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‘Not at all. Mum always does extra.’ This was true. Sunday lunch at Mariners was always open house. Every meal was open house, really.
‘Amazing. Thank you.’
Rik looked as if he’d won the lottery. It was kind of sweet. And it gave Nikki the courage to reach out and re-do his buttons. He looked down.
‘Oh God – I’m so tired I can’t even dress myself properly.’
She could feel his skin, warm and soft under her fingers as she did them up again, then patted him, laughing. ‘There you go.’
‘Where would I be without you?’
Oh God. That smile. How did he do that? Make her feel like the only person in the room? He leaned back in his chair, drumming on the edge of the table in front of him in time with the jukebox. She had never seen anyone so comfortable in their own skin, so completely at ease.
‘I’m going to grab a game of pool,’ he said suddenly, and jumped up. As he walked away, Tamsin turned to Nikki.
‘Who the hell is he? And why didn’t you tell me?’
Nikki tried to shrug it off. ‘I met him last week. Showed him around a bit.’
‘Yeah?’ Tamsin gave a laugh that was filled with innuendo.
The two of them watched as he idly chalked the tip of his cue. He played a deadly game, clearing the table in record time, earning himself a round of applause. He gave a modest bow and headed back over to the table.
‘I’m going to crash,’ he told Nikki. ‘I’m not used to these early mornings yet. How do I get to your parents?’
‘I’ll come and get you. It’s only down the road.’ She couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that he was leaving already. Maybe it was the not-drinking thing.
‘Great.’ He gave her a thumbs-up, then a squeeze on the shoulder. A jolt went right through her, deep inside and to her very nerve endings.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she managed.
He gave a wave to everyone else at the table. ‘Good to meet you all.’
Everyone’s eyes followed him out of the bar. The girls stared with longing; the men with suspicion.
‘Um,’ said Tamsin. ‘Any chance I could come for lunch as well? I won’t touch him. Honestly. I’ll just look.’
Her mum didn’t bat an eyelid when Nikki told her she’d invited Rik for lunch. Helen automatically cooked double the amount they needed, as Jess and Nikki were always bringing along waifs and strays, William had been known to drag people back from his Sunday pint at the Neptune and if Helen went to church, she often asked people back. You never knew who might be there.
It was everyone’s favourite place, the kitchen at Mariners. It was never going to win any interior design awards. The units were ancient, shiny brown with corrugated silver along the top. The mustard-yellow walls hadn’t been painted for as long as anyone could remember, which was ironic, given they were in the business of decorating.
‘You know what they say. Cobblers’ children have no shoes,’ William always said. ‘I’ll get round to it one day.’
The dining room was on the other side of a long breakfast bar, carpeted in threadbare maroon. The table was cumbersome and easily seated twelve on matching chairs with cracked leather seats. Generations of Norths had eaten there, for the house had been in the family since the middle of the nineteenth century, as had much of the furniture. An ornately carved cabinet had been turned into a bar, filled with dusty old bottles – Harvey’s Bristol Cream, Taylor’s Port, Bell’s whisky and Bailey’s and Tia Maria. Half of it went untouched from one year to the next, occasionally plundered by Helen to add to a trifle or Christmas cake, while the popular bottles were continually replenished. An old sideboard was topped with a turntable and speakers, the cupboards beneath filled with LPs. On a rowdy night, the records would come out and everyone would sing along to William’s collection of Motown. They were all singers, dancers, performers, the Norths. The von Trapps, someone had called them once.
Nikki had finished laying the table, the ancient mats with views of Speedwell at each place. William pulled out a bottle of local beer for himself and Rik took an Appletiser. Graham came in, red-faced from rugby training, trailing a cocktail of Radox and Timotei from his shower.
‘I’m starving, Mum.’
‘Say hello to our guest,’ his mother told him.
‘This is Rik,’ said Nikki. ‘This is my annoying little brother Graham.’
‘Hey.’ Graham gave Rik a nod as they shook hands.
‘Oh my.’ Rik eyed the rib of beef Helen pulled from the oven with longing. ‘Will there be Yorkshire puddings?’
‘There will.’ Helen smiled and produced a trayful. Rik gave a contented sigh.
