‘If you mean Janey having the shock of her life and a bit of a wobble, then it’s not spoiling anything for me. Is it for you?’
‘No. I was a bit out of my depth with what to say though. Poor Janey. I’m right out of my comfort zone with men who abuse women, and I’ve met a few. Employed a few before I found out their true colours and then got rid of them again. It’s a mercy that was the taxi driver at the door and not Janey’s husband or I’d have done him over. Anyway, I’ll get this wreath Janey made on the door and then I’ll come and give you a hand. I’m a fairly domesticated example of the male species.’
Xander picked up the wreath along with a ratchet screwdriver and a couple of screws Lissy had put ready. Crossing the hall, he could hear Bobbie and Janey laughing. He let out a sigh … thank goodness for that.
He had the wreath fixed in minutes and now, with the front door firmly closed, he stood with his back to it looking out to sea. The moon was up, casting its beam towards him. How strange it was that wherever anyone stood looking out to sea the moon’s beam always came directly at them, putting them in a sort of lunar spotlight. In high summer, on hot nights when it was too clammy and uncomfortable to sleep in their bed, he and Claire had often walked along the beach in the moonlight, when all the holidaymakers were tucked up in their holiday accommodation or in a club somewhere. Hand in hand. Until Claire always raced away from him shouting back at him that the moon’s beam was on her which was a cue for Xander to race in the opposite direction and yell that no, she’d got that wrong, the beam was on him. And then they’d run towards one another colliding in a slightly wobbly fashion as the sand shifted under their feet, their lips eventually meeting. On more than a few occasions those kisses had led the way to other things, the way kisses do, and they’d thrown caution – and the possibility of a conviction for a breach of the peace – to the wind and made love under the pier, tucked under the overhang of the ice cream kiosk.
Xander stood and let memories of Claire wash over him but he was struggling these days to remember the scent of her, the feel of her skin on his, the exact depth of the brown of her eyes, and that scared him at times.
‘I hope you’re at peace,’ he whispered into the night before turning and going back into the house. Memories wouldn’t bring Claire back. He still had a future and it was time he got on with having one. Everyone he knew said so.
‘Do you need any help?’ Xander asked, when he went back in to join Lissy.
She was washing down the evidence of pastry making and savoury swirl mixture that had spilled out onto the worktop. There was a delicious smell filling the kitchen now.
‘Please. You could pour me a drink. Glasses in the cupboard over there.’ She pointed to a floor-to-ceiling range of shelves and cupboards. ‘Second row of cupboards down on the far left. There’s a bottle of white open in the fridge. Have one yourself unless you’d prefer beer. That’s in the larder.’ Lissy waved an arm towards a door Xander deduced was the larder.
‘I’ll join you with the wine,’ Xander said, fetching the glasses. He took a bottle of Viognier – the only bottle in there that was already opened – and poured two glasses. ‘This is one vast kitchen you’ve got. I reckon the whole floor plan of my cottage would fit in here!’
‘Most people’s would, I expect,’ Lissy laughed. ‘It was quite a surprise when I was told Strand House was now mine. And everything in it.’
‘Claire spoke very fondly of this place,’ Xander said, a tad cross with himself that just a few moments ago his thoughts had told him it was time to move on and now he was going back again.
‘We had some good times here.’ Lissy had finished wiping down and was now taking plates and bowls from a cupboard in the island. ‘Vonny was very welcoming. She never minded that we came back from the beach covered in sand with bits of shell sticking to us. Or seaweed between our toes. I’ve got a ton of photos back in Exeter. I was going to thin them down because if there’s one of Claire and me with our arms around one another’s necks, making stupid faces at the camera, there must be dozens, if not hundreds. But, well, after she died I just couldn’t.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Xander nodded. He knew the feeling. He’d kept all of Claire’s clothes for two years before dealing with them – charity shop donations mostly. But still there was a pair of socks – neon pink with yellow butterflies on them – that he couldn’t bear to part with. Claire had always worn them in bed on cold nights. Xander still slept with them under his pillow.
‘Claire always came here. I rarely went to her house, even though it’s only a couple of houses down the road.’
‘She said. Her parents still live there.’
‘Hmm,’ Lissy said. She was rather noisily searching out cutlery now. ‘I’ve thought about calling to say hello. Do you think I’d be welcome, or …’
‘I’m not,’ Xander cut in. ‘They’ve more or less cut me off. There was the funeral that we organised together and I gave her mother all Claire’s jewellery, except her wedding and engagement ring, but after that if I rang to say I was thinking of popping over they always said they were busy or going out or it wasn’t convenient or something. I got the hint in the end.’
‘Oh, that’s so sad for you. I’m sorry. But I suppose people grieve in different ways, Xand,’ Lissy said.
Xand? Only Claire had ever called him Xand, and his mother sometimes, and he’d always resisted letting anyone else call him that. Hearing Lissy say it gave him a good feeling.
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ And I’m being bloody gracious saying that because I was a very supportive son-in-law to them. He’d even done any jobs they’d needed doing around their house for free. Because they were family. But not anymore, it seemed.
Lissy took a tea towel from the airing rack of the cooker and began polishing the cutlery with it. She sniffed the air. ‘Ah, the savoury swirls are done, I can smell them.’
She took them from the oven, placing the hot baking tray straight onto the granite working surface. Xander had put in more than a few granite worktops for people. Horrendously expensive stuff, granite. And heavy. It always took at least three of them to carry and fit it.
‘Salmon in next,’ Lissy said. ‘Then there’s the salad to throw together and the potatoes to boil. Shouldn’t be long now until we’re all sat down. My stomach’s beginning to rumble and I dare say Janey at least will be wanting something to eat – something to sort her blood sugar levels after her shock. I was going to set the table in the dining room but I’m thinking maybe in here, around the island, might be best. Less formal. What do you think?’
Xander thought Lissy was sounding slightly anxious now. Worried perhaps that she wasn’t being the perfect hostess or something. From where he stood, Xander thought she looked pretty perfect to him with her long, slim nose, full lips, and flawless skin. Lissy had a slight Mediterranean look about her and somewhere in the depths of his mind Xander remembered Claire saying once that Lissy’s great grandmother had been Italian. Yes, that was the look – Sophia Loren in her younger days.
‘I think eating here would be best. I’m hardly dressed for formal dining. However, before you throw me out for having the wrong kind of clothes, I have brought new chinos and my very best Paul Smith shirt to wear on Christmas Day.’
‘I’m not going to throw you out,’ Lissy said so quietly Xander only just caught her words. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Really glad. Okay?’
‘Very okay,’ Xander croaked out. Something was happening here between him and Lissy, he could feel it. He cleared his throat, pushing back an emotion he wasn’t sure of. That getting to know a new woman feeling? He hadn’t felt that in a long time. ‘I’ll set the cutlery out while you see to the rest of it, shall I?’
‘Please. Christmassy napkins are in the end drawer of the island. Any ones will do. There’s loads in there.’
Xander