The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [110]
He was a great bear of a man, who, when he'd squeezed through the doorway, seemed to fill the small kitchen, his sandy hair skimming the oak beams as he ducked. He was brick red in the face and perspiring as he kissed his daughter and granddaughter, his arms full of flowers as he exploded out of a hairy tweed jacket several sizes too small for him. Although I saw immediately where the height and blondness came from, I detected little else: the fine features must be from the mother. Ant had followed the girls into the room and Bella's colour too was high as she turned to make the introductions: I could see she was wondering how to do this. Her fingers were in the hem of her T-shirt.
‘Hi, I'm Evie,’ I stepped forward smiling and proffering my hand. ‘And this is my daughter, Anna, and my husband, Ant.’
Bella shot me a grateful look and muttered, ‘My Dad, Ted.’
The two men's eyes met and they shook hands, but it was brisk and brief. I realized, with a start, how hard that must be for Ted: to shake the hand of the man who'd got his teenage daughter pregnant, the teacher man who'd been employed to instruct his child in the language of the poets, of rhyming couplets and iambic pentameters, not the language of love. Despite Bella's protestations to the contrary, he must have hated him. And no one ever hated Ant. Always said how kind and wise he was, what a gentle man – he was often described thus. I saw the colour shoot to Ant's cheeks too, in this moment of… well, shame. Again, not something he was familiar with, because he was rarely the guilty party. I was the one who ran furtively up the stairs with yet another Nicole Farhi bag to be hustled under the bed. I was the one who drove, red-faced and sweaty-palmed, out of Tesco's car park knowing I'd reversed into yet another car, then roared back ten minutes later to leave a note on the bonnet with my number, only to find the car had gone. Oh, my life was one long perpetual guilt trip, but not Ant's. I felt very protective of him suddenly.
‘What lovely flowers!’ I said, breaking the moment and seizing a jug from the middle of the table. ‘Shall I put them in water for you, Bella?’
‘They're for you, luv,’ Ted said gruffly, handing them to me. ‘I know you're stayin', like, so I thought you could put them in your room.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’ I was taken aback.
‘No, thank you. It's a rare and fine thing you've done for us here today.’ His pale blue eyes under sandy brows swam a bit. I took the flowers, touched; aware of quite a few eyes on me. Aware that he was deliberately making a moment of it, and although I was embarrassed, I was grateful too.
‘Well, they're my absolute favourite. I adore lilies.’ I buried my nose in them, suddenly at a loss.
‘Drink, Dad?’ Bella reached up to pull a bottle of wine from a high rack above the fridge.
‘Please, luv. Here, I'll do that.’ He got the bottle for her as Ant, who'd also gone to help, looked awkward. ‘But I might take a beer off you first just to take the edge off it.’ He loosened his tie. ‘Phew, bit hot in here, isn't it?’ He glanced at Ant in an open-necked shirt and, in a trice, whipped off what I felt was an uncharacteristic jacket and tie. He rolled up his sleeves and I saw Anna's eyes pop at the tattoos.
‘It's the Rayburn,’ Bella told him, and I realized how faint her accent was compared to that of her father, who was a northcountryman right unto his syntax. ‘Throws out a lot of heat.’
He undid his top button. ‘Aye, in return for a lot of brass. All that expensive iron just to cook a stew. Four grand, that were!’ He turned to me in astonishment. ‘Reclaimed, an' all!’
‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘We've got one too, I'm afraid.’
‘Why?’ He looked genuinely baffled. ‘You could buy a car for four grand, but a bleedin' cooker…’
‘Here, Dad.’ Bella handed him a drink, obviously