‘Harper didn’t tell me there were any extra dietary requirements.’ Rae mashed more aggressively, fluffy, buttery potatoes beginning to flatten against the spoon. She stepped away to catch her breath, the sound of the oven door making her whirl.
‘Gran, what are you doing?’ She dashed over to close the door quickly, sweat dripping down her neck.
‘They’re burning,’ Gran said, taking off her fogged glasses to wipe them on her cream cardigan.
‘They’re not burning. They’ve only just gone in!’ Rae crouched to make double, triple sure, only to find they hadn’t yet risen at all.
‘Apparently it’s a new thing,’ Dad was saying. Rae couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking about as she poured red wine onto the lean steaks searing in the frying pan. ‘They also wanted to know if the truffles are ethically sourced. Oh, and they asked something about whether the cheese would be gloopy.’
‘Yes,they are ethically sourced. No, I don’t plan to use gloopy cheese.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t that. Might have been atypeof cheese she was asking after. Sounded French. Goulash… Grunch… Gertrude…’
Gritting her teeth, Rae returned to the mash as her heart began to knock against her ribs like heavy, rapping knuckles. She couldn’t do this, didn’t know where to put her focus – and now Vik was drying her hands on the towel set aside for cleaning the pots.
A crawling sensation began across Rae’s spine as she rushed to the cupboard, weaving between Gran’s hovering frame and the counters.
‘Gushy,’ Dad was still listing off.
‘Now you’re just making up words!’ she complained sharply. ‘Could you quadruple check that nobody else eats GF?’
‘What’s GF?’
‘Gluten-free, Dad!’ Rae couldn’t keep her voice from rising, a lump sticking in her throat when Vik and Gran began having their own conversation, adding to the overwhelming cacophony.
Right on time, Martha appeared with a tray of empty glasses. ‘They’re loving the wine, Audrey! Rae, Harper’s ready when you are.’
‘I think it might have been guava.’ Dad scratched his head.
Ignoring him, Rae glanced at the clock, though it had barely moved a few minutes since last time. ‘It’s only five. They said six!’
‘Aye,’ Martha replied, ‘but the kiddies are complaining they’re hungry.’
The kids.Rae had almost forgotten about them, so wrapped up in the intricate details of her main courses. She pulled out the pizza dough she’d prepared last night, slathering tomato paste all over.
Dad snapped his fingers. ‘Gouda!’
‘That’s Dutch.’
‘Yeah, that wasn’t it. It sounded a bit likegooey…’
‘These potatoes have gone mushy,’ Gran pointed out, sticking her nose over the pan.
Rae was beginning to understand why so many of her colleagues shouted foul insults across the kitchen.
‘Is any of this ringing any bells?’ Dad asked.
‘No, Dad, I don’t know a French cheese called gooey!’
‘All right, no need to shout.’ He paused. ‘So, what should I tell them about the gluten-free cheese?’
Rae balled her fists and tried very, very hard not to scream.
29
Struan was late. He’d rushed home as soon as the final ambulance had rolled away, completed the world record for the shortest shower known to man, and took a cab to the farm with his shoes on the wrong feet and his hair still damp. He was used to long rescue efforts, but this one had seemed to last forever. The cave had just kept crumbling, covering the poor family in so much rubble that, in the end, he’d been worried they’d run out of oxygen before they were evacuated.
He grimaced to find the marquee teeming with guests. He’d probably missed all of the important parts. The weather had dried, many flooding out onto the gravel to marvel at the gorgeous fairy-lit landscapes. His first instinct was to search not for the bride, but for Rae. He’d seen her text message but hadn’t had time to reply, and now his phone was dead and left abandoned at home.
