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.
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
