The Day She Came Back(43)

‘Have you now?’ Gerald paused, his smile a little forced. ‘Well, thank you for that kind offer, but breakfast was a long time ago for me. I am, in fact, already thinking about lunch!’

‘No worries!’ Flynn smiled and returned to the kitchen. Gerald’s slight and tone were not lost on Victoria, who knew that Gerald, like Prim, would think that lounging around at this time of day with no chores done and only just starting breakfast would indicate that they were lazy. But there was something more. She felt by the stiffening of his spine and the slip of his smile that he was judging her for allowing this boy into her family home. And whilst she reminded herself that it was absolutely nothing to do with Gerald what she did and who she did it with, it didn’t feel nice at all, the idea that her gran’s beau might in some way think she was being disrespectful or sleazy, and so soon after saying goodbye to Prim. In fact, how dare he? It was an incredibly rude and judgemental way to behave towards Flynn, who had done nothing other than offer Gerald breakfast! Sweet Jesus, did everyone think they could comment on her life? Intervene? Take control?

‘Thank you for my courgettes, Gerald, and yes, please do whatever you think is best with the plants; I’d hate to see them wither too. It would be the worst. Anyway, this isn’t getting breakfast served!’ She looked towards the kitchen. ‘And I am starving!’

The man rocked on his soft-soled shoes and looked a little lost for words.

‘Maybe . . . maybe you could let me know when would be a good time to come and tend to them?’ He shot a look towards the kitchen.

‘Maybe I will do that.’ She was aware of the change in her tone but wanted to get her message across – bloody Gerald! Bloody Prim! And just like that, she was right back to her gran’s betrayal . . .

‘Righto. Well, we’ll leave it at that then.’ Gerald gave a small, tight-lipped smile and reached for his scarf before letting himself out of the front door.

Victoria laid the bundle of courgettes on a shelf in the fridge and sat at the table, where Flynn had set two places.

‘Was he a friend of your nan’s?’ Flynn asked as he placed a loaded plate in front of her. She laughed at the sheer volume of food: a pile of crispy bacon, a small mountain of soft, buttery scrambled eggs and three golden, crisply fried home-made hash browns. This was accompanied by several slices of bread, all browned to perfection by Tommy and spread generously with butter.

‘This looks amazing! Thank you, Flynn, and yes, he was her kind of boyfriend, I suppose, and now, apparently, he thinks that gives him the right to pitch up and tell me what to do.’

‘Did he tell you what to do?’

‘Not in so many words.’ She flicked her hair over her shoulders. ‘But you know when someone is having a sly dig at you and you know it? It was like that. And it makes me mad! I mean, God, I’m not a kid!’

‘You are definitely not a kid.’ He smiled at her and her stomach flipped. ‘I didn’t think people would bother having boyfriends or girlfriends when they were that ancient.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ She picked up a rigid strip of bacon and snapped the end off into her mouth. The salty fat melted on her tongue and her hunger surged. She reached for another piece. ‘Oh my God! This is so good! She picked up her fork and attacked the food mountain in front of her.

‘That’s another thing I really like about you,’ Flynn observed.

‘What?’ She spoke with her mouth full, suddenly ravenous and ridiculously flattered that he had said ‘another thing’, suggesting there were many others . . .

‘Most girls I know – Courtney and her lot – they never eat. Like, never.’

‘Well, maybe they have never had your breakfast experience?’ She tried to sound coy and yet knowing, and wondered if she had pulled it off.

‘They definitely have not,’ he confirmed as he took the seat opposite her. This new, flirtatious exchange was enough to wipe out the memory and associated guilt of Gerald’s visit, and in its place sat something that felt a lot like happiness.

Her phone buzzed.

‘What?’ she answered, yelling, showing off, purely to make Flynn laugh, which it did.

‘Victoria, it’s Gerald.’

‘Oh, I thought it was someone else.’ She snickered as Flynn put a square of kitchen roll in each ear and crossed his eyes.

‘I wanted to call because I am not in the habit of leaving things unsaid.’

‘Right.’ She rolled her eyes theatrically.

‘I know we are not actually related and that I am not in a position to advise or otherwise, but I wanted to say that Prim and I were very good friends and we spoke about you often, and only ever in the most glowing of terms; you really were the apple of her eye. She adored you. The Prim I knew was a good woman and, whatever she did or said, I am certain she did it with the very best of intentions.’

Victoria cursed the lump in her throat. ‘Is that right?’ She felt as if she might choke on the woman’s betrayal.

‘And I know she would not forgive me if I did not speak my mind and say that the young man you have at the house . . . well, his timing is a red flag to me.’

‘Oh God, Gerald, I’m not stupid!’ She thought of the vicar, who had had similar concerns. Did everyone think she was useless?

‘It’s not that you are stupid, Victoria, far from it, but more that others are wily and you are still young and you are, like it or not, vulnerable.’