The force of her words shocked her. Max stared down at her, his expression stunned and confused. Annie held his gaze, trying to fix her face into something that resembled resolve. It wasn’t easy with her heart thundering against her rib cage. Max broke away first, and Annie turned, unsure whether her quivering legs would be able to carry her down the stairs. Her hand trembled as she felt for the banister, gripping it hard to steady herself. She fumbled with the front door, as the air felt as though it were being sucked out of the hallway. The catch gave, and Annie stumbled out of the house, pulling the door shut firmly behind her. She pulled the fresh air into her lungs and propelled herself toward her car.
She sat for a moment, gathering herself, breathing shakily. She’d done it. He’d pulled out his trump card, and she’d called him on it. For a moment, she was hit with a wave of sickness and her hand found the door handle, ready to go back into the house to placate him, to check that he wasn’t going to do it just to spite her. But she breathed through the initial panic and it passed.
Chapter 12
She pulled up outside the Pomegranate Seed and steeled herself for the second emotional wrench of the day: saying good-bye to her staff. The hum of voices and growl of the coffee machine from above told her the coffee lounge was in full swing. The restaurant was quiet aside from the clink of glasses as the bar staff prepared for service.
Annie heard the hive of activity in the kitchen before she saw it. The radio blasted out tunes, and Marianne blasted out orders. Annie’s stomach gave a twang. She would miss the chaos and the mania, that fire that whooshed through her veins as the orders came in one after another after another. That camaraderie that only comes with working together, with diligence and speed, sweating and cursing and laughing in the face of the mountain to climb.
She stood outside the kitchen, listening. She could feel what was happening on the other side of the wall, what had been prepped and what hadn’t been, where on the list of chores and tasks they were at this exact time of day.
As she soaked in the sounds of her kitchen for the last time, a feeling of completeness came over her. She had instigated the activity within; she had taken a bare room and filled it with her passion and chosen other people whose passion matched her own. She had designed and nurtured every element, and now it was full grown: an independent body that ran by itself, because of her. She would miss it. But she could leave knowing that she had made something durable.
Her entrance into the kitchen was met with hugs and high spirits. She gave her team one last pep talk and read them the riot act.
“I may not be here in body,” she said, as they gathered around. “But this joint is still my baby, and I expect you guys to keep it going for me. And I will be checking up on you!”
There were oohs and ahhs at this.
“So that means no cutting corners with the flaky pastry; I’m looking at you, Flash!” said Annie, pointing to a tall, gangly youth with a tattoo on his cheek. Flash grinned and pretended to look about for someone else she might be talking to.
“Or rushing the caramelized onions,” said Annie. She moved her gaze to a spotty sous chef, who blushed and giggled. “What is our onion mantra?”
“The slower the sweating the sweeter the onions!” came the chorus.
“And don’t cook the shit out of the vegetables,” said Annie. “Say it with me!”
“Snap not pap!” came the military-style response before the team dissolved into laughter.
After she had dismissed her chefs back to their work stations, she and Marianne went over the final copy of the autumn menu.
“It should be him going,” said Marianne.
“Don’t complain,” said Annie. “You’ve got a promotion out of it!”
“Yeah, but still,” said Marianne.
“I’m looking forward to some time away,” said Annie. “It’ll be good for me.”
* * *
—
It was Sunday the twentieth of September: moving day. The morning was sunny with the faintest nip in the breeze. Annie had checked out of the hotel so early that the night staff were still on reception. She was sad not to have seen Sally before she left, but Annie had her number and was determined to use it. She’d parked in the far corner of the car park last night, hoping that opportunist thieves wouldn’t spot her worldly possessions piled up in the back of her car and decide to have a rummage; thankfully all was as it should be.
She arrived in Willow Bay while the residents were still enjoying a Sunday lie-in. The two pubs were dark and quiet, and squirrels and blackbirds had appropriated the beer gardens.