Annie smiled. She went to the kiosk and hung out the window far enough to be able to snap a picture of the lashing rain and the muddy brown sea beneath a gunmetal sky. She sent the photograph with the caption: Bet you wish you were here! And then followed it quickly with: What crazy time of the morning did you leave to be sipping coffee in Cornwall by 11 a.m.?
He messaged back: 5 a.m. Couldn’t sleep.
Where do you actually live? Annie asked.
Why? Do you want to send me anthrax in the post?
I was thinking more horse’s head in your bed!
Classic. I live in London, Clapham.
And what exactly is your profession in Clapham?
I’m an architect.
As an architect, aren’t you supposed to love buildings?
I know what you’re getting at. I’ve been made an offer I can’t refuse.
Can’t or won’t.
Do you have a better solution?
She didn’t so she messaged: Say hello to Mari for me.
Will do.
It was all rather exhilarating, this dance of words, and Annie found herself working with a distinct spring in her step, despite the dismal weather and the constant mopping up after dripping umbrellas and waterproof coats.
Half an hour later another message from John flashed up on her screen, and Annie had to stop herself from breaking into a jig right there behind the counter. What was wrong with her? She felt like a teenager.
By the way, there was something I’d been meaning to ask . . .
Yes?? she typed back.
Who do you think would win in a fight between an apple and an orange?
Annie snorted with laughter, earning herself some amused looks from the café.
Why, the orange of course! she typed. It could squirt its juice in the apple’s eyes; everyone knows orange juice in the eye is a real stinger.
Just as I thought. John replied.
It was puerile, of course, but it didn’t stop Annie from grinning like a maniac. And besides, what was wrong with a bit of silliness? So far as she knew there wasn’t an age limit on it.
The Calor Gas fire in the corner pushed out welcome heat as the mellow sounds of Harry Connick Jr. wafted around the café and mixed with the cheerful hum of customer conversation, and Annie found herself feeling a contentedness she could never have imagined three months ago. She felt so at one with the world, in fact, that she took Emily a slice of cake out with her coffee to keep her going while she picketed in the rain.
Chapter 57
Annie woke up on Sunday morning heartache-heavy. It was the anniversary of her parents’ deaths. They had died exactly a year apart to the day. When her mum had died, her dad had simply wound down, like a clock ticking slowly down to a stop. Last year, she had almost worked through the anniversary. She had been halfway through checking the dates on the fridge foods in the chiller when she’d remembered and felt horribly guilty. It had happened like that other years too. Once she’d been doing the school run and the realization had sucker-punched the breath right out of her. But this year she had woken knowing exactly what day it was.
She lay in bed thinking about them. The grief had become less raw as the years they had now been absent from her life slowly caught up with the years she’d had with them. Today she really felt it, perhaps because she would have liked to ask for their advice and blessing on this huge life change she had undertaken. She had no other family; she had the boys, of course, but she was hardly going to burden them with her worries and regrets. Tiggs padded up to the pillow and meowed mournfully in Annie’s face for her breakfast.
“All right,” said Annie, shaking herself mentally as she clambered out of bed. “Sometimes I think you’re more piggy than puss,” she said to the cat, but Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle was already leading the way to the kitchen with her tail in the air.
* * *
—
Annie spent some time sitting on the beach, throwing pebbles into the surf and enjoying the satisfying plop sound as they disappeared beneath the waves. The sky was a pale gray cashmere; the weather seemed less antagonistic today, which suited Annie’s reflective mood. Her parents had been so proud when she’d qualified as a chef; they’d worried that getting pregnant would ruin her chances of a career, and had it not been for their steadfast support, it might have. Annie wished they could see her now; she wondered what they would make of her life. Though she was sure they would support her decisions. There didn’t seem to be a cutoff point for missing one’s parents. Were they watching over her? She liked to think so. On days like these, it was easy to believe that they were.
Her calm reverie was shattered by a voice calling her name across the deserted stretch of beach.