AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘The French think they’re the greatest cooks in the world,’ he said. ‘But they can’t do a Sunday lunch to save their lives.’
‘So you’ve sailed up from the South of France, then?’ William, trussed up in a blue-and-white striped apron, was putting the finishing touches to the gravy, wooden spoon in one hand, beer in the other. ‘Did you go round or through?’
Rik did an upward motion with his hand. ‘Up through the canals. It was touch and go in some places. I thought it wouldn’t be deep enough. But I made it.’
William nodded his approval. ‘Nice. How long did it take you?’
‘Three months or so. I stopped in a few places. Paris.’
‘Paris,’ said Helen with longing.
Nikki tried to imagine being in Paris with Rik. It made her unable to breathe.
‘Have you always sailed?’ William wasn’t going to be diverted. Cities held no interest for him.
Rik grinned. ‘I was pretty much born on a boat. My dad worked at the harbour in Kinsale. I learned everything I know there every summer, then went back to my mum in Toulouse for school. I spoke French with a Cork accent and got teased mercilessly. When I left school, me and Dad set up a business delivering boats. Did that until he died.’
‘I’m sorry, lad.’ William raised his bottle in a toast.
Rik shrugged. ‘He lived his best life.’ He clinked his bottle against William’s. ‘I’m working at the boatyard in Tawcombe for the next couple of months.’
‘Welcome. I hope you’ll enjoy it here. I think our weather is more Kinsale than Cannes, though.’
William picked up the steel and sharpened the carving knife before tackling the beef which had been resting on the side. Beautiful slices fell away, rosy-pink in the middle. Graham carried the vegetables over to the table: roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, peas and carrots. And gravy. And horseradish.
‘Sit, everyone,’ said Helen. ‘We don’t want it going cold.’
‘You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this,’ said Rik.
Nikki watched as he piled his plate high, unembarrassed. It was almost as if he’d been here forever. He drew everyone into conversation over the lunch table. He talked about his favourite French rugby team to Graham, outlining the detail of Toulouse’s last match down to every last try. He asked Helen about her wedding cake business.
And then Jess walked in, behind an extravagant bouquet of red roses.
‘Darling! We thought you were at work,’ said Helen.
‘I swapped shifts. I couldn’t miss your anniversary lunch.’ Jess embraced her father from behind. Helen took the flowers from her with a smile. Rik stared at her, his fork halfway to his mouth. And Nikki’s heart sank.
No one could ever ignore Jess North. She was wild, pushed everyone to the edge, always got exactly what she wanted. Loving her was a challenge for all the family, even Helen, who was a saint, but they did, taking their lead from William, who saw no wrong in his headstrong firstborn. Somehow, he was able to laugh at her tantrums and outbursts.
‘She doesn’t mean any of it,’ he would say, when one of the family became exasperated by her shenanigans. ‘It’s just Jess.’
That, in Nikki’s opinion, was not a good enough reason to put up with her behaviour. The message seemed to be that if you wanted Jess to love you, you had to let her get away with anything. It was exhausting. Jess had calmed down over the years, and was less volatile now, but she was still capable of throwing her toys out of the pram – and making sure everyone got hit by something in the process. She pulled as many people as she could into her dramas.
Now she’d made her entrance, she headed into the kitchen to help herself. ‘You pigs have eaten all the Yorkshire puddings. Who’s got a spare Yorkshire pudding?’
She walked over to the table and inspected everyone’s plates. The only one which still had a Yorkshire pudding on it was Rik’s. He was saving it till last. Her eyes fell on it, then she looked up at him.
‘Well, hello,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose I could have that one, could I? I’m guessing it’s not your first.’
‘Madame.’ Rik put it ceremoniously onto his side plate and handed it to her. Nikki saw their eyes meet, and Jess’s widen in pleasure. Oh God, she thought in despair.
And then, when they were all devouring Helen’s towering lemon meringue pie, Woody arrived. He was a regular guest at the Norths’ table. Mariners was his second home. His parents had moved the family down to Speedwell from Macclesfield after some ‘trouble’. When he arrived at the school, Nikki had warmed straight away to his openness and his silly sense of humour, and knew he was going to be important in her life.
It had been tough for Woody, arriving in the middle of the school year, and he’d felt more of an outsider than he had anticipated. At school in Macclesfield, he’d known nearly everyone in his class since he was five, for they’d all come up through the same primary and middle. In Cornwall, no one had a clue about him and nor did they seem curious. Two weeks after he arrived, he began to find googly eye stickers stuck to his things – the sleeve of his jacket, the outside of his locker, the inside of his desk lid. It was funny at first, but then it wasn’t, because everyone sniggered in a rather spiteful way when he found them, and it started getting to him, stopped him wanting to go to school, even though he knew that was daft. His dad called him soft for caring; his mum wanted to go and talk to the head, which was the last thing he wanted because his mum would lose her rag and that was never pretty.
It was Nikki who found him pulling a row of eyes off his backpack and saw he was nearly in tears.
‘I can’t help having googly eyes,’ he said.
