Twenty-four #2
She counted the pages to the end of the chapter, promising herself a break when she reached it, then reread the same paragraph. Her eyelids felt heavy, and it was difficult reading about scent when her nostrils were full of the smell of Ivy’s lemon drizzle cake.
‘When’s that cake going to be ready, Ivy?’ she called.
Her aunt’s voice floated back. ‘Another five minutes, then time for it to cool. Fancy a coffee?’
Fiona closed her book and wandered into the kitchen. ‘How did you get on with Rose?’ she asked.
Ivy tutted. ‘She interviewed Kim before me. That poor girl was shaking like a jelly so when I’d finished with Rose, I took her up to Trish’s for a coffee to calm her down.’
Fiona’s eyebrows furrowed. Kim wasn’t her favourite person, but she didn’t like to think of someone in distress, and Fiona didn’t think Kim had stolen the wine, not with ‘Daddy’s wallet’ available for treats. ‘Why was Kim so nervous?’
Ivy held up a warning finger. ‘None of your business.’
‘Ivy!’
‘No. Kim spoke to me in confidence.’
Listening to her aunt fill the kettle, Fiona moaned. ‘Oh Ivy, you and your confidences. You make it sound as if you’re a Catholic priest hearing confession.’
‘I told Rose to hand this drama over to the professionals or drop it or she’s going to start losing staff if she’s not careful.’
Fiona laughed. ‘She won’t lose me; I need the money!’
‘Yes, I told her that.’
Fiona straightened. ‘What?’
‘She was worried you might hand in your notice, and I wanted to reassure her.’
‘You told someone who’s investigating a theft that I’m short of money!’
‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ said Ivy. She gave Fiona a playful shove. ‘Off you go. I’ll bring coffee and cake through shortly.’
Fiona slumped back on the sofa and picked up her book. She needed to concentrate. She was almost there now ... just a few more days.
Snuggling down that night, Fiona wrestled with whether to share Ivy’s revelation about Kim with Ru.
Kim’s anxiety after her interview provided a new lead, but Fiona didn’t want to suggest that Ru investigate that line.
She felt a stab of jealousy, imagining Kim’s reaction if Ru suggested they meet for a walk on the beach, even though it was exactly what she’d done with Josh.
Perhaps it would be better to cancel the morning meeting and study instead?
She had achieved virtually nothing today and she could always tell Ru about Kim another time, when there was something else to report – like Fiona being admitted to the CMS. She thumped her pillow into shape and turned the light off. She would sleep on it.
In the morning, Fiona picked up her phone and unblocked Ru’s number. She typed out a message:
I’ve nothing to report, shall we skip?
How should she finish? Her finger hovered over the x button, then she scrolled through the emojis, selecting the female cop.
His reply was swift:
The menemen will be ready in twenty minutes.
Ru signed off with the chef emoji. It was the first message he had ever sent her without a beating heart as a full stop.
Fiona jabbed at the doorbell while stamping her feet up and down for warmth.
The second it buzzed, she pushed it open, and the smell of cumin hit her.
She glanced up at the flat door – ajar – wondering if he would have cooked simit, the crispy sesame seed crusted bread the Turkish dipped into their breakfast menemen.
She bounded up the stairs, pausing briefly at the doorway to watch him unnoticed.
A faint smell of sizzling vegetables filled the air, and she noticed his shoulders relax as he tilted his head, inhaling the aroma with a small, satisfied smile.
A sudden wave of nostalgia tugged at her.
The simplicity of it all struck her: the way he cared for each step in his cooking, as if each dish was a small act of love.
She remembered how mornings like this used to belong to them – how he’d surprise her with breakfast, moving with the same effortless calm, the same easy warmth that used to make her feel so lucky to be loved and be in love with this man.
She wondered if he missed her even a fraction as much as she missed him.
At the stove, Ru started crumbling cheese into a large sauté pan. She could smell yeast and spied a bottle of pomegranate molasses – she was getting simit.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Two minutes. Make yourself comfortable. I’ve laid the table.’
In the bay window was a table covered in a white linen cloth. There was a single red rose in a bud vase, and resting on one chair was a package wrapped in tissue paper and secured with a pink ribbon. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ he asked, pointing at the parcel.
She grinned. ‘For me?’
He nodded.
She bounced over and prodded the parcel, which felt squidgy, like a cushion. She tugged at the ribbon, unfurled the paper and released a lavender coloured coat.
He was standing behind her, close enough for her to smell the musky shower gel he used, sending a shudder of pleasure through her body.
‘It’s too cold wandering round Brambleton in that raincoat,’ he murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She stiffened, then relaxed, willing him to stroke her neck or better still, to kiss it.
Instead, he gave her a gentle pat, like an owner would a faithful dog, then returned to the kitchen area.
‘This is so thoughtful,’ she said. Fiona recalled the novelty pen he’d given Rose – so like Ru. He didn’t know she was heading to London tomorrow; he had no clue she’d be bringing her own winter coat back to Devon. The gift wasn’t some calculated move – it was just Ru being Ru.
‘Sit down.’ He slipped a plate in front of her – a gutsy mixture of scrambled egg, sautéed onions, green peppers and tomatoes, seasoned with chilli flakes and cumin. Crumbled feta, black olives and a drizzle of olive oil garnished the top. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’
‘Sure,’ she answered, smiling.
‘The investors are huge gin fans. They want me to offer some interesting varieties. Who should I call for honest advice?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. Let me jot down a couple of my contacts. Got a piece of paper?’
He passed over a stack of Post-it notes and Fiona scribbled down two names, adding the details of the wine merchant each worked for and their phone numbers.
‘How’s life at Ivy’s?’ he asked.
‘Busy; I’m spending all my free time studying.’
‘How’s that going?’
She grunted, chewing at her lip. Should she tell him where she was going tomorrow? His thoughtful present, coupled with asking her advice, persuaded her to trust him with her secret. ‘I’m off to London tomorrow to retake my exam.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Why? You don’t need any more certificates. You’re good enough already.’
It was kind of him, but she knew better.
The world of wine was cutthroat. To get ahead, she needed credentials.
Had she been a CMS member three months earlier, the investors would have backed her.
Would she have felt confident enough to accept Ru’s marriage proposal if she hadn’t failed that exam?
Then again, perhaps he wouldn’t have proposed if she had passed; perhaps that had been a sop to her hurt pride, a cack-handed attempt to keep his own plans for the restaurant – his restaurant – on track.
‘ I need certificates. Everyone needs qualifications.’
He sat down opposite, picking up his fork and pointing it at her. ‘I never did. I learned on the job.’
‘But that’s your raw talent shining through.’ She didn’t have any raw talent. She succeeded through hard work and passing exams. But tomorrow she would be back in London, and soon she would belong to the CMS. Finally, Fiona would be qualified. She would repay her debts and become someone!
She beamed at him, waiting, watching for his admiration, but his face was inscrutable. Eventually he put down his fork and spoke. ‘What will you do if you fail again?’
Suddenly, the flat felt claustrophobic, an eery silence punctuated by the soft scrape of Ru’s cutlery. Perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, her fingers twisting the hem of her jumper, Fiona couldn’t eat another bite.
‘You don’t actually need this qualification,’ Ru said quietly. ‘Think about it rationally.’
Her head snapped up. ‘How dare you!’
‘I’m trying to help,’ he insisted, his voice soft, but there was nothing reassuring about it.
‘Help?’ Fiona’s laugh was brutal. ‘You mean like you helped when you forewarned the investors you thought I wouldn’t pass the first time?’
Ru’s jaw tightened. ‘If you fail again—’
‘Which I won’t,’ she snapped.
‘What’s your actual plan?’ he finished, a hint of genuine concern breaking through.
‘My plan,’ she hissed, ‘is to pass, so I can prove to every single person who’s ever doubted me that I am worth something. Starting with you.’
It was the kind of silence that filled every corner of the room, as if the air itself were replaying their words, which lingered – charged and unforgivable – exposing the raw, jagged edges of their broken history. ‘I’m leaving,’ declared Fiona.
‘Fine,’ spat Ru.
They rose together. Ru’s face flushed with anger. He leaned over and for a moment she thought he was reaching for her, but he picked up the coat. ‘Just take it. You’ll freeze without one. It’s dropping to minus five tonight.’
Snatching it up, she picked up the Post-it note too and shoved that into one of the coat pockets. ‘You won’t be wanting advice from a failure,’ she muttered, then she stomped to the door and clomped down the stairs. She’d show him. Fail? Not this time.