‘It’s okay, Al. I understand.’
They were silent again, as if taking in the severity of the situation.
‘It would be good to think I might be home in time for Mum and Dad’s anniversary.’
Etienne took a deep breath. He was aware of the turn of the calendar as it got closer to October. He felt the date looming over him. The day his parents died in a car crash five years ago. It had been a day like any other for him, for them. A bright and breezy autumn day which blew leaves from the trees. He’d been working as assistant manager in a hotel in Ealing. He’d been on the late shift and started at midday, by chance calling his parents as he hurried along a side street in West London to work. His mum had been happy to hear from him, but then she always was. She put him on speaker to tell him about a character in the new book she was writing, an old lady who owned a fish and chip shop who had never been to the sea. ‘So, guess where we’re going now?’ his dad called in the background and his mum laughed. ‘The seaside!’ she said. ‘For ice cream and paddling. Research purposes of course!’ And that was last time he spoke to them. A lorry travelling at seventy miles per hour on the M27 burst its tyre, lost control and smashed their blue Volkswagen Golf into the central reservation of the motorway. Emergency services said that his parents would have died instantly. The one happy thought, that Etienne clung to, was that they were on their way home from the coast. They had eaten their ice creams and done their paddling.
‘That would be good,’ he answered Alex softly, thinking of how he normally marked the anniversary. A closed restaurant. A good bottle of French wine. Alone.
‘So, I’ll let you know when they make contact. And then I can arrange next steps. I’ll have to get the money from you. . .’
‘I’m almost there with it.’ Etienne felt his jaw pop as he clenched his teeth together.
‘And I’ll pay you back, Et. Every penny.’
‘I know,’ Etienne agreed with him, not intending to take a penny. Because as Alex paid off his debts, so Etienne would have a clean slate too.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Isabella
Girl Gang WhatsApp group
Rosie: Late-night opening at ours tonight if you want to come and listen to Story Stars?
Isabella: What’s Story Stars?
Wren: We eat snacks while the kids listen to someone read them a bedtime story.
Rosie: FYI. Grapes count as snacks too.
Isabella: You mean, you drink wine while someone reads a book out loud?
Wren: Yup. It’s a winner with all the parents.
Rosie: Come over. Unless you’ve got something else to do.
Wren: Or someone else to do.
Isabella: I’ll be there. But after 6 p.m. I’m meeting the team Amber has put together.
Wren: Is Gabi still here? Bring her along.
Isabella: No, she got called back to work at the weekend. Throwing herself off a tall building or something similar.
Wren: And how are your nipples?
Isabella: In solitary confinement.
Rosie:
The waiting staff filed into the restaurant, taking in the new floorboards laid from reclaimed wood, the whitewashed walls, the stripped-back wooden windowsills. Amber led the way. Isabella overheard snatches of whispers, how different it looked, how much nicer, and glanced round at her handiwork as if seeing it for the first time. The main dining area was almost complete. It was the kitchen, bathrooms and backstage areas that were still majorly under construction. Plus, there was still the damp problem in the wine cellar.
The group collected in the middle of the room and Isabella hung back in the doorway of the kitchen, watching them. They all looked to Amber for directions already, which would be helpful when she was organising their rotas and training. It was a mixed bunch. Men and women, ages ranging from what looked like eighteen to retirement. Amber spotted her and beckoned her over.
‘Everyone, this is Isabella.’
Everyone turned to look at her.
