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So instead he said, ‘Do you want me to look for anything?’
Gabby shook her head. ‘I’m nearly done. All I need are ingredients for the salad.’
‘Leave that to me.’
Half an hour later they carried the loaded bags into his kitchen, unpacked the ingredients and set to work.
‘This is Gramps’s recipe and I love it,’ Gabby said as she selected a knife from the block and started to chop onions. ‘When I was a kid I’d have it with ketchup and baked beans, but as I got older I figured out it was better without!’ Reaching for the garlic, she looked up at him. ‘What was your favourite childhood dish?’
‘My mum’s chicken casserole, closely followed by Dad’s pork chops in cream with potato dauphinoise. We always ate together, so mealtimes were pretty noisy affairs.’
‘Like today at Gemma’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were lucky,’ she said quietly, as the smell of sizzling onions pervaded the air. ‘Sometimes I wished so hard for siblings, to be part of a “normal” family. And then I’d feel guilty, or I’d worry the social workers would think I’d be better off somewhere else.’
‘Was that ever a possibility?’
‘Gran and Gramps were in their seventies and there were concerns. So many visits and meetings and whispered conversations... I was constantly petrified I’d be taken away. Luckily we jumped through all the hoops, I played my part and there was a happy ending.’
Zander’s heart went out to her. ‘Did you have to play a part?’
‘Yes! It was incredibly important that I came across as quiet and well-adjusted—a child who wouldn’t cause any issues at all. Perhaps it was a good thing—it taught me to push down anger and grief and focus on the positive, on my goals in life. In truth it wasn’t only the social workers I needed to convince—it was Gran and Gramps, as well.’
Zander frowned. ‘But there must have been times when you didn’t feel quiet or well-adjusted?’
‘Sure, but I wasn’t only worried about convincing the social workers. I was scared that they were right—that I would be too much for my grandparents, or that I would remind them too much of my mum. I was scared they would change their minds, and I was grateful they took me in. So I knew I had to be perfect.’
‘Didn’t you ever feel like being loud and noisy and letting your hair down?’
‘Maybe years ago, but not any more. It’s not in my nature now. I’m quite happy looking on whilst other people do that.’
Zander didn’t believe her—he sensed that along with her grief and anger, Gabby had also stifled her joie de vivre and her sense of adventure.
‘I’ve got an idea.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘How long does your fish pie need in the oven?’
‘An hour.’
‘Perfect. Then once you have it in, why don’t we pop out for a predinner drink in the pub?’
‘Sure. That sounds nice.’
As he mashed potatoes and shelled hard-boiled eggs, mixed a salad dressing and loaded the dishwasher, he hummed under his breath.
Gabby’s eyes scrunched in suspicion. ‘You look like Freddy did earlier, when he was planning on mischief.’
‘Moi?’ He opened his eyes wide in simulated surprise. ‘What mischief could I possibly be planning?’
‘I don’t know...’ Opening the oven, she popped the fish pie in and he gestured to the door.
‘Let’s go.’
They walked the tree-lined streets, inhaling the smell of the nearby river, until he spotted what he was looking for—a pub a colleague had mentioned.
‘Here we are.’
The pub exuded warmth. People had spilled out on to the street, glasses in hand, and the sound of music tumbled out to mix with the chatter and laughter. Once inside they headed to the bar, and Zander beamed as he saw the stage against one of the walls, plastered with posters of local bands.
