‘You know that boy, Sam, I was telling you about?’
‘The quiet kid?’
‘Yeah, that one. Well, it turns out he’s the one who does those incredible architectural drawings.’
‘Nice!’ Abi says, passing Lily a pot of hummus.
‘And that football guy came by the art room today,’ Lily says, a little quieter, her eyes fixed on the hummus, smiling.
‘Oh yeah?’
Lily has mentioned him a couple of times already, said that the popular footballer had noticed her artwork up around the school, asked if she’d show him more.
‘What’s he like?’ Abi knows to keep grating cheese, to not look up; it’s such a fine line, showing interest but not making Lily feel pressured.
Lily pauses, thinks before she replies, ‘He’s sweet. I think lots of people think he’s just a football cliché, but, I dunno, I think Blake’s actually really cool, sensitive, you know?’
Oh fuck. Abi balks as she realizes who Lily’s first crush really is – Blake. Blake, Anna and Eddy’s son. Not only that, but Seb’s godson.
‘Ow!’ Abi shouts as heat slices through her thumb, the length of it white and clean where skin should be. Lily leans over, stares too as the blood starts to seep.
‘Owww,’ Abi wails as Lily jumps to the floor, turning the kitchen tap on and ushering her over. Abi grimaces as the cold water rushes over the cut.
‘Owwwww,’ she wails again and Lily fusses around, finding the wound spray and plasters. When Abi’s pulsing thumb is wrapped, Lily makes her a cup of tea before scattering the cheese over the top of the pie and sticking it in the pre-warmed oven.
An hour later the three of them are eating around the tiny Formica table that came with the flat. They’re taking it in turns to answer ‘Would you rather …?’ They are deep in a discussion about Margot’s question, ‘Would you rather have a tail like a monkey or kangaroo legs?’ when, on the side, Abi’s phone lights up with a call from Diego.
‘Hey, Diego,’ Abi says into her phone as the girls chorus behind her, ‘Hi, Uncle D!’
‘Hello, beautiful girls!’ His rich Mexican accent booms through the receiver. Abi tells the girls that she’ll just be a moment and moves to take the call in their boxy sitting room.
‘Have you arrived?’
‘Got to the restaurant about twenty minutes ago.’ Typical Diego, going straight to work on the day he’s moving. ‘Listen, sweetie, are you busy?’
‘You want me to come in, don’t you?’
There’s a pause before Diego says, ‘Nooooo,’ in a way that they both know means, ‘Yessss.’
‘All right. Let me finish up here, sort the girls out and I’ll be over in an hour.’
‘You’re the best.’
‘You’re the worst.’
‘Tell the girls I love them and that their Uncle D will be over soon, OK?’
‘There you are,’ Diego says, shoving a pencil behind his thick black hair before kissing Abi efficiently on both cheeks, looking her over like one of his beautifully made plates before service. He’s in work mode, not friend mode now.
‘You’re tired.’ He’s not asking, he’s telling her.
‘Hi, abuela.’ Abi hangs up her coat. It feels good already: having him here, calling him ‘granny’, the nickname they use for each other now their partying days are behind them and they both like to be in bed by ten p.m. on a day off. ‘How was the drive?’ But Diego isn’t listening; he’s walking to the kitchen and Abi knows he wants her to follow.
The issue is the flow of the kitchen, he explains. The largest pots and frying pans are stored too far away and the kitchen appliances aren’t organized properly. Removing his pencil from behind his ear, he leads her back into the dining area as he talks through the new plan he’s already sketched out. His way would mean having to bring the carpenter back in to make some cupboards larger and others smaller, but Diego just shrugs when she tells him this – so be it. Abi is going to have to get used to playing middlewoman between Diego and Lotte and Richard.
‘So that’s it,’ Diego says when he’s finished. ‘Can you let Madam know?’ Diego loves giving people nicknames; not even his employers are immune.
He pauses, distracted by a huge abstract oil painting that Richard insisted on hanging on the largest wall next to the toilets. ‘Apart from this absolute monstrosity.’
‘Don’t!’ She laughs. ‘They almost came to blows over it. At least it’s better than the photograph of a load of men in tuxedos surrounding a naked woman that was his first choice. That one was unbearably creepy.’
‘Jesus.’ Diego shakes his head, still staring at the weird bull.
‘We’re really doing this, aren’t we?’ he says, putting his arm around her shoulders, and Abi breathes out in a great sigh. She closes her eyes briefly and when she opens them, Diego is staring at her, his lovely brown eyes soft, thick dark eyebrows knotted.
‘We really are,’ she replies, giving his warm hand a squeeze as they both look around the empty, perfect restaurant. Their shared vision finally coming to life after so many years of planning, saving and sacrifice. Lotte and Richard had never been part of the dream, but when they approached Diego, and the negotiations began, Diego had been clear there was no way he was accepting without Abi.
They stand in the restaurant’s soft light in silence for a little longer, taking it all in, before Diego squeezes Abi’s hand and announces, ‘This is the right moment.’ He disappears briefly before returning, already opening the bottle of Moët he’s carrying. ‘It’s from Stephen,’ he says.
‘Oh, you should save it, really, have it with him later …’ Abi starts but it’s too late. The bottle opens with a loud pop.
They sit up on the bar top, their feet dangling like kids’, turned towards the restaurant as she pours the champagne into tumblers. Proper flutes are one of the things Abi has on her list to chase tomorrow.
They raise their glasses to each other and Diego says, ‘To dreams coming true.’
They talk shop for a while – discuss Diego’s concerns about the butcher Richard’s insisting on using and the need for another hire – before Diego turns to Abi. ‘How are you settling into this peculiar little town?’
Diego’s switched to friend mode and Abi takes too long figuring out how to answer. ‘Yeah. Fine.’
Diego raises his perfectly groomed big eyebrows. ‘Don’t lie to me, Abigail.’
‘It’s fine. I’m here for this,’ she says, gesturing to the restaurant, ‘and for the girls.’
‘Missing London?’
‘Missing being invisible, yeah.’
Diego winces. ‘Urgh. Are all the people here as boring as I said they’d be?’
Abi laughs, widens her eyes in a way that shows Diego he’s got it exactly right, and he groans. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ he says, putting a reassuring arm around her. ‘We’ve got each other. We’re not here to make friends.’
For a moment, she thinks about telling him the truth about Rosie, about Seb, and how this whole new life suddenly feels vulnerable.
But even though it could be her only chance, and even though she’s suddenly desperate to ask him what the fuck she should do, she knows Diego hates messes he can’t easily wipe away. Besides, the more she dwells on the whole thing, the bigger an issue it will become. She’ll stick to her plan: she’ll focus on work and the girls and stay out of Seb and Rosie’s way. In time, all this will be so buried it’ll feel as though none of it ever happened at all. The woman she used to be will fade and maybe one day Abi will struggle to remember what she was like, what her name even was. She kicks her legs, sips her champagne, forces herself to forget yesterday, and does what she’s always done best: she dreams about tomorrow.
Chapter 8