Martha waved her away.
‘I shall be here. I can deal with it.’ She reached out and placed a hand on Cillian’s arm. ‘Thank you, dear, both of you.’ She sounded a little deflated, but she was soon off, heading to her chalet with a backward wave to them both.
‘I hope she’s okay. I feel like something’s wrong.’
Cillian pushed out another reluctant grunt. ‘Let’s go. Quicker we go, quicker we can get back to work.’
Wow, Mr Sunshine – turn down that sparkling personality! She’d been looking forward to going into the town with Cillian, truth be told. She hadn’t really ventured that far, not wanting to waste a moment with the park being such a task. She’d only seen snippets and peeks of what was around here, and she longed to explore her home. Just a little. She was a local business owner, after all, even if she lived in a panicked state half the time looking for a more adult-like adult to show the way. Which, she supposed today, was Martha, pushing them to go to town as Cornish spies.
‘I need to get my bag, and a jacket. Two secs. We need to talk, so please stop being so moody.’
‘Whatever,’ she heard him growl at her retreating form. Opening her front door and grabbing her things, she spied her smartphone that was still switched off and sat on the side table in the hallway. She grabbed it, shoving it into her pocket and heading back out. She needed to start using it; she knew it. She might need it today, and it was pathetic now. The place would be fully open next week, and the bookings would only get busier, God willing. She needed to enter the real world at some point. It was almost April now. The first few days of her namesake were upon them, and she was ready to have a good summer, regardless of those around her. She’d already escaped the stares and the pointing; she wasn’t about to feel awkward because her Man Friday was in a bit of a mood.
Giving herself a sideways glance in the mirror, she pulled on her little black jacket and headed out. Cillian had pulled up outside hers now, the passenger-side door left open. She hauled herself in, pulling the seatbelt around her. It was a little van, only three seats in the front cab. The middle seat was the only one unoccupied, the other being take up by Orla’s pink and white car seat. Great. Now she was squashed between it and Cillian, and she felt self-conscious about him being so close again. It should have felt normal, natural even, but she just felt so awkward now.
‘You in?’ Cillian asked, glancing across. She saw him check her seatbelt, but that irked her further for some reason.
‘Yes, I’m in,’ she said curtly, turning towards the window. ‘I learned clunk, click a while ago.’ She was wearing a pair of black slacks, a simple white blouse under her jacket, and floral pumps on her feet. She’d made the effort today, she really had. It had been the first time for weeks that she hadn’t been encrusted with dirt and grime, or splattered in paint. She’d even curled her hair. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’
‘Martha told me.’ He pulled away from Shady Pines, heading to the centre of town and the art gallery that they had been asked to check out. ‘How do you want to play this?’
‘Play what?’
Cillian turned and looked at her properly for the first time that day. ‘I mean for the gallery. What’s our story? A couple looking for art? Tourists?’
‘A couple would make sense I suppose. They wouldn’t think anything odd if we went with that, would they? It’s believable, right?’
His features softened a little, but his focus was soon back on the road.
‘Yeah, us together is believable.’ His jaw flexed. ‘I can see that. How long have we been together then?’
April drew in a shaky breath, playing his words over and over in her head.
‘Three months?’ she ventured. ‘That’s short enough to still like each other, and not long enough that we would be all over each other.’
He suppressed a smile. ‘Depends on the people. Three months doesn’t sound long enough to draw breath with the right one. Where did we meet? Why are we buying art?’
April thought for a moment. ‘I moved here for work. We want to buy some art for my new place. We don’t live together yet, but we hang around each other a lot.’ Looking out of the window at Cornwall spread out before her, she remembered the car seat. ‘What about Orla? I think three months is a little short to have bred a pre-schooler.’
Cillian laughed. ‘People have kids when they meet people you know. We can stick to the truth on that one.’
‘Okay, deal.’ The van descended into silence again as they headed through the streets. ‘Did Martha tell you what this was about?’
‘Nope, but she’s been a bit jumpy for a while now. She doesn’t like change at the park. I think the art gallery changing hands again is just a bit much for her at the moment.’
‘Hmm, you’re probably right,’ April said noncommittally. She’d seen that box out on the coffee table. She recognised it. Her mother had had a similar little box, full of past memories and unspoken truths. She had a weird feeling that the two things were related somehow, but she couldn’t quite piece everything together. Either way, Martha had chosen the pair of them, so for whatever reason, they were doing it.
Pulling into the pay and display car park nearby, Cillian ran out to get a ticket. His van was tidy, and neat. The car seat of Orla’s was pristine, and in the passenger doorwell was a colouring book and a box of pencils. She could picture
