‘Come here,’ she says to her old friend, their shared dream lying crumpled at their feet as they hug.
Lotte arrives soon after with a large bag.
‘Ooff,’ she says, pointing at the contents. ‘Candles.’
She stands, pressing her palms into the small of her back, and looks at Abi, a little sly, a little suspicious. Abi remembers Lotte giving her the same look during her interview months ago. Lotte had been worried about Abi’s lack of recent references on her CV, but she knew she was going to have to overlook the issue if they wanted Diego. Which they did. Badly.
Today Lotte squeezes Diego’s shoulder and turning to Abi asks, ‘You feeling better, Abs?’
All Abi has to do is smile and nod before Lotte, due diligence done, looks away from Abi and, pulling out her phone, addresses Diego as she says, ‘Oh, guys! I was interviewed this morning! By the Beeb! So exciting – my fifteen minutes …’ she adds, lifting her eyebrows like she actually believes she’s worth – no, owed – much, much more than just fifteen measly minutes.
She frowns at her phone as she searches for the link and, holding the phone away from herself and gesturing to Diego to lean in, she presses ‘play’.
Lotte is standing outside the school gates, her hair neatly arranged over her shoulders, her lips shellacked, her expression one of studied seriousness. Abi immediately recognizes the reporter standing next to Lotte: Sam Beresford, the guy she overheard outside the remains of Eva’s house earlier.
‘I’m standing outside Waverly Community Secondary School, joined by Lotte Browning, a parent whose son attends the school where Mr Kent is head teacher. Good morning, Lotte.’
Lotte looks briefly at Sam before, smiling, she turns back and says direct to camera, ‘It’s not, Sam – no, not a good morning. I’m afraid me and my family along with the rest of our community here in Waverly are still trying to comprehend what happened last night.’
Lotte, transfixed by herself on the screen, mouths along, repeating the words silently as Lotte in the video says them.
‘We’re all in shock and our hearts go out to Eva and her family.’
Sam moves the microphone back under his own chin as he says, ‘Does that include Sebastian Kent, Eva’s son?’
Lotte frowns, smiles and shakes her head gently at Sam. ‘Of course it does!’ Before she adds, ‘Listen, it’s important that everyone understands the community here doesn’t have a problem with Mr Kent as a person. We would never condone or want to incite violence against anyone.’
‘Yes, but last night …’
‘The terrible things that happened last night were the misjudged actions of … I don’t know, a few crazy people. But they do at least highlight the strength of feeling here. We’ve seen it happen in neighbouring towns and villages, the slow corruption of a once beloved place. We will protect our community. And part of that means ensuring the people who are at the forefront of our community – the leaders or elders, if you like – share our values. Which Mr Kent clearly does not. It’s as simple as that.’
‘And what about the woman who supposedly recently moved to Waverly – what would you say to her?’
‘Mr Kent’s prostitute, you mean?’ Lotte checks. Sam nods, his eyes flaring, unsure whether that is a banned word on air, and Lotte turns back, fixes her eyes once again, straight on the camera. She breathes out, sadly. ‘I’d say first that we’re sorry. I’m sure none of this is your fault and, please, if you need help, we’re here. We are here,’ she adds more softly, before her plastic mouth lifts into a saccharine and carefully produced smile.
The video ends with Sam thanking Lotte.
Diego sits back in his chair, his jaw hanging open. Lotte leans forward, thinking his reaction is something other than what it is – shock, worry for Abi, bemusement.
‘What do you think, D? Did I talk too quickly? Did I smile enough?’
Diego can’t meet her eye as he stands up from his chair and says, ‘Wow.’
‘You liked it?’ Lotte asks, a little shy.
Diego looks at Lotte, his dark eyebrows closer to his hairline than Abi’s seen them before, and he says, ‘You’re something else, Madam, you really are.’
And because Diego is Diego and because he calls her ‘Madam’ and because this is just his adorable Mexican way (isn’t it?), Lotte beams at him before he says, ‘I’d better get back.’ And as he turns, heading towards the kitchen, he looks at Abi and she knows in that moment that he understands. He fully understands and even though she never needed his permission, not really, to leave, she has it and their friendship will continue.
When he’s gone, Lotte starts unpacking her candles, telling Abi how she and Richard are having a security camera fitted outside their front door because, ‘It just feels like we can’t trust anyone any more, you know?’
She doesn’t notice Abi staring at her, wondering what it’d be like to be so fearful of things she knows nothing about. Because what, really, does Lotte know about threat and violence?
‘Lotte, I need to tell you something …’
‘What was that?’ Lotte asks, adding, ‘Look at this. £10.99 for a candle and they stick the price over the wick!’
‘I’m handing in my notice, Lotte.’
Lotte looks up sharply then, her eyes little knots of disbelief, betrayal.
‘What?’
‘I’m leaving the restaurant.’
Lotte squints at Abi. ‘That’s insane. Diego’s going to get us a star next year – why on earth would you want to—’
‘I don’t want to be here any more.’ It’s the truth, Abi thinks, why complicate things?
‘We’ve only just opened! And Diego, oh God, he’s not going too …’
‘No, no. It’s just me. He already knows. I’ll work this weekend and then we can figure out my leaving date. I’m still in the first three months of my contract and we agreed, didn’t we, that either party can terminate with immediate …’
Lotte isn’t listening; she’s too invested in her own sense of betrayal. She comes towards Abi, hands at her waist, her face a twist of rage. ‘I defended you, do you know that?’
‘Lotte …’
‘To Anna and Vita – they both wanted to keep you on the list. Especially Vita …’
‘List?’
‘No, no. It doesn’t matter. Don’t come in this weekend. We don’t need you. In fact, don’t ever come here again.’
Abi stammers, but Lotte’s face is blanched with anger, and she starts walking towards Abi again, forcing her backwards and saying, ‘Get out. Go on. If you don’t want us, then we sure as hell don’t want you.’
Chapter 24
Saturday is crisp and sunny. It’s the kind of weekend when Seb would get everyone out. ‘Family bike ride!’ he’d call upstairs, or, ‘Come on, we’re going to the woods!’ But Seb doesn’t leave the house. They don’t talk about it but there’s a tacit agreement between the three adults that Seb should never open the front door, just in case it’s not a well-wisher but a reporter, or worse. Rosie, often with a child or two coiling around her, leaps up whenever it rings. Which it seems to every few minutes with some ashen-faced neighbour. When they’ve run out of vases and jam jars and there’s no fridge or freezer space left, Rosie heaps their offerings on the kitchen table. By the afternoon, the table looks like one of the kids’ games of shop. Flowers propped up, nestled against each other in their plastic cones. Lasagnes and home-made bread and cakes. There are clothes for Eva, and not just ones destined for the charity shop – angora jumpers, jeans that fit her perfectly – and one of Eva’s old walking friends passes Rosie a discreet bag that is full of new cotton underwear, socks and bras.
They all say a variation of the same thing, these friends and neighbours, these ex-colleagues and choir members.
‘We’re so sorry. How is she, dear Eva?’ Before, more quietly, like they’re not sure they should say his name at all, ‘And Seb? How’s everything with his situation?’