Ellie picks up a knife and holds it, poised, over the creamy chocolate icing. ‘Help me cut the cake, Becca. None for Rupert or the doxxies. Chocolate’s not good for dogs.’
‘None for me, Florie,’ Sophie says, patting her stomach. ‘I could barely zip up my skirt this morning.’
At the sound of his name, Rupert raises his great black head up from where he’s been snoozing by the door. Turning his head towards the door, he emits a husky woof. The door swings open and Emmett enters, carrying a cloth bag and a guitar.
‘There you are, b’y!’ Florie says as she licks icing off her bottom lip. ‘We thought you’d fallen off the wharf. Come in and have some birthday cake. Good, you’ve brought your guitar. We’re all set for a right good kitchen party now.’
Emmett shuts the door and pulls up a chair next to Sam. He thrusts the cloth bag across the table at Ellie. ‘Happy Birthday, Mam.’
‘Oh, thank you, Emmy!’ Ellie holds up the bag and shakes it beside her ear. ‘What is it?’
Emmett frowns. ‘You has to open it.’
‘Of course I do. Silly me.’ Opening the bag, she pulls out something wrapped in a red bandana. Untying the bandana, she holds up a spherical vase the size of a basketball, constructed of an intricate design of dark and light wood polished to a soft gleam. ‘Oh, Emmy, it’s lovely!’
‘I used bits of wood from Silas Feltham’s old boat and some lobster traps.’ Emmett shrugs. Was just rotting down by the tickle. Figured no one would miss it. Didn’t cost me anything to do.’
Ellie hands the vase to Sophie who runs her hand over the smooth surface. ‘It must have taken you hours to do this, Emmett. It’s stunning.’
‘I gots time.’
‘Have you ever thought of making things like this to sell?’ Sophie asks. ‘You could make beautiful objects like this for Sam’s business. People in places like London and New York would spend a lot of money on this kind of quality.’
Emmett grunts. ‘Why would I wants to do that? I has my own business already. I don’t needs to work for Sam.’
‘Well, you could make more money.’
‘Where am I gonna spend money here? I gots everything I need.’
Sam takes the vase from Sophie. ‘There’s more to life than working all hours of the day just to have a bigger house or a fancy car.’
‘Everyone needs to earn a living.’
‘We manage just fine.’
‘But there must be things you want. Things you’d like to be able to afford.’
‘Sure.’ Sam turns the vase around in his hands. ‘I’d like a boat like the one we went out in today. I’d like a new pickup truck.’ He shrugs. ‘But I can live without them. They’re not what’s important. I’ve got plenty of work putting in kitchens and bathrooms in Wesleyville and Musgrave Harbour when Emmett doesn’t need help on the boats. And the furniture sells at a fair price when someone buys it. We’re good.’
He sets the vase on the table and reaches over to hug Becca against his side. She holds out a fork with a large piece of her cake to her father and he takes a bite. He swallows the cake and smiles at Sophie, chocolate crumbs around his mouth. ‘Now, birthday cake is important. Especially if it’s chocolate.’ He picks up a slice of cake and holds it out to Sophie. ‘Go on, Princess Grace. Live a little. Have some of your cake. He takes a bite, icing spreading onto his nose. ‘It’s delicious.’
Sophie waves her hand at him. ‘No, really. I’m fine.’
Becca claps her hands and signs to her.
‘Becca insists,’ Sam says, approaching her.
‘No, Sam. Really …’
Too late.
‘Sam!’ She glares at Sam as she wipes at the icing smeared across her face and licks cake and icing off her lips.
‘Ooh, Sam,’ Florie says, sucking the air in between her teeth. ‘You’re playing with fire, there, b’y.’
Becca jumps around the kitchen clapping her hands, setting the dachshunds off into a chorus of yapping.
Sophie licks her finger and nods. ‘Wow. You’re absolutely right, Sam. That really is very good chocolate cake. Cut me another piece, will you, Florie?’
***
Emmett picks up the guitar and begins to strum a jig, his long fingers flying over the strings.
‘Doxxies are all tucked up in the kennel,’ Florie says as she enters the kitchen through the screen door. ‘Well, now, looks like the party’s started! C’mon, Rupert, out you go, you big lump. We needs space to stomp about.’ She beckons to Becca. ‘C’mon, duckie. Music’s started. That’s our cue.’
Becca runs ahead of Florie out into the hallway. A few minutes later, the reedy bellowing of an accordion and a tinny jangling announce their return. They march into the room and around the table, Florie pounding out a harmony to Emmett’s jig on the accordion. Becca jabs what looks like a rubber-booted mop hung with bottle caps onto the floor while she hits the caps with a drumstick.
Sophie points to the stick. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘It’s an Ugly Stick,’ Sam says as he pulls a harmonica out of the pocket of his jean jacket. ‘It’s not a kitchen party without one.’ He joins in on the harmonica as Ellie drums out the rhythm on the table top with her hands.
Emmett segues into another spirited tune, similar to the Irish music Sophie had heard once in a Dublin pub, when she’d been entertained by an Irish client who’d had more on his mind than the design of his restaurant. Becca thrusts the Ugly Stick and drumstick at her.
‘Have a go, Sophie,’ Ellie says. ‘Go on.’
Sophie stares at the disfigured mop. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I don’t know how.’
Becca brushes her right hand twice against the back of her left.
‘It’s easy, Princess Grace,’ Sam says as he gets up to get some more beer from the fridge. ‘Just bash at it.’
‘Thump it on the floor, duck, and whack it with the drumstick,’ Florie says as she squeezes a tune out of the accordion.
Sophie
