It usually started with his stomach feeling as hollow as an empty beer barrel. Then a chirpy voice in his head announced that food would make him feel better. Benedict didn’t experience hunger as such, rather the need to feel full, to take his mind away from the present.
His fingers twitched as he opened the fridge door. On the top shelf sat two chunky slices of lemon cheesecake. Lemons are nice and healthy, they said to him.
‘Shut up,’ Benedict growled and set to work making an omelette instead. He sniffed and wondered if it would cover the musty smell that Gemma had complained about.
He ate it standing up, in front of the sink. Then he succumbed and ate a slice of lemon cheesecake anyway.
When Gemma woke up, he would make her some breakfast and ask for Charlie’s phone number. Benedict wondered what his brother had told Gemma about him. He rubbed his neck with shame and wondered if Charlie would reject him all over again.
When the tumble dryer rumbled to a stop, it had gone past nine. Benedict pulled out the clothes, folded them roughly and carried them upstairs. He was late for work and eating too much had made him feel cranky.
In the studio, Gemma was still in bed and he bent down to deposit her dried clothes on the floor.
‘What the hell…?’ The bed juddered and she sat up, clutching the blanket to her chin.
Benedict stood up so quickly that his back cricked. ‘Ouch.’ He flailed one hand behind him in a failed attempt to support it. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘I was, until you crept into my room, like a pudgy vampire or something.’ She flopped back onto her pillow and specks of dust burst into the air. She reached up, trying to catch them. ‘This house is dirty.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you married?’
‘Um, yes.’
‘You’re not sure?’
Her question felt like a small punch in his gut. ‘I am married. And I dried your clothes.’ He stepped over them and opened the curtains.
Gemma squealed and covered her eyes with her hands.
When she lowered them, he’d forgotten what she looked like. Her hair was now dry, with strands stuck to her cheeks. It was a russet red, darker than Charlie’s copper mop, and it reminded Benedict of autumn leaves. Her irises shone teal blue against the pink of her eyelids. Again, because of the high angle of her eyebrows, he wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not.
‘When you’re dressed,’ he said, ‘I’ll make you an omelette.’
She screwed up her nose. ‘I hate eggs.’
‘I have cheesecake too.’
‘That’s a dessert.’
Her answering back made his head throb. ‘I’m not running a café. After you’ve eaten, we’ll phone your dad. You can tell him that you’re safe and we can make arrangements.’
‘What arrangements?’
‘For whatever you plan to do.’
Gemma frowned. ‘I planned to come here.’
‘To Noon Sun?’
‘Yeah. For an adventure.’
‘Adventure?’ Benedict’s brow puckered as he thought about the sleepy village, with its row of lacklustre shops. ‘You’ll be lucky. And it’s dangerous to turn up on a stranger’s doorstep unannounced.’
‘You’re my uncle. And it’s not unannounced.’
‘It is, if I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘My dad said that you knew.’
‘What?’ Benedict said. ‘I think I’d remember that. We haven’t spoken for years.’
‘Didn’t he write or something?’
‘No.’
Gemma puffed out her breath. ‘I hate arguments.’
‘It’s not really an argument,’ Benedict replied.
But he hated them too. He detested when he and Estelle had chats that turned to discussions which evolved into heated debates. When they couldn’t find a way forward and she would hug her pillow to her chest and stomp into the studio to sleep there instead.
‘When your father moved away, we lost contact,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’m not trying to get you into trouble, but there’s been some miscommunication. So, as soon as you’ve eaten, we’ll get in touch with Charlie, and your mother, to sort things out. Okay?’
Gemma sat up. She drew her knees up to her chin and hugged her shins. ‘It’s not so easy.’
‘Why not?’
‘Cause Dad lives on a farm in north Maine, but there’s no phone line. He doesn’t even have email.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And he and my mom split, a few years ago.’
‘Oh.’ This threw Benedict. He had always imagined Charlie and his wife Amelia were still together. ‘Sorry to hear that. Does he have a mobile number?’
‘Sure. That’s the only thing he does have.’ She frowned, but her eyebrows remained high and pointed. ‘It’s 605, or is it 4? I think it’s, um…no. Sorry.’
‘Don’t you have it stored in your phone?’
‘Someone took my purse, from the airport restroom. My phone and passport were inside it.’
Benedict stared at her in disbelief. ‘So you don’t have a purse, phone or passport?’
‘Well, I did have them, but not any longer.’
Benedict dug his hand into his hair. ‘I’ll call the airport and see if your purse has been handed in.’
‘I reported it missing last night. They’ll call me if they find it. I’ve thought of everything.’
‘How can they call you, if they have your phone?’
‘Oh.’ Gemma scrunched her mouth into a small circle. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Hey, you could write him a letter,’ she said brightly.
Benedict’s mind conjured up the last slice of cheesecake in the fridge. He wanted it badly. ‘You can’t really stay here…’ he began.
‘You have a spare room.’
‘Yes, but…I’m waiting for my wife to come back.’
‘Where has she gone?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Benedict needed a sit down. He wanted to get into Stone Jewellery and shut himself away in his workshop. He could make another brooch, or links for the anniversary necklace. It would be nice and quiet. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said.
‘Well…’ Gemma jumped off the bed and scooped up her rucksack from the floor. A large hairbrush and a small teddy bear with a purple ribbon around its neck fell out. She picked them up and stuffed them both back inside. Her mouth was set in a thin, determined line. ‘If you don’t want me here, I’ll get my stuff and go.’
Benedict studied the back of her head. ‘Where to?’
‘What do you freakin’ care?’ she snarled. ‘I’m almost seventeen years old and I can look after myself.’
Benedict gulped. He hadn’t calculated in his head how old she might be. Panic began to churn in his stomach. ‘You’re only sixteen?’