Chapter 4
4
‘Hello Rick. It’s been a while.’ Anya’s slightly husky voice still had the same power to mesmerise him, almost as much as her beautiful, elfin face and smoky grey eyes. Her cheekbones were more pronounced than the last time he’d seen her and he couldn’t miss the way her collarbones stood out beneath the wide straps of the pretty green and white striped dress she was wearing. Always petite, Anya now looked as if a stiff breeze might blow her away.
‘Rick?’ His mother’s voice startled him and he realised he was still holding the phone to his ear as he stared like a goof at Anya.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said into the phone, holding a finger up to Anya asking her silently to wait one second. ‘I’m just finished at the Hub but I need to call in on Uncle Davy on my way if you’re okay on your own still.’
‘Is everything all right?’ His mother sounded concerned.
‘Maud wants me to speak to him. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know what those two are like for getting on each other’s nerves. ’
His mum laughed. ‘It’ll be about those bloody cats, no doubt. It’s quiet here so take as long as you need.’
‘Okay, thanks Mum. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ Rick hung up and tucked his phone away. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, smiling down at Anya, which was about the only thing he could do given he, like his brothers, topped out at six foot and she couldn’t be much more than five foot two or three.
‘It’s fine, I didn’t realise you were on the phone.’
They stared at each other for a long moment and Rick racked his brain for something to say. He wasn’t normally short of words but Anya had been tying his tongue in knots since he’d first been old enough to decide that girls were interesting rather than an annoyance. What had she said to him just now? Remembering, he flashed her a smile of relief. ‘Yes, it has been a long time since we last saw each other; it must be what, two years? How have you been?’ The moment the words left his mouth he wanted the earth to open and swallow him whole. How had she been? Christ, he was an idiot. ‘Sorry, I meant to ask how everything went with the move.’
Anya’s mouth quirked in a vague semblance of a smile. ‘About as well as can be expected under the circumstances.’
Her last two words dropped like a stone between them. He knew all about ‘the circumstances’ because they had been a constant topic of conversation between his mum and his aunt Helen ever since they’d learned the shocking news of Drew’s death and the ugly aftermath.
When he’d found out what had happened, all Rick had wanted to do was rush up there and do whatever he could to help, but it hadn’t been his place. Ever since they were teenagers he’d thought Anya hung the moon and stars, but to her he was just one of that pack of noisy Penrose boys she’d been forced to spend her summers with because her aunt was married to his uncle. When seventeen-year-old Rick had finally decided he was going to pluck up the courage and ask her out, she’d arrived in the Quay – as it was known to the locals – with a boyfriend in tow. A boyfriend she went on to marry. Knowing what they all knew now, Rick would like to have said he’d been able to see through Drew’s bullshit from the start, but even though he had every reason to hate the man who had spoiled his romantic daydreams, Rick had been as susceptible to Drew’s charms as everyone else. He supposed that was how he’d become such a successful conman.
Rick placed a hand on the back of his neck to massage the sudden tension in his spine. ‘Yeah, of course, stupid question. Well, it’s good to see you whatever the reason. If there’s anything I can do to help you settle in, I have a lot of connections through my work on the council, so just let me know.’ He fumbled in his pocket for one of the contact cards he’d had printed to hand out at his weekly hub sessions. Anya stared down at the card but didn’t take it. Cringe . ‘Or you can just ask Issy for my details, or pop in any Monday morning here at the Hub, whatever works for you.’
He was about to put the card away when she snagged it by the corner and tugged it from his fingers. ‘That’s very kind of you, Rick. What I need more than anything is a job. I don’t suppose you know of anything that doesn’t need any qualifications, or actual skills, do you?’ She was smiling as she said it but he could sense the embarrassment behind the question.
‘Not off the top of my head, but I’ll keep an eye out. Have you tried the newsagents? They often have adverts stuck in the window, although I think it’s mostly casual work. The Halfmoon Horn is out on Thursday and that has a pretty good jobs section.’
Anya’s smile warmed to something a little less awkward. ‘ You really are a source of helpful information. I tried the newsagents just now but it’s mostly babysitting or a couple of hours of cleaning. Not that I mind cleaning!’ she added quickly, her cheeks colouring. ‘I can’t afford to be fussy; I’d just need something more than a couple of hours a week if I’m going to be able to make ends meet.’
‘I understood what you meant.’
Anya nodded. ‘Well, I’d better not keep you.’
Rick tried not to wince at the obvious dismissal. ‘No, no, of course.’ Realising he was blocking the entrance to the café, he stepped aside and pushed the door open for her. ‘It was good to see you again.’
‘You too.’ Anya stepped past him and then turned back. ‘Give my best to your uncle Davy when you see him, and I hope he’s okay. He never minded when we used to run into the hotel and steal lollies from that jar on reception.’
He was suddenly ten years old, watching a triumphant Harry running out of the hotel with a fistful of lollies Ed had double-dared him to grab. Their great-uncle would grumble to their mum about them being ill-mannered brats but never turned up at the house without some treat or other for them. ‘The jar’s still there. If you pop in sometime he’ll still let you help yourself to one.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘And don’t worry about him. I’m sure it’s nothing, probably just Maud up to her usual tricks.’
This time when Anya smiled there was no sign of any stress or tension in her face. ‘Looks like some things in Halfmoon Quay never change.’