short temper. When she’d shown him into the carefully staged room and spoken earnestly about learning about composition in GCSE art classes, something snapped inside him.
Storming out on a stream of curses, he’d gone straight to his favourite pub to try and drown his sorrows. The row with Giselle over failing to escort her to some stupid party had been the final straw.
Guilt sent an uneasy roil through his stomach. Somewhere along the way, he’d turned into the kind of self-absorbed wanker he’d first sneered at when arriving in London. Don’t think about it. He wasn’t ready to face a serious bout of introspection; he needed to use the week ahead to put some space between himself and the mess of his life that he had so abruptly fled from that morning. Hard physical work would be just what he needed. A couple of days to breathe, to sort out his head and get back on track.
Needing distraction, his eyes skipped to the long list of chores Mia had pinned on her wall. If nothing else, he would help her cross at least a few of them off. It would be good to do something productive and make his muscles ache from labour rather than his head aching from too much booze and the other rubbish he’d been shoving into his body over the past few months.
The phone, lying forgotten on the table in front of him, began to ring startling Daniel. He looked at it with trepidation, wondering who was intruding on the little cave of solace he had found in the kitchen. Mia scooped up the handset and shimmied back towards the radio, turning the volume down a little as she answered the phone.
‘Oh hey, Richard.’ The warmth in her tone drew Daniel’s attention and he met Mia’s eyes as she pulled a little face and shook her head as she listened to whatever Madeline’s husband had to say.
‘Yes, I know, I know…you don’t have to tell me she acted inappropriately, Richard. I didn’t call her up and ask her to dump a random stranger on my doorstep.’ Daniel flinched at that comment and Mia raised a hand in half-apology at him as she continued to hmm, and uh-huh and all those other noises that women universally made when they were on the phone.
‘She had a feeling about what, exactly?’ Sharpness entered Mia’s tone and Daniel squirmed, feeling even more the awkward intruder. He moved away from the table towards the stove, trying to put some distance between them and give her some semblance of privacy.
He glanced over to Mia and pointed at the pot and the stove
and mimed stirring it and she flashed him a thumb’s up. Lifting the lid, he closed his eyes in appreciation, swaying just a little as the aroma of the soup filled his nostrils. His stomach growled as he gave the pot a stir and he tried hard to give it his whole focus and close his ears to the hushed tones coming across the room. It was useless.
‘I don’t need rescuing, Richard. I’m doing just fine… Oh okay, okay, yes you can call bullshit on that, but I don’t think I’m ready for company yet… No, no, you guys don’t need to come over… I’ve told him a week, just a week and he’s going to help out around the place.’
Mia crossed the room, phone still under her chin, and tapped Daniel on the arm. She pointed to the bread and then the knife rack before circling back around the table towards the phone holder on the wall.
‘You know I can always use your help around here, Richard. Yes, and Madeline too, although she and I will be having words tomorrow… Uh-huh. Nine should be fine. I’ll make bacon sandwiches to get us going… Yep, yep. Bye.’
Daniel placed a mountain of freshly sliced bread on the table, quickly followed by two steaming bowls, and was rewarded with a smile of gratitude from Mia. The phone call had upset the equilibrium achieved during their mutual preparation of the meal, the outside world inserting itself into the warm cocoon of the kitchen. He felt like he should apologise again for intruding, but the selfish part of him didn’t want to give her an opportunity to ask him to leave.
The station on the radio switched to a mellower selection and he let the music and the warmth of the soup bring him down from the turmoil of the past couple of hours. Dipping his spoon into the hot liquid, he took a taste. It was perfect and he let go of everything as he let the soup nourish him body and soul.
His spoon soon scraped the bottom of the bowl and he grabbed another piece of bread to mop up every drop he could before leaning back in his chair, sliding down a little to stretch his long legs out. The warmth in his stomach spread through him, chasing away some of the hollowness and the remains of the shock following his earlier breakdown.
The previous jitters lurked still, threatening to rise if he let his thoughts stray to anything beyond the room around him. Especially if he thought too hard about the mess he’d left behind in London. He shoved them all into a corner and squashed them down, fixing his mind on the harmless task of counting things. There were twelve slate tiles to each row across the kitchen floor, fifteen rows in total. Eight cupboards, fourteen flowers on each curtain. Gradually the fluttery edges of panic smoothed away.
He’d have to deal with everything, but not just yet. A week, she’d said. Everything could be put on hold for a week. Forget Fitz, get back to being plain old Daniel Fitzwilliams. He’d wipe the slate and start fresh for this one week and try and figure out exactly who that was, or more importantly who he wanted Daniel Fitzwilliams to be.
***
Mia woke with a start and stared at her old friend, Mr Damp on the bedroom ceiling, trying to work out what had disturbed her. The second slam of a car door sent her straight out of bed and over to the grubby windowpane as she peered down to the driveway below.
She watched in disbelief as Daniel ambled out of the back door towards Madeline and Richard. They were all dressed practically in jeans, T-shirts and old jumpers. Mia glanced over at the clock on her bedside cabinet and squinted in disbelief at the position of the hands. Five past nine? What the hell? She never slept that late.
‘Damn, damn damn!’ Mia rummaged through her drawers, throwing old jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt onto the bed before dashing into the bathroom, underwear in hand. She blinked and scowled at her reflection; the bloody Mohawk mice had been to visit in the night again and she had a big crease down one side of her face from the pillow. A quick wash, teeth scrubbed, hair vaguely wetted down and she rushed down the stairs, socks in hand and still buttoning her jeans.
She pulled up short at the closed, locked door at the bottom of the stairs before she remembered that Daniel had insisted that she shut herself in the night before.
‘Not that I’m a raving maniac or anything, regardless of my behaviour today,’ he’d said with a self-deprecating grin. ‘But I am a stranger in your home and you are not used to someone else being here, you said. If you lock the door, you might rest easier.’
It had been a gracious thing to do, putting her at ease, and it had clearly worked given how well she had slept. For the first time in weeks there had been no nightmares. No waking up to the echo of her footsteps tapping on the cold tiles on that endless walk through the hospital corridor towards the room where Jamie waited for her, cold and lifeless. Pushing away the macabre images before they could take hold, she unlocked the door and let the sound of the living draw her away from the dead.
Mia entered the kitchen, pausing on the threshold to absorb the scene before her. Madeline stood at the Aga frying bacon, brandishing a spatula at Richard who was buttering bread and laughing at some rude comment he had made to her. Daniel leant against the back door, a cup of coffee in his hand, watching the couple with a wistful smile on his face. He looked less grey and haunted than the day before; perhaps they’d both managed a decent night’s sleep. He stirred and the smile warmed as he sensed Mia’s presence.
‘Umm, Richard and Madeline are here,’ he said and gave her a helpless shrug.
‘So, I see,’ Mia said dryly as she stepped further into the kitchen and moved towards Richard’s open arms. She rested her head on his chest and let him enfold her in his fatherly embrace. Both he and his wife had waged a gentle, but insistent war against Mia’s self-imposed isolation. She’d resented their endless cheer at first, but now she wondered how she would have survived the past few months without them.
‘Hello, darling girl.’ Richard pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘I’ve been dreaming about bacon sandwiches all night and we get here to find you still slugabed.’ He chucked her under the chin and winked. ‘You look better for it, still too pale for my liking though. I’m going to start force-feeding you Guinness if you don’t get some colour back in those cheeks soon.’
Mia shook her head and stepped out of his arms to turn towards an uncharacteristically quiet Madeline. Tension vibrated from her as she concentrated on the bacon on the stove. Slipping her arms around Madeline’s waist, she gave her a squeeze from behind. ‘Meddling, old bag.’ She pressed a kiss to Madeline’s cheek, feeling it twitch in a smile.
Mood lifting in an instant, the older woman leaned back into her. ‘Everyone needs a meddling old bag in their life, my dear. Although we prefer the term “Fairy Godmother” if you don’t mind. Now stop hanging off me; this bacon is done and Richard won’t raise a finger until we’ve fed him.’
Mia let her go, crossing to the kettle to make a cup of tea as she let Madeline and Richard assemble a huge stack of doorstep sandwiches. They’d made the first steps towards healing the rift between them, although she still had no idea what had possessed the older woman to drop a stranger on her doorstep and run.
Letting her eyes drift to where said stranger hovered at the edges of their group, she felt a surge of sympathy at the uncertainty on his face. It wasn’t his fault either. Holding out her hand she beckoned Daniel towards the table, nodding in encouragement when he hung back. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Daniel. If you don’t get stuck in there won’t be anything left.’
Not waiting to see if he followed, she settled into her usual seat. The smell of bacon filled her nose and her mouth watered in anticipation. Her tummy gave a little rumble and she clutched her hand to it, laughing along with the others. When was the last time she’d looked forward to eating? Too long ago. Accepting the plate and mug Richard placed in front of her, Mia grabbed the huge sandwich and bit down, closing her eyes as the crispy smoke of the bacon and the spicy bite of HP sauce hit her taste buds.
She opened her eyes to see Madeline watching her, a cloud of worry marring her kind gaze. Mia’s heart swelled and she blamed the lump in her throat on swallowing too much of her sandw
ich at once. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ she said quietly.
Madeline gave her a watery smile. ‘That’s not something you ever have to worry about, darling.’
Blinking away the prickle behind her eyes, Mia focused on her breakfast and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for such wonderful friends.
Chapter Six
Daniel chewed thoughtfully on his food—everything in this house tasted amazing. He watched the easy back and forth banter between Mia and the older couple as they ate and discussed the plans for the day, deciding which bedroom they were going to tackle and get ready for Daniel to use. From the conversation, it was clear that the rooms had all been cleared of furnishings and their contents moved to the large barn that nestled next to the garage at the end of the driveway. The plumbing and electrics had been replaced, but other than that the upstairs rooms lay untouched.
He thought about the cosy sitting room that he had slept in the previous night. The sofa had been a pleasant surprise, a huge sprawling L-shape with cushions deep enough he could stretch out his full length across them. The room had been dressed in warm creams and rich browns, with the odd splash of colour from the vibrant paintings on the wall and a few feature items including a tall pewter vase full of rich red poppies. The flowers had been silk, although it had taken a closer examination to verify.
Mia had told him it was intended as a space for her and that there would be a large lounge space for guests next door to what would be the dining room—the room with the impressive sea view.
Sunrise at Butterfly Cove Page 4
