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15
“When seagulls follow the trawler it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.”
Erica Cantona, former French national player
“What’s he doing, Muma?” Katy said with her nose pressed up to the kitchen window.
Those words struck fear into Abby’s heart. Had Flynn backslidden already? Were the women back? Was there going to be more noise? She caught Victoria staring at her from the corner of her eye and gave Katy a serene smile, when she felt far from serene.
“I don’t know, darling. Let me see.” It took effort not to rush to the window in an attempt to head off whatever Flynn was up to.
The sight took her breath away. Flynn in a pair of tatty shorts and an old flannel shirt was gorgeous. Flynn in a tailored suit was devastating. Abby experienced weakness in her knees and a mouth-watering need to pet the man.
“What’s happening?” Katy tugged at Abby’s arm, snapping her from the Flynn daze.
Abby cleared her throat. “It looks like he’s being asked questions for a TV show, sweetie.”
Lawrence came up to stand beside them. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he spotted Abby’s flushed cheeks.
“He cleans up well,” Lawrence said.
“Yes. I’m sure he does. I hadn’t really noticed.” Abby’s lie made her cheeks burn more ferociously.
Lawrence grinned knowingly.
“Can we go watch?” Katy bounced in place. Today’s ensemble included pink jeans worn under a pink tutu, sparkling yellow play shoes, a red scarf tied around her waist and a faux-fur shrug—in luminous purple. Her face was makeup free. Her hair had three rainbow-coloured bows stuck in it randomly. “Can we? I want to. Can we?”
“I don’t think so. This looks like a very serious interview. I’m sure he doesn’t want anyone watching, or distracting him.” Abby looked down at her hyperactive daughter. “They don’t let people make any noise, baby. I’m not sure you can be quiet.”
“I can. I really can. Can we go? Can we?”
Lawrence rubbed his perfectly smooth chin. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what he’s saying either. I don’t see where the harm would be. We can stand well back. I’m sure we wouldn’t be a distraction. Katy will promise to be quiet, won’t you, little one?”
Katy made a zipping action at her lips. Yeah, like Abby believed that.
She chewed her bottom lip as she looked over at Flynn. He seemed to be acting as a magnet, pulling her in his direction. “I don’t know.”
“This is a fabulous idea.” Victoria’s words dripped sarcasm. “Why don’t we all go stand in a field to hear what pearls of wisdom Mr Boyle is sharing with the world? I’m sure he has much to teach all of us.”
The condescending smile on Victoria’s face made up Abby’s mind for her.
“You’re right, Victoria.” She smiled brightly. “This is too good an opportunity to miss. Who knows what we might learn. Let’s go hear what Flynn is saying.”
Victoria started to protest, but Katy was already squealing and running for the door, followed closely by a beaming Lawrence.
“Abby, surely you realise these sort of decisions can’t help your cause.”
She sighed as she looked at her sister. “I don’t know what happened to you, Victoria. I’m really sorry you changed. I miss the Victoria I remember from my childhood. The one who told the best bedtime stories and laughed easily. I want my sister back.”
Victoria’s face paled. “I’m not your sister,” she said before walking away.
Pain sliced through Abby, cutting her in a way she didn’t think was still possible when it came to her family. She blinked back tears and went to stand with her daughter. Victoria was right. Abby had lost her sister a long time ago. And there was no sign she was ever coming back.
Abby walked over to the fence she shared with Flynn. The summer sun was hidden behind a blanket of wispy white cloud. It was warm and peaceful, a perfect summer’s day. As she neared the fence, Katy waved at her from her perch on top of it, held in place by Lawrence. She was so happy, so oblivious to the problems swirling around her, and if Abby had to sell her soul to achieve it, Katy would stay that way.
Burying the stress of dealing with Victoria, Abby turned her attention to Flynn. He was sitting on a tall chair, surrounded by lights and reflecting discs, yet he seemed laidback, at ease and totally in control. His slightly overgrown golden hair was back from his face. It sat in place, but still managed to look a little tousled—not much, just enough to make a woman’s mouth water. He’d shaven, but left a sprinkling of designer stubble. He wore a three-piece navy suit with a fine grey pinstripe. His shirt was a crisp white, open at the neck, hinting at the chest Abby had seen many times. She wanted to flick those buttons open and follow the gap they made with her tongue.
“Holy guacamole.” Jena’s whisper broke into Abby’s thoughts. She turned to find her friend standing beside her, flanked by Matt, who was in full police uniform. “What happened to the hobo?”
