A Bitter Feast(77)

“Why was that?”

“He didn’t pay his last month’s rent, did he? And he didn’t leave no forwarding address.”





Chapter Twenty-One

September 2007

To Viv’s enormous relief, the second cocktail of antibiotics checked her mother’s infection. But it was forty-eight hours before the doctors cautiously said she might be out of the woods. The doctors warned, however, that the severity of the infection might have damaged her heart, and that her recovery would be slow.

Viv’s brother had gone back to university on the third day, but it was a full week before Viv could bring herself to leave her dad to manage her mum’s convalescence on his own.

Having stopped to drop off a few things at her flat in Selwood Place, she walked across the King’s Road and into the restaurant kitchen just as evening service began.

Fergus, whom she’d texted that she was on her way back, barely looked up from the starter he was plating. “Nice of you to put in an appearance,” he said, making it sound like she’d been off sunning herself somewhere other than the chicken coop on her parents’ smallholding.

It was Ibby who stopped what he was doing long enough to give her a hug and ask after her mum. She changed and slotted herself into her usual place on the line, but she could tell from the very first that the atmosphere in the kitchen had changed. It was so tenuous and indefinable, the synergy of a kitchen. When everything worked, it was an almost liquid thing—one station flowed smoothly into another and the communication on the line was seamless. But now their timing was off, tempers were frayed, orders were got wrong. Fergus was irritable and edgy, and she had a horrible feeling that he was back on the coke.

At the end of a night that had seemed interminable, he walked out halfway through the scrub down after an argument with John, and didn’t come back.

Exhausted and disappointed, she was fighting tears as she changed into her street clothes. Ibby tapped on the office door. “Viv, how about I see you home.”

She hadn’t realized how much she’d been dreading that walk until he offered. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Let me get my jacket.” The nights had turned chilly just in the short time she’d been gone—autumn was upon them.

They made desultory chat about her stay in Evesham and that night’s near disasters in the kitchen until Viv swallowed and said, “What’s up with Fergus, then?”

She could feel Ibby shrug as he walked in step with her. “Nerves, I think. First of October is coming up.” That was the date for the release of the next year’s Michelin guide.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Yeah, well. You were his buffer. He’s been an absolute shit the whole time you’ve been gone. But there was no way he was going to admit that he missed you. To be honest, I think it scared the crap out of him.”

The day after the first time she’d slept with Fergus, Viv had gone into work feeling like she must have a big red S for SHAGGED stamped on her forehead. It was only when no one seemed to notice that she realized they’d all assumed she and Fergus were having it off all along—and then it was too late to protest.

“He’s been using again, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, well, he’s been out with the boys a few times.”

“And the girls?”

There was a long pause. She knew Ibby was trying to figure out how to answer. “Yeah, a couple of times,” he finally said.

“Works fast, doesn’t he, our Fergus.”

“I wouldn’t take it too seriously, Viv. They were just fluff.”

Fluff. Entertainment. While she’d been afraid her mother was dying.

Christ. What had she expected?

They’d reached her flat. “Look, Ibby, thanks for—”

“Can I come in for a drink, Viv?” He shuffled, hands in his pockets. “I won’t stay long.”

Viv frowned at him. There was nothing flirtatious in his manner, but she couldn’t figure out what it was that he wanted. “Sure. Okay. Just a quick one.” And to be honest, she was glad of the company.

In the summer, she’d moved from the flat she’d leased for years in Hammersmith, near the restaurant on the river where she’d first trained. Although the rent was steep because of the location, she loved the new flat, loved being able to walk to work. Or to Fergus’s—or so she’d thought.

She unlocked the door and Ibby followed her in.

“Nice,” he said as she switched on the lights. The sitting room was small, but she’d painted the walls a soft white, then centered her meager furniture on an Indian carpet in deep greens and blues. She’d hung some original artwork, pride of place over the mantel taken by a large watercolor of the rolling Cotswold Hills near Evesham.

It was the kitchen that had sold her on the place. It was big enough to actually cook in, with a German gas range and a center table that could be used for prep. French doors led out to a small back garden.

“What can I get you?” she asked, when she’d stashed her bag in the pokey bedroom.

“Gin and ice, if you have any.”

Viv fetched two tumblers from the kitchen and filled them with ice from a bag she kept in the freezer, then cut up a rather shriveled lime and added wedges to both glasses. Going to the restaurant dessert trolley that served as her drinks cart, she poured them both a generous slug of Bombay Sapphire and handed Ibby his glass. “Cheers.”