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‘They aren’t googly,’ she told him. ‘They’re the kindest, smiliest eyes I’ve ever seen.’
‘And also,’ he said fiercely, ‘I don’t want to have to punch whoever’s doing it. Because I can tell you, I’ll hurt them. And I know it will be me who gets into trouble.’
He was talking from experience. If you didn’t stick up for yourself where he came from, you were sunk. But he knew that if he wanted to join the police, he had to stay out of trouble.
‘Leave it with me,’ said Nikki, picking off the last pair of googly eyes and flicking them into the bin.
He never knew how she did it, but there were no more stickers. And from then on, he and Nikki were firm friends. She brought him back to Mariners and he was pulled into the heart of the house. He never brought Nikki home to his, where his mum had the telly on full blast from dawn to dusk, so there wasn’t much point in trying to have a conversation.
And now he was as good as one of the family, wandering in and out of the house, even if Nikki wasn’t there. He’d do the quick crossword with Helen, or kick a football about with Graham, or listen to Jess’s latest drama. He’d joined the police, as was his dream, and he looked out for all of them.
Now, Nikki tensed as he ruffled her hair on his way past then sat in the chair next to her. She saw Rik’s eyes flicker towards them, saw a moment of confusion in his eyes. Then Jess leaned forwards across the table to grab Rik’s attention.
‘So,’ she said, ‘are we all going to the beach after this?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Rik. ‘Once we’ve helped your mum with the washing-up.’
Helen beamed. Jess rolled her eyes. Nikki gritted her teeth and clenched her fists under the table. Jess hardly ever came to the beach on a Sunday these days, so why was she suggesting it now?
Did she even have to ask?
11
Now
‘Oh!’ Helen looked startled as Nikki came into the kitchen. She was looking at her iPad, and pushed it away, flustered. ‘I didn’t realise the time. How are you, darling? How’s the house?’
Nikki plonked herself down at the kitchen table. She breathed in the smell of the kitchen: the base note of oil from the Aga, the joint roasting, her mum’s Estée Lauder. Their dad had bought a bottle of Youth Dew every Christmas from Debenhams in Exeter, and now it was up to Jess or Nikki to make sure there was a fresh bottle under the tree each year. They all knew it was for their benefit. It was the smell of their mum. The smell of comfort.
‘It’s everything I dreamed of,’ she said. ‘But there’s a lot of work. My nails are wrecked.’
‘Can I pop over and see it one day this week?’
‘I’d love that.’
‘I’m so proud of you, darling. I know how long you’ve waited for one of them to come up.’
‘You have to make things happen, don’t you?’
‘You do.’ Helen squared her iPad on the table. She looked nervous. ‘And talking of making things happen, I want to pick your brain about something.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve been thinking … about …’ She searched for the word. ‘I think it’s time. I think it’s the right time. And I’m not sure what you’ll think. What you’ll all think. But …’ She was flailing.
‘Go on, Mum. Spit it out.’
Helen shut her eyes. ‘Dating.’
Nikki wiped her brow in mock relief. ‘Phew. I thought you were going to say you wanted to sell Mariners.’
‘No!’ said Helen. ‘Never. We’ve had that discussion. You know I’d never let this house go.’
‘Good! Well, dating. Yes. Why not? If that’s what you want.’
‘I need some help, though. I mean, I really haven’t a clue.’
Nikki looked at her mum, her warm, gentle brown eyes that shone with wisdom, her creamy freckled skin, barely lined despite what she’d been through, the shining bright chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders. She’d worn her grief with such grace and dignity, like a lace shawl made of shadowy cobwebs, always there but barely seen. Helen hadn’t ever expressed any interest in finding someone before now, but if she felt the need for someone new in her life, Nikki would support her.
