that age.’
She had certainly ached for her mother, going through those awkward years, but Mum had died just as she’d been on the brink of puberty, and she’d had to muddle through on her own. At least, when her sisters had reached it, she’d been able to help them along.
Maybe if Mum had been around she wouldn’t have been quite as dazzled by Toby. Not that Toby hadn’t loved her at first. It was just that he wasn’t a good long-term choice. A little motherly advice would have come in mighty handy.
After years of looking after everyone else in the family-paying the bills, cooking the meals, wiping noses and changing bedpans-it had been like a fairy tale. A rich, handsome young man had arrived on the scene to take her away from all that. What seventeen-year-old girl wouldn’t have jumped at the chance?
‘Well, Jas is very welcome here. I understand completely.’
For the first time since she’d met him, she felt as if she wasn’t a complete mess compared to him. Ben gave a small smile and looked at the ground. ‘Thanks. Anyway, there’s not much light left. I’d better get started.’
Jack started yelling his question as he ran down the hallway, finishing it as he skidded into the kitchen in his socks. ‘Jas says there’s fireworks on tonight. Can we go?’
Fireworks? Oh, of course. Time had taken on a strange quality since she’d moved to Whitehaven. The date was…what? The second or third of November? It was only days away from Guy Fawkes night and there would be bonfires and firework displays all over the area this weekend. She’d thought the bangs she’d distantly heard last night must have been shotguns, but now it all made sense.
‘I don’t know, Jack. What time is it? And where?’
‘I’ll ask Jas!’ He raced out of the kitchen before she could quietly explain that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be out in public, that maybe the Olivers wouldn’t want a couple of extras tagging along. She fiddled with her cup of tea while she waited for her son to return but, after a couple of minutes, she decided he must have found something else to get all hyper about and had lost interest.
They didn’t need to go out to see fireworks. Whitehaven was perched high on a hill and there would be great views from the attic windows. They could watch at a safe distance.
Ben knocked softly on the back door. There was no reply. He stared at the chunky Victorian handle for a second, then gripped it, the brass chilly against his palm, and turned. The door swung open on surprisingly creak- free hinges.
‘Hello?’
Louise was standing at the old butler’s sink, staring out of the window. He could hear water sloshing and see bubbles splashing and a moment later she dumped an upturned cup on the draining rack. It fell over. She didn’t even look at it, just grabbed the next bit of crockery off the pile and started washing again. He coughed.
All the sloshing and splashing stopped. She didn’t alter the angle of her head, but somehow he could tell that her focus was no longer off in the distance. She was aware of him, he knew. And, somehow, that made him aware of her too.
Suddenly, she started washing the plate she was holding again. When it must have been scrubbed clean of every last speck of food, she placed it on the drying rack with exquisite care, then turned to face him, wiping the bubbles off her hands with a tea towel.
‘All finished?’
He nodded.
A million snatches of small talk whizzed round his head, but meaningless words weren’t his forte. And Louise didn’t seem to require any. She gave him a look-not quite a smile, more an expression of openness, of welcome-and then filled the kettle. He breathed a sigh of relief.
When he’d been married to Megan, he’d got used to having an arsenal of such phrases for the moment when he’d walked through the door. She’d always needed him to say something, to pay her attention, to make her feel noticed. And he’d adapted, because she was his wife and it had been what she’d needed.
Louise motioned for him to sit at the chunky kitchen table and started rummaging in a cupboard. After what he’d seen the other day, he wouldn’t have been surprised if
Rampaging children, however, could not be counted on to be so restful. Jas and Jack stormed into the kitchen just as the last knot was about to ease from his shoulders.
‘Mum, I’m hungry!’
Even when she smiled, wide and full, as she was doing now, she still had a sense of elegance and poise that he’d rarely seen. At first he’d thought it was standoffishness, although it was merely reserve, but he could understand how people who perceived her to be an attention-hungry bimbo could misinterpret it as snobbishness. Louise Thornton was indeed an intriguing mix of contradictions. He was curious to know more.
‘You’re always hungry,’ she said, looking at her son.
‘Can we have some cake? Pleeeease? After all, we’ve got guests.’ Jack looked hopefully at Ben and Jasmine, and Ben chuckled. Having been a hollow-legged boy once himself, he was pretty sure Jack’s request wasn’t entirely altruistic. However, he wasn’t about to talk himself out of a nice piece of cake, so he watched for Louise’s reaction.
She rolled her eyes and pulled a large tin off the counter. It was the item she’d been rummaging for earlier. Clever woman. She’d been prepared.
When she opened the lid the most delicious waft of treacle and walnuts, reminding him of warm November evenings by the fire, hit him. He almost had to wipe the drool from his mouth with his sleeve by the time a large chunk was handed to him on a plate. He didn’t waste any time doing it justice.
Now, he could make a decent casserole and a great roast dinner, but baking evaded him entirely. This must be a prizewinning, locally made example. As he bit into it, he was almost tempted to growl with pleasure.
Light, moist cake with dense, spicy flavours and the earthiness of walnuts teased his taste buds. Almost half the slice was gone already. Would it be rude to ask for another one? He looked over at Jack, who had cleaned his plate, but was wearing a significant amount of crumbs over his face and down his front. Now, there was a lad who could be counted on to ask for more. All Ben had to do was hop on the bandwagon when the opportunity came.
Jack opened his mouth and Ben swallowed his last mouthful, confident that his plate would not lie desolate for long.
‘So, can we go to the fireworks, Mum? Please?’
Louise frowned and put the lid on the cake tin. Ben felt his shoulders sag.
‘I don’t know, Jack. I thought we could watch from upstairs. That way, we might get to see more than one display.’
Jack pursed his lips. ‘Jas says there’s going to be hot dogs on the village green. Can’t we go and have hot dogs?’
She looked pained as she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, darling. After the way that photographer…Well, it’s just better we stay here where no one will see us.’
Jack’s face fell and Louise’s was a mirror image of misery. Ben wished there was something he could do. It was criminal that a mother and son couldn’t do something as simple as watch a firework display without being hounded. He remembered only too well how hard he’d had to work not to stay inside every evening and mope when his divorce had been fresh and raw. With the extra pressures on Louise, he could see her turning into a hermit.
Jack slumped forward on the kitchen table, his chin in his hands and his bottom lip sticking out. Ben stared at the wall straight in front of him, racking his brain for a solution. Slowly, the pegs containing hats and coats and scarves near the back door came sharply into focus. He stood up.
‘I’ve got an idea.’
