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Abigail looked at them both. If it was old times, then her mum and Emily would be there too, having fish and chips on a Friday night.
Gerald said, ‘They’re busy preparing the guesthouse for some last minute arrivals, I’m afraid.’
‘Where does Emily think I’m staying?’
‘I told her you’re staying at the cottage by the sea.’
Abigail was about to lift off when he said, ‘She assumes you are renting the place like you used to when you came here with … with …’
Abigail rolled her eyes, thinking,here we go again with not saying his name.
‘Will you come? We’re having something to eat.’
Abigail glanced over at the lighthouse. She didn’t want to speak to Joss right now, and the last thing she wanted was to see his bloody uncle. ‘Yes, why not. But I’m not coming in your car, you both smell of fish.’ She smiled affectionately at them as they walked back to their car. It was lovely to see Luke. She had intended to see her brother – she just hadn’t got round to it.
They backed their car down the driveway so she could get Penelope out of the garage. For a moment, Abigail hesitated before getting in the car, thinking that it would be sod’s law if Oliver and his sister turned up at The Anchor Inn and saw Penelope parked outside. She didn’t know why that thought had occurred to her. Would they even recognise their aunt’s old car? Besides, she’d turned up enough times at the Hall driving that car. Except that at the Hall, there were lots of staff members coming and going, and she always parked Penelope discreetly at the back, in the staff car park where Carys and Oliver had no reason to venture.
Waiting to set off in their car, Luke wound his window down and called out, ‘You haven’t changed your mind – have you?’
Abigail shook her head. What were the chances that Carys and Oliver would turn up at The Anchor Inn in Walberswick,where the local fishermen hung out? Carys had moved back from London. She couldn’t imagine either her or Oliver frequenting a place like that. She imagined them in a trendy bar or restaurant having a sit-down meal, not in a fishermen’s pub with a plate of fish and chips and a pint of beer.
Abigail’s mouth watered at the thought of a beer and battered fish and chips. She put the key in the ignition and waved, calling out, ‘I’m coming.’ She was looking forward to an evening with her family, and no talk of the Somervilles or Joss’s uncle, or anything else that was on her mind.
