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Given how much I have on my mind, I’m surprised by how well I sleep, and even more surprised to discover that it’s after ten o’clock when I wake up. I suppose it’s been pretty intense since we got back from Mallorca. It feels like I’ve been dealing with the café for weeks, rather than the couple of days it’s been in reality.
‘I’m telling you, Katie, it would be perfect for you!’ Grandad is proclaiming as I pad into the kitchen in search of coffee. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but Katie certainly doesn’t look very enthusiastic about it. She’s avoiding his gaze and concentrating on gathering up the crumbs of toast on her plate with her finger.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘Grandad thinks I should have Fred’s car. Apparently, he’s done all the research, and it has a small engine so should be cheap to insure.’
‘It’s also practically brand new,’ Grandad continues, ‘so it has all the latest safety gear, which I know will reassure you, Daisy. It’s the perfect little run-around for Katie.’
‘He has got a point,’ I tell her, after I’ve taken a couple of seconds to think about it. ‘I know you’re not that fussed about learning to drive and everything, but it is a life skill, something you should know how to do. If we got it insured and everything for you, and found an instructor, then you could use it for practice between lessons. Grandad could take you out.’
‘Oh, could I?’ he retorts. ‘I thought you might like that privilege.’
‘Hardly! I can only just about cope when I’m driving. I’d be useless with a learner.’
Now Grandad is the one looking less than enthusiastic. His brilliant idea has slightly backfired on him, but he knows as well as I do that I’d be hopeless teaching Katie.
‘Fine,’ Katie sighs, after a long pause. ‘I’ll have some lessons and we’ll see how things go. I’m not making any promises, though.’
* * *
The rest of the morning, once I’m showered and changed, is taken up with sorting out Katie’s licence application, filling in the paperwork to transfer Fred’s car into her name, and booking her in with a local instructor. This is a major concession from her, as she’s always made it clear that she has no interest in learning to drive, so Grandad and I are keen to make sure she’s completely boxed in before she has the opportunity to change her mind. The insurance quote is horrific, despite Grandad’s assurances, but we press ahead anyway.
I check the app on my phone, and the new balance of my savings account makes me feel slightly queasy. There’s no way all that money can stay in there, so I ring the financial adviser that Jonathan recommended and make an appointment to see her on Friday morning. She asks a few questions about what I’m hoping to achieve, which I find difficult to answer because I’ve never had to think about sums like this before, and promises to put some ideas together for us to look at when we meet.
After a quick sandwich lunch, I’m once again heading to Sevenoaks, this time to meet with the accountants. I’ve got the paperwork from Jonathan on the passenger seat, and I realise that I’m actually looking forward to this meeting. It turns out that the accountants’ offices are quite close to the café so, rather than paying for parking, I swing my car into the little road that leads to the parking spaces at the back. Matt’s van is parked in its usual spot, but I’m surprised to find that Fred’s space is already occupied by a red hatchback. Thankfully, there is just enough room for me to squeeze my car across the back of the two spaces without it sticking out beyond our car parking area. I bang on the back door of the café a couple of times, but nobody answers, and I realise that Matt probably can’t hear me knocking because of the corridor between the back door and the kitchen, so I fish out my mobile and dial his number.
‘You’re early! I wasn’t expecting you to call for another hour and a half,’ he says, when he answers.
‘I haven’t been yet. I’m outside the back door. Can you let me in?’
He hangs up and, a couple of seconds later, the door opens.
‘Whose car is that?’ I ask, pointing to the red hatchback.
He smiles. ‘Guess.’
‘Is it Rita’s?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘She’s unbelievable! She could at least have asked. Well, I haven’t got time to deal with it now. She’ll just have to stay there until I’m finished at the accountants. Maybe that will teach her a lesson. Are you okay with me blocking you in?’
‘Yes, I’m not going anywhere until you get back. Rita might be a bit put out, though. She likes to leave on the dot of three.’
‘She should have thought of that before she helped herself to a space that she has no right to be using then, shouldn’t she?’
Matt laughs. ‘Do you know, I think she may have met her match in you. This is going to be interesting.’
I glance at my watch. ‘It’ll have to be interesting later. I’ve only got five minutes to get there now, so I’d better dash. I’ll come straight back down when I’m finished.’
I haven’t decided what to do about the journey to the cash and carry yet. I did wonder whether we could take my car, but I have no idea how much stuff Matt normally buys, and whether it would fit in. I really don’t fancy another trip in the van. I have toyed with the idea of suggesting that I meet him there, but I realise that won’t work now that we’re leaving from the same place. He’ll think I’m snubbing him, and I don’t need any more enemies. Rita is quite enough to be going on with, thank you. I dash through the café and walk the short distance to the accountants. I’ve dressed for the trip to the cash and carry, so I’m wearing faded jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of trainers. The receptionist looks me up and down with evident disdain when I arrive.
‘Please take a seat. Mr Carter will be with you shortly,’ she tells me, once I’ve explained who I am.
The contrast to the Moorhouse & Edgerley offices couldn’t be more pronounced. Not only am I not offered any refreshment, but the chairs are those stackable ones with plastic padding on the seats and the carpet in here is thin and cheap. Whatever they spend their exorbitant fees on, it’s not their office environment.
‘Miss Jones, how nice to meet you.’ Alan Carter is a perfect caricature of how you would imagine an accountant to look if you’d never met one before. He is thin, and his sallow skin looks strangely lifeless. He has washed-out blue eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses, and he’s dressed almost entirely in beige. Even his loafers are beige, I notice. I shake his hand and I’m not at all surprised by the limpness of his grip.
