Chapter Eleven
Mel has the oven on and is reading through the beef Wellington recipe for the fifth time when Finn finally returns from his walk—bringing in the smell of crisp pine, his own scent merging with the one that lingers in the air around here.
“Sorry,” he says, shrugging out of his coat and dumping it on the back of one of the dining chairs. “Lost track of time.”
Mel looks up at him. His ears are a little reddened from the cold, and he has that kind of glow that comes from being outside. She wonders what he was thinking about, out in the woods on his own—what exactly caused him to lose track of time.
“Didn’t break your leg falling over a tree trunk, then?”
His lips twitch. “Afraid not.”
“Ah well. Wishful thinking.”
“Next time, I’ll try harder to trap my foot in a rabbit hole.” He crosses to the kitchen counter, glancing down at the ingredients she has laid out—an array of vegetables, onions, and garlic, a few different bottles, a selection of dairy items.
He scratches his head. “Ah…Is it just me, or is this a lot of food for one beef Wellington?” He taps his fingers on the granite, considering. “That’s assuming I definitely know what a beef Wellington is. Not entirely sure I’ve ever eaten one before.”
“We’re making sides to go with it,” she says, taking an elastic off her wrist and going to tie her hair back—before remembering she cut it too short to do that now.
She pushes the list she’s made over to him, which details the various sides, all the ingredients under each one, and watches his eyes travel down the page.
Wilted spinach with garlic
Parmesan-crusted cauliflower
Glazed baby carrots
Sautéed green beans with almonds
Dauphinoise potatoes
“Looks…ambitious,” he says, picking up the paper to check there’s nothing written on the other side. She scowls and he holds up his hands. “I just meant neither of us are the best chefs.”
“Speak for yourself,” she says primly.
“Ah yes. What was it you tried to make when you nearly burned Priya’s flat down? Crumble? Or was that the lasagna?”
“Just peel the potatoes, Finn,” she snaps, getting out a peeler and stopping short of throwing it at him.
They work at opposite ends of the kitchen counter, Mel chopping mushrooms for the next step of the Wellington, the smell of roasting beef and garlic filling the kitchen.
All right, the silence between them is a little awkward, but she figures better awkward silence than awkward small talk.
She is thinking that she might be able to get through preparing the whole meal without speaking to him, when she hears Susan’s voice.
“Can I come in? I’ve got my eyes closed!”
Finn immediately lurches to Mel’s side, in a way that would be funny under any other circumstance. He slings an arm around her at the same time as calling, “It’s okay! You won’t be able to figure it out—come in!”
Mel prods him in the ribs, hard. “We are cooking,” she hisses into his ear, quietly enough that Susan, opening the kitchen door, won’t be able to hear.
“You do not cook with your arm round someone else.” When he looks down at her, assessing, she prods him harder, deliberately angling the knife she’s holding on the chopping board for emphasis.
He drops his arm away from her shoulder—a little too hesitantly, to her mind—as Susan comes into the kitchen.
“Mmmm! Something smells nice.” Susan smiles at them both. “I promise I’m not peeking, so don’t tell me off like Hattie did. I just need a cuppa. Is that okay?”
“I’ll make it,” Mel says immediately, setting down her knife and moving to put the kettle on to boil.
“Thanks, love. So, let me guess…” She sniffs the air very deliberately. “Something with onions.”
Finn laughs. “Sure. That narrows it down.”
“And…” Susan comes up to the counter, checking out the chopping boards. “Mushroom velouté .”
“Not totally sure I know what that is,” Finn says, “but I’m going to go with no.”
“And here you are, inspiring me with such confidence in the kitchen.” Susan pats his cheek affectionately.
Mel makes the tea how Susan likes it—white with two sugars—and hands it over. Susan gives Mel her signature warm smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” She heads back out of the kitchen, blowing on her tea.
“She seems happy,” Finn muses, almost to himself, looking at the door Susan just stepped through.
“Yeah,” Mel says. “She does.” Though she immediately thinks of the supermarket trip, of the way Susan had teared up when they’d gotten back, seeing Hattie with Dylan. Happy sad, though, right?
“You know, when she and Dad first divorced, I was so worried about how she’d get through it.
I mean, it’s not like their relationship was perfect, far from it, but it was what everyone was used to, you know?
” Mel nods noncommittally. Finn has only talked to her a little about what it was like when his parents broke up, claiming it was all in the past and long forgotten about—and she can’t really imagine it, seeing as how her parents have never been anything other than a united front.
“I thought there had to be a reason she’d stayed with him all this time—she must have loved him. ”
Mel opens her mouth, thinking of what Susan told her in the supermarket.
She stayed for you, she’s about to say. For you and Hattie and Mark.
She realizes just in time that maybe Susan wouldn’t want them to know this.
She wouldn’t want them feeling guilty, if they don’t already, for being the reason she stayed in an unhappy marriage.
“Anyway, after he left, it’s like she came out of herself more. And I realized he was dampening her. I know she worries about all of us still, but seeing her this holiday—it’s reminded me of how it was for the best that they split. How she’s managed to find happiness on her own.”
Mel feels it like a knife to the gut. She can’t even look at him as she nods.
It feels too pointed for him to be discussing this now.
Was she dampening him in their relationship—is that what he’s trying to say?
And now he’s finding happiness on his own, just like his mum?
She chops a mushroom particularly violently so that the knife slams into the chopping board.
Finn glances over at her and she flexes her fingers, moving to get a bowl to dump the mushrooms in while checking the timer on the oven.
“What next?” Finn asks, piling the sliced potatoes at one side of the chopping board.
“Ah…” Mel gets out her phone to check the recipes. “If you simmer the cream and milk with three cloves of garlic, then add the potatoes for, like, three minutes.”
Finn nods, and rummages about in the cupboards for a saucepan. “So how’s Priya?” he asks.
Mel thinks of the latest photo Priya sent on WhatsApp—her with a friend she’d made out there, both grinning into the camera with the ocean as a backdrop.
Not a big fan of you, currently. “She’s good.
” I miss her, is what she doesn’t say. But it’s what she feels every time Priya’s name is mentioned—no matter that it’s been months now.
She lost her two people in quick succession, both Finn and Priya leaving her.
But that’s selfish, and she’s doing her best to downplay how hard she’s been finding it.
So the most recent message she sent her best friend was carefully crafted to be upbeat, saying the whole holiday has made her realize how over Finn she is, and how much better they are apart.
Because that’s what she wants to be happening—and if she repeats it enough then maybe it’ll be true.
“I can’t believe she actually went through with it,” Finn says with a smile.
“I know.” Priya had been on the verge of it for years—she’d be determined she was going to do it, move somewhere to teach abroad, then almost immediately she’d back out, claiming that it wasn’t her, that she wasn’t the adventurous type.
And Mel is so proud of her—that she finally did it, made the leap and went after something she wanted.
Isn’t that what life is all about, after all?
Should she be thinking that of Finn, if what he wanted was to leave her and go back to flipping houses?
If she was a nicer person, would she be able to be happy for him?
He still dumped you, Melanie. Let’s not get carried away.
“I keep waiting for her to call me and tell me she’s met some hunky Australian surfer and is going to settle down there forever.” Mel says it as a joke but can’t quite mask the hint of sadness in her voice—because there’s a chance, isn’t there, that Priya won’t ever come back.
“You could visit,” Finn says in a way that makes it obvious he’s clocked her tone. “I mean, in general—not only if she meets an Australian surfer.”
“I will.” She should have done before now—but a combination of work and wanting to let Priya settle on her own stopped her.
She’s felt like she should be more stable when she visits Priya, so she doesn’t accidentally make it all about her.
She’d try not to, of course, but Priya is astute.
Maybe, after Christmas, she’ll do it. She could go and work out there for a few months, even.
Isn’t she always telling everyone she can work from anywhere?
What’s the point in having your own company if you can’t be flexible?
But it’s a pipe dream, really. If Lillian Hart comes on board, it’ll be all hands on deck for the foreseeable—and to be in charge of the team she really needs to be near the London office.
Finn is watching her as she chops, and she realizes she’s gone quiet, thinking. “You know,” he says slowly, “I don’t think Priya is the surfer type. Maybe an Australian doctor.”
Mel quirks an eyebrow. “Specifically an Australian one? As opposed to any random doctor?”
“Oh yeah. He’s so Australian. He lives in the bush. And has a pet kangaroo. Or a koala. A koala he’s rescued and is disabled so it’s not, like, mean to keep it as a pet.”
Mel’s lips twitch. “A doctor with a disabled koala?”