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Nikki stopped in the driveway for a moment. She could sense Juno’s apprehension. She’d made a big effort with her appearance while trying to pretend she hadn’t, but Nikki could see she had refreshed the dark blue dye on her hair, and her make-up had been applied with even more precision: perfect dark red lips, immaculate arched eyebrows, contoured cheekbones. She was clutching the notebook she used for song-writing. It was covered in pictures of her musical idols, and wrapped in sticky back plastic: Debbie Harry and Nina Simone and Joni Mitchell.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ Nikki told her. ‘And remember, Zak was like you once. He wasn’t born a star. He knows what it’s like.’
Juno gave something between a shrug and a nod. Nikki reached out to squeeze her shoulder. Her fingers met the fabric of the dress she was wearing, and she started in sudden recognition. Now she looked she could see it wasn’t a dress, but a man’s shirt, hitched in with a wide belt over Juno’s fishnets and lace-up boots.
A billowing collarless shirt, white with a thin black pinstripe.
‘Is this new?’ Nikki asked.
‘It’s Dad’s,’ said Juno. ‘Mum gave it to me. She thought it would bring me good luck. That it would be like having him with me.’
‘Oh, darling.’ Nikki hugged her, rubbing her cheek against the soft cotton for a moment, remembering him in her arms, the feel of him, the warmth of him. ‘Whatever you do, it will be amazing. Your dad would be so proud of you.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know so. How couldn’t he be? You’re clever and talented and beautiful. Zak is lucky to be working with you.’
‘I bet he can’t wait,’ said Juno drily. She was too down on herself, thought Nikki. But maybe it was her age. Maybe they’d all been like that. Uncertain of their place in the world. She thought it had been easier for them, though, growing up without the pressure of social media, the micro-scrutiny and the fake worlds to which they were taught to aspire. Though Juno didn’t buy into it so much, and was assiduous about teaching the M and Ms not to be taken in by Instagram and Snapchat and TikTok.
They rattled up the driveway as the farm came into view. It looked almost unrecognisable from the tumbledown old wreck Nikki remembered, with its ramshackle outbuildings and sagging roof. It had smelled of damp and weed and woodsmoke from the big old fire that was the only heating. Now it glowed mellow in the sun, immaculately restored, as splendid as the day it had been built three hundred years ago, not a brick or a window out of place.
And here was Zak, coming out to greet them with a wide smile in what looked like his gardening clothes, followed by an Australian sheep dog with bright blue eyes.
‘Look at him,’ breathed Juno, and as ever Nikki knew that her head was not being turned by the chart-topping heart-throb but his canine companion.
‘Hey,’ said Zak, holding out his hand to Nikki. ‘I’m Zak. It’s good to meet you.’
‘I’m Juno’s aunt,’ said Nikki, trying not to be too starstruck. It was weird, seeing someone you’d watched on the telly at Glastonbury right in front of you. ‘And this is Juno.’
He turned to Juno. ‘I can’t wait to work with you.’
‘Same,’ said Juno, with a shy smile.
‘Come on in.’ Zak nodded towards the house. ‘You can wait inside, if you want,’ he told Nikki. ‘There’s a bar and coffee and a TV.’
‘Oh gosh no, I’ll come back later,’ said Nikki. The last thing she wanted to do was cramp Juno’s style. ‘Good luck, both of you.’
She watched them head off towards the studio. The rock star and the nobody. She felt a curious mixture of pride and protectiveness for Juno, but something told her she would hold her own. She had her own star quality, even if she was reticent about sharing it with the world. Maybe this was a turning point for her? Maybe Zak could give her the confidence she needed?
33
Two weeks later, Mike and Jason cleared away their tools from the cottage. All Nikki needed to do was paint the house from top to bottom and get her things from storage. To spur her on to finish the decorating she decided to throw a housewarming party before her furniture was moved in. She only had one Saturday without a wedding, which she’d deliberately kept free, so she texted invitations to her closest friends and family. Tacos, cocktails and dancing – something easy that wouldn’t take much organising. She felt uplifted by the thought of a celebration that belonged to her and no one else, something to mark the kind of life she wanted at Number Four: free and easy, an open door, as welcoming in the height of summer with the sun blazing as it would be in the depths of winter with a log fire on the go.
Meanwhile, she drove Adam to look at a couple of office spaces on an industrial estate on the edge of town. Graham had given him the heads up as North Property Management had been pulled in to tart them up before they went back on the rental market. Adam signed up on the spot for the smaller one, and Nikki could feel his elation at making the decision.
They headed back down the long hill into Speedwell. As they turned the corner, the harbour came into view, the buildings along the quay shimmering in the midday sun. It was almost high tide, the boats rising higher and higher as the water trickled in. Only last week, the Sunday Times had run a review on Salacia, which was packed to the rafters night after night:
A newly built dual carriageway and superfast broadband have turned this faded seaside town in North Cornwall into a glittering hotspot; the place to work remotely and enjoy the coastal life we all dream of. Imagine paddle-boarding around the bay in your lunch hour, and ending your day with a gin and tonic in Salacia, a sexy, luxe glass-fronted bar that has opened to serve the influx of former city dwellers who’ve chosen a new way of living.
Adam sighed as he looked at the picturesque sweep of the bay. In the distance, on the other side, they could see their little cottages, perched on the clifftop like birds on a wire.
‘I haven’t had a moment’s regret about moving down here,’ he said. ‘It’s perfect. Well, except for the obvious.’
Nikki lifted her hand to touch his arm, in sympathy, then took it away to change gear, worrying the gesture would be too intimate. She cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear. It was warm in the car, and her head was filled with the scent of his cologne – it was both clean and dirty at the same time, citrussy yet musky, lime and pepper and honey, male yet feminine; complex, hard to pin down, hauntingly sexy. She found it incredibly distracting. Dangerous while driving down a steep slope in a narrow lane.
Eventually they reached the outskirts of the town and she drove towards the harbour, managing to find a space. It was getting harder and harder to park nowadays. They headed back along the quay towards the Neptune, walking past the memorial that had been commissioned for the fifth anniversary of the disaster. Forged in shining stainless steel, it was twenty feet high. A tangle of hearts, each one representing one of the lost men, were entwined with each other. From a distance, they looked like a huge cresting wave. It was simple and symbolic, slicing through the blue sky, glittering where the light caught it.
Seven hearts. Seven men.
