Chapter 63
Olivia carries a newly fired earthenware bowl in her arms, babying it like a newborn, clutching it to her dusty yet chic linen apron.
She takes it over to the till point where Mila stands packaging up the day’s orders.
Her co-worker cuts an austere figure—her hair still scraped back, her face blunt when in concentration—but Olivia can see how Mila has changed these past months.
Grown brighter, more confident, her grief slowly lessening.
She likes to think of her as a friend now, not just her employee.
They share the living quarters upstairs as well as the workspace down here and they manage to rub along in harmony.
Mila’s quiet, serious countenance and head for figures has provided the perfect complement to Olivia’s sociable, customer-facing ease and allowed her enough free time to create as well as sell.
It hadn’t been easy for either of them in the aftermath of the house fire, Petras’s and then Tobias’s deaths, the legal and financial uncertainty of it all.
Both of them had lost so much, felt branded by it.
And the local community was naturally wary and guarded when they set up the gallery and studio space.
So many of them still remembered it as the old fishmonger’s shop, an emblem of days gone by, perhaps better times.
But then, as they started to make a go of things, both Olivia and Mila living here full-time and committing everything to making it work, a gradual respect seemed to have grown for them and many of the locals have since said that it’s good to move on, to look to the future. For the sake of the next generation.
Olivia often thinks of her children, has missed them terribly when they have not been around, worried about how they are processing the death of their father.
Bella had thrown herself back into uni life and Drew had been gratefully enveloped back into the familiar cocoon of his private school and studies.
Thankfully his final year’s fees had already been paid and he was allowed to stay on as a boarder when the London home was sold.
She had tried to be as much of a comfort to them both as she could, but she also felt a euphoric sense of release that went hand in hand with grief.
Her relationship with Bella became particularly strained at one point, with recriminations and blame followed by long gaps in speaking to each other.
But her daughter seems to have settled now, met a nice new boyfriend – one a little closer to her own age this time – who appears to be a steadying presence in her life.
Olivia only hopes he isn’t just another father figure.
Drew, on the other hand, would call her from school regularly and even let her write to him in time-honoured tradition.
She would send him silly postcards from the corner shop with cryptic in-jokes written on them and Olivia felt blessed that she hadn’t lost him too.
He passed his A levels with flying colours as predicted and gained his first choice of uni to study history with politics but then had surprised them all by deferring for a year.
Instead he came down here and joined her by the coast, decided to work a summer season, helping out at the beach and working for the Taco Lads.
If she didn’t know better, she would say that Drew is trying to avoid the traditional career path, determined not to follow in his father’s footsteps in any way. But he says he just wants to have some fun for now, earn a bit of money in the good, old-fashioned way; with his hands, on the land.
Olivia looks about her and takes a moment to admire, yet again, the beautiful gallery and studio they have created here.
Marcus was as good as his word and came back that autumn, helped with the renovations.
It is now an elegant yet comfortable space, aspirational yet still warm, even cosy on dark days like this.
The perfect backdrop for the artwork she showcases; honest, accessible, beautiful.
They even offer workshops and art classes, not just for tourists but for the locals too, during winter.
She thinks of Marcus now. His face like a piece of chiselled marble, beautiful yet cold, so like his father’s in many ways.
Once the gallery and studio space was complete, he soon went back to London to try and salvage his career.
She occasionally sees his name on LinkedIn and they exchange the odd text.
He sold his Docklands flat, paid off his debts and kicked his bad habits.
Again, perhaps he was also determined not to end up like Tobias.
She hears he has finally persuaded his mum to move out of her old Sixties high-rise and found her a lovely little bungalow not far away from her friends.
He says he hates the architecture of it but he can see how happy it makes her and really that is all he cares about.
As Olivia contemplates all this, sees the afternoon light quickly fading outside, something catches her eye.
A young family, familiar in some way, a cherub of a little boy who reminds her of Drew when he was that age.
Her eye then falls on the dark pixie cut, the sharp intelligent features of Lottie Jenkins, though they are encased in the hood of a waterproof coat.
She almost raises a hand as a hello, to wave, but then the moment passes. And she lets it go.