37
Lou was on her way to work the next morning when she met the postman walking up the garden path.
‘Morning!’ He greeted her with a friendly smile. ‘Hang on, I’ve got one for you.’ He rifled through the small bunch of mail in his hand and handed her a slim white envelope.
‘Thanks.’ Lou took it from him and shoved it in her pocket as she followed him out the gate. She only took it out when she was at the restaurant, and looked at it curiously. It was official-looking, the address typewritten, but it wasn’t from one of the utility companies as she’d assumed. She flipped it over, a sense of dread coming over her as she saw the name and address of a firm of solicitors printed on the back – not one she recognised. She tried to dispel the feeling of trepidation, reminding herself that the last time she’d been contacted out of the blue by solicitors it was because she’d inherited a house. But what were the chances of something like that happening twice in a lifetime? Maybe it had something to do with Noreen’s estate. Could there be another firm of solicitors involved somehow?
She opened the flap with her thumb and pulled out a single sheet of thick, cream paper. Her heart began to pound as shescanned the letter, then went back to read it again more slowly, the impact of every word landing like a punch. She shoved it back in her pocket with shaking fingers as Ingrid arrived in the locker room. She’d deal with it later.
She went into the kitchen to find Ian launching into prepping a mountain of onions.
‘I’ll do that,’ she said. She was frighteningly close to tears and there was no chance she was going to be able to hold it together. At least if she was peeling and chopping onions she’d have a good excuse. She could just let go and cry and no one would know the difference.
Ian shook his head. ‘Thanks, but it’s my job.’
‘Please, I want to.’
He gave her a sceptical look – understandably. He sighed. ‘I’d love to but Aidan would kill me if he found out.’
‘Don’t worry about him. I’ll tell him it was my idea. Please? I love prepping onions.’
‘Really?’ He screwed his face up in disbelief.
Lou shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t love it. But it clears the sinuses and I’ve been having sinus headaches recently. At least let me help.’
He shrugged. ‘Okay, if you insist.’
‘Why don’t I do this and you can get on with prepping the mushrooms for the risotto?’ She’d still rather be left alone to cry without someone watching her.
Ian nodded. ‘Okay, thanks.’ He couldn’t hide his relief as he put down his knife and stepped aside, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. She’d just made his morning a whole lot brighter.
Lou picked up the knife and set to work. Minutes later she was elbows deep in onions, with no need to try to hold back the tears that streamed down her face as she peeled and sliced. She allowed herself to dwell on the contents of the solicitor’s letter,sporadically swiping with the back of her hand at the tears that blurred her vision.
She jumped when Aidan burst into the kitchen moments later, immediately taking in the scene. ‘What’s going on?’ His gaze flew to Ian, calmly slicing mushrooms at the station opposite her.
Ian shrugged. ‘Lou wanted to do the onions.’
‘Lou?’ Aidan was beside her, but she kept her eyes down, focused on her task. ‘What’s wrong?’ He bent to look up into her face.
‘Nothing.’ She lifted her head to look at him, sniffing as she swiped more tears away. ‘I’m cutting a fudge-load of onions, that’s all.’
Aidan eyed her intently, then shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. Those aren’t onion tears.’ He took her hand, gently prising the knife from her fingers and placing it down on the counter. Lou couldn’t restrain the hiccupping sob that escaped her.
‘God, what is it?’ Aidan’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Lou?’
She shook her head, unable to speak. Ian had paused in his task and was looking at her worriedly.
‘Come with me.’ Aidan took her hand and led her to the door. ‘You,’ he said to Ian, ‘finish those onions.’
‘Yes, Chef.’
Aidan took Lou to his office and closed the door behind them. ‘Now, what the hell is going on?’
Lou took a gulping breath, trying to calm herself. ‘It’s not Ian’s fault. I asked him to let me do the onions.’
‘Screw the onions. I’m not worried about that. Why are you crying?’
‘I don’t cry,’ Lou said defensively.
