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Five minutes later, my sister rings me.
“What’s going on?”
“Why should anything be going on?” She sounds casual, too casual. “I was just busy with Henrietta.”
And that’s another tell. Because like Mum, my sister only uses her daughter’s full name when she’s being deliberate, or formal. My antennae go up even more.
And “busy?” Her husband said she was sleeping. I blow out a slow breath and decide not to cross examine her. “Mum was worried.”
“Yes, sorry I forgot about our shopping trip. I’ve just texted to tell her we’re all going over to see her this afternoon.”
We, all. Which means he will be there to make sure she and Mum can’t speak privately.
“Hanie. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, it is. You’re worse than Mum.” She laughs, her usual happy relaxed laugh. “Anyway, how is the creative process coming along? Did you get your fishy tiles?”
In spite of the worry, she makes me laugh. “Marine not fishy.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Marine tiles are sea-blue and look nice in a bathroom. Fishy tiles are what line the walls of a chip shop.”
“Don’t…” She groans. “I’m trying to stick to my diet.”
I hate that her bastard husband makes her feel fat. Haneen is the most beautiful woman I know, with or without the extra pounds.
“Then I doubt you’d approve of my breakfast.”
“Which is?”
“Lemon and rosemary biscuits. They’re a gift from the seigneur’s wife. She sent me a hamper full of all sorts. The almond and cinnamon fingers were especially yummy.”
“Hal, really, Harrison.” She says trying to sound severe but failing. She always does this, imitate Mum’s voice when angry; she used to make me laugh when we were growing up.
“Haneen Hemingway,” I do as close an imitation of Mum as I can manage. “If you are going to lecture me then I’m hanging up and you can go back to your Ryvita and cottage cheese.”
We both snort with laughter.
“Okay, but please look after yourself.”
Her loving voice reminds me of why I’m so worried about her and instantly my laughter melts away.
“Hanie…” I am about to ask the question on my mind, the question that’s been on my mind for two years.
“Tell me about the cottages,” she asks quickly, as if to stop me asking.
I have no idea if she’s on speaker phone, so, I change gears. “Yesterday, I helped someone renovate their honey shop and it gave me ideas about making Low Catch into something really unique.” I talk on and on, mostly thinking out loud because my sister is a wonderful sounding board. “So, it could be a place to inspire people’s imagination, a holiday home that is a lot more than just a place to sleep.”
“Who is she?”
“She?” I have no idea who she means, but for some reason, my blood goes thump through my veins and my gaze travels to the house behind the trees.
“Come on Hal, I’ve never heard you so fired up, even your voice sparkles. I can’t believe this is just about construction, there has to be a she.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“You can tell me. I’ve just taken you off speaker.”
