‘They don’t mean any harm.’
‘It doesn’t mean they’re not doing some, Elle.’
She frowned up at me, as though she didn’t recognise me. ‘I can handle them.’
‘Obviously. Will you punch me in the kidneys if I don’t drop it, too?’ I joked, trying to lighten the mood again. I didn’t want her to think I was criticising her family, without even knowing them.
‘Oh no. You’d be expecting that, and type A guys deserve much worse.’ She winked at me before walking into the narrow galley kitchen. A woman, the same height as Elle with fair hair braided back, was standing at the sink washing a large bowl, looking out the window at a bunch of men who were crowded around a grill on the lawn.
‘Mom.’ Elle slid her arm around her mother and leaned her head on her shoulder with a sigh like she was home and could finally relax.
Grief ripped through my gut; a simple thought — that my safe place was gone — cutting me off at the knees. And that it wasn’t ever going to stop hurting.
They were chatting about a salad her mother wanted her to make and then Elle turned to me with a smile in her eyes, which dimmed when she caught my expression. I did my best to put my face back together despite my chest being scraped hollow and offered her a small smile in return. I could see she wasn’t fooled. That made me think of Mum too – she’d never been fooled either.
‘Oh, who’s this?’ Elle’s mother turned a second later and grabbed a dish towel to wipe her hands.
‘This is Stephen, from London.’
‘Well, you sure came a long way for a barbecue.’
Elle rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. ‘He’s working in New York for the summer but we met in England at Christmas.’
‘And is Elle showing you all the sights?’
‘Absolutely, she’s been a wonderful tour guide.’
‘Oh Lord, that accent.’ Her mother lifted her eyebrows and threw a look at Elle just like the ones I’d seen Elle give Beth – conspiring and amused. ‘So are you—’
‘No,’ Elle interrupted. ‘I have a favour to ask of Dad for him, though.’
‘Right. Best let your father finish cooking and get some food in him. You know how antsy he gets when he’s hungry.’ She smiled at me again. There was something so unhurried in her manner, calm and patient, which was not what I would’ve expected of a woman with seven children, but then maybe one got to a point where trying to control the surrounding chaos was impossible. ‘Help yourself to whatever you like, honey. You’re very welcome here.’
‘Thank you—?’
‘Belinda.’ She held out her hand, soft and warm from washing up, and I took it and pressed it between mine gently.
‘Belinda. You’re very kind.’
She smiled at me with mischief in her eyes and as Elle tugged me towards the doors where the yard was, I heard her murmur. ‘What a charmer.’
There was that word again.
‘Are you OK?’ Elle pressed her shoulder to my arm as we descended the steps off the decking and headed for the grill. The smell of charcoal and sweetly marinated meat filled my nose and my stomach growled.
‘Of course. Just hungry.’ I didn’t want her to think I was having my second emotional breakdown in less than two hours.
‘Well, like my mom said, it’ll be best to tackle Dad after the food, so tuck in when it’s served up and just do your charming British thing.’
I stifled a sigh.
The group of men all stopped talking and turned as we reached them. They looked like someone had stamped them out using the same cookie cutter. All just above average height with the same short red hair and grey eyes, age was the only discerning factor at a first glance.
As Elle did brief introductions, I looked out for memorable characteristics I could link to their names, the same way I had to do when I met new clients. Teddy and Alfie, the twins, were going to be a challenge, but Alfie had a concentrated group of freckles on his forehead and Teddy had darker eyebrows. Sam wore his hair longer and there was a flick of dark ink at the edge of his collar that was most likely a tattoo, which would help me separate him from the eldest, Tim, when he was back around. Her dad’s name was Ken.
While I was examining them to memorise their names, I realised they were eyeing me back with as much concentration, like a pack of overprotective wolves. One of them – Alfie – was spinning an American football in his hand.
‘You wanna join us in a game of touch football while we wait for Dad and Elle to finish on the grill?’
