utility company trying to persuade her to change supplier. Not at this time of day.
She lifted the receiver, muttered a cautious hello.
“Sis? Is that you?” said Patrick, his voice low and whispering.
Patrick. Of course. She’d glimpsed into his room when she’d woken up and seen that he wasn’t there. At least she thought he wasn’t. It was hard to tell for sure under all the mess. She’d expected him to roll up in a few hours, hung over and smelly, as usual. Except he was calling her – and sounding scared.
“Yes, of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” she replied, trying to hold down her temper. After all, for once her agitated mental state wasn’t Patrick’s fault – it wasn’t down to him that she’d been tossing and turning all night. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what to do, sis,” he replied, voice urgent and sounding way younger than usual. “Me and Robbie got into a bit of trouble last night. We didn’t mean anything by it, honest, but we went a bit too far. It was after the pub. Old man Jensen had been in there, winding us up, telling us all those stupid stories about what he was doing at our age – all that crap about the war. So later, after we’d had a skinful, we went round to his house. We only meant to scare him, maybe throw a few bricks at the window, whatever. But…well, we got carried away. Made a real mess of the garden. Broke the windscreen of that ancient Volvo he drives round in. And, well, the thing is, I think he saw us.”
She couldn’t tell which he was most upset about – that he’d done this awful thing, or that he’d been spotted. If it was the latter, she didn’t know what she could do for him. Please God, she thought, closing her eyes and clenching back the tears that were stinging at her tired eyes, let him actually regret it. She so didn’t need this right now – not with the review coming up. Not with her mind full of Ben. Not ever.
She felt like hanging up. Giving up. Entirely possibly shooting up.
“Okay,” she said, keeping her voice calm despite her inner turmoil. If she screamed at him, he’d bolt. He’d do one of his disappearing acts and leave her fretting for days on end. “Where are you now?”
“In that phone box by the Surf Shack. Mine’s out of charge. Robbie’s still crashed in the back of his car. What should I do, sis?”
She wanted to yell at him, “Grow up!” but she didn’t. Instead she took a deep breath and told him to stay where he was. That she’d come and get him.
Then she put the phone down and wondered how exactly she was going to manage that. How she could leave the kids alone, feed the animals and rescue her brother all at the same time. Yet another impossible day stretched ahead of her.
She looked up at the kitchen clock. Almost six. The kids would be awake soon. Scotty would be climbing into her bed looking for a cuddle and the twins would be ready to rampage their way through another day. The guests in Foxglove were settled, so no worries there. And the elderly couple in Primrose had gone to Penzance for the night. Which only left…Ben.
Could she ask him for help? Should she? It seemed as though she had no alternative. Yet again, Patrick had her boxed into a corner.
Pippa got up, rinsed out her coffee mug and looked across the courtyard to Honeysuckle. The curtains were open in the living room. Looked like Mr Retallick was an early riser as well – that or he’d had problems sleeping too.
She made her decision and walked across the cobbles. Before she’d even had chance to knock, the door opened. At least, she thought, he was dressed this time. Although the damage was already done – her brain had logged every inch of his bare torso last night and her imagination was keeping it on file for future reference. She could replay it with a glass of wine later.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re up early…is everything okay? You look terrible.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she replied, suddenly conscious of her unbrushed hair, the fact that her denims had holes in the knees, that she hadn’t worn make-up for what felt like years. Not that any of it mattered, she told herself. Those were things other girls worried about. She had more pressing concerns.
“I’m really sorry to ask,” she said, “but I wondered if you could do me a favour?”
An hour later, she pulled up in the driveway, the wheels of the battered Land Rover spitting gravel the same way she felt like spitting swear words. Holding it all in, she unlatched the door of the farmhouse, Patrick following silently behind her. She was desperate to see how the kids were, hoping against hope that they’d all stayed in bed for a lie-in.
Instead, they seemed to have got up early and decided to start a bakery business.
The twins were at the kitchen table mixing currants into a big bowl of dough. Scotty was standing on a chair by the counter using his tiny fists to knead another bowl of slop. And Ben – he was standing right next to him, making sure he didn’t slip.
“Pippa!” said Lily and Daisy in unison. “We’re making scones for breakfast!”
“I see that,” replied Pippa, “weren’t cornflakes good enough today?”
“We’ve built up quite an appetite,” said Ben, flicking on the kettle and preparing a mug of coffee for her. “We’ve done the morning feed and mucked out Harry Potter. That was fun. I’d forgotten quite how…productive pigs could be. A magic wand would have been quite helpful. So…now we’re preparing a feast. I hope that’s okay? I promise we all washed our hands very thoroughly.”
He handed her the coffee and she grabbed it gratefully, using the hot china to warm her shaking hands. It was still early, still chilly and her life was still a mess.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
