The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [15]
‘And meanwhile who's going to help Debbie this afternoon now that Myra's got some kind of drama at home?’
‘I will,’ he said briefly. ‘It's fine. I can manage.’
Val was silent, fingers balled into fists, out of her depth for the first time in her well-ordered life. Chris watched her, his irritation dissolving into compassion.
‘Val's finding it hard,’ Liv had said to him privately. ‘She always needs to be in control and it scares her when she isn't. She's too high-handed with Myra and Debs because she's frightened that they'll take advantage but she'll have to learn to trust them a bit more. Meanwhile she needs lots of hugs.’
Chris thought: The trouble is I don't feel like hugging her at the moment. Right now I don't even like her very much.
The thought shocked him into action. He went round the table and put an arm round Val's stiff, unyielding shoulders.
‘Come on, love,’ he said. ‘Let's not make a drama out of a crisis. Or is it the other way round?’
She wouldn't look at him or acknowledge his feeble joke, but he sensed a wavering and he bent and touched his lips lightly to her temple.
‘I'm going over to help Debbie out,’ he said. ‘I enjoy it actually, chatting to the visitors. What do the locals call them? Emmets? It's good fun. Part of why we're doing this. Don't lose sight of that, Val.’
‘I'm so tired,’ she said defensively, ‘and these headaches are wearing me down.’
‘It's just the stress of getting everything in full working order in time for Easter,’ he told her. ‘And we've done it. The units are booked up way ahead and the café is picking up lots of passing trade. I know we can't sit back and put our feet up but we can try to enjoy parts of it.’
‘I'm not so good at fooling about with the staff as you are.’ Val moved slightly away from him. She picked up his plate and began to load the dishwasher.
He watched her dispassionately: she'd lost weight and this new thin tautness didn't suit her, made her face look too sharp, rodent-like. And for heaven's sake, did she have to call Debs and Myra ‘the staff’?
‘Well, it's a good job that one of us is,’ he said lightly. ‘Helps to get the work done. See you later.’
He went out, crossing the yard to the café, reacting with pleasure to the warmth of the sunshine and the crying of the gulls. The small kitchen was clean and smelled delicious. Myra and Debbie were conferring together and looked up anxiously at him as he came in.
‘I'm ever so sorry,’ Myra said at once. ‘It's just the school's phoned. Gary's been sick and they want me to collect him. I've been trying to get hold of Mum but she's not answering.’
‘It's fine,’ Chris said reassuringly. ‘Not a problem, Myra. You dash off and I'll give Debbie a hand. We can manage, can't we, Debs?’
‘Course we can.’ Debbie beamed at him. ‘I was just telling her to get off.’
Chris went through into the high-raftered room and looked around. Four of the six tables were occupied and two women were lingering at the far end amongst the shelves and tables that held hand-painted cards, delightful pieces of pottery, guidebooks and a display of silk scarves. Everything was made locally; all the food products locally sourced. Chris felt a great surge of pride and smiled at a woman who was now approaching to pay her bill.
‘That was scrumptious cake,’ she said appreciatively, taking out her purse.
‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ he said, ‘and here's the cook,’ as Debbie came out of the kitchen.
‘How do you manage to stay so slim with all this temptation about?’ asked the woman saucily, looking him up and down as he rang up the till. She winked at Debbie. ‘I expect you keep him busy.’
‘Oh, I do,’ agreed Debbie promptly. ‘Night and day. Never let up for a minute.