‘Hungry?’
He hadn’t heard Georgie approach, lost in his thoughts of parasites and childbirth.
‘Yep.’ He smiled. He liked Georgie, who always spoke to him like he was a regular person and not Loz’s little boy.
‘Have you been here before? They do smashing food. We come for pizza sometimes. We prefer it to that trendy place that’s opened up – you know the one, all organic sourdough and organic this and that. Do you know what organic means?’
‘Not really.’ Cassian was sure he did know but was aware enough to understand that if Georgie was asking it was because he wanted to give him the answer.
His uncle leaned in. ‘The difference between an organic vegetable and a non-organic vegetable is that the organic one has had a bit of shit rubbed on it and is three times the price.’
Cassian stared at the man, unsure if he was joking and therefore awkward about laughing.
‘Plus, the tiramisu here is the best I’ve had.’ Georgie clapped his big hands, rubbing them as if in anticipation of that very dessert.
‘Listen to you banging on about tiramisu.’ Cleo laughed, having overheard. ‘Are you auditioning for MasterChef?’ She slipped her arm through her husband’s. ‘I bet you’re looking forward to tonight, Cass.’ Cleo stared at him with laughter about her eyes. ‘I’m sure there’s nowhere else an eighteen-year-old would rather be than in the local Italian with his ageing relatives on a Friday night.’
He laughed. ‘I’m looking forward to the food.’ He spoke honestly as his stomach rumbled.
‘I hear ya; the food but not the company. I feel about the same,’ she whispered and winked at him. Her admission, he was sure, was meant to be inclusive, a revelation she figured might be common to them both, but again he only felt awkward. ‘Don’t forget to get the cake out of the boot, Georgie.’
‘What are you lot whispering about?’ His dad stood next to them and placed his hand on his back.
‘We were just saying how much we’re looking forward to celebrating. Forty years!’ Georgie papered over their chat. ‘It’s quite something.’
‘I said to Cass earlier, you’d get less for murder, didn’t I, Cass? You’d get less for murder!’ he repeated.
His nan roared her laughter. ‘Did you hear that, Bernie? Loz said you’d get less for murder, the little devil!’
Everyone roared, although personally he didn’t find it that funny, especially at the third time of telling. This evening, however, was not about him, it was about his nan and grandad having the best time possible. He would make the most of it, smile when needed, chat when required and get through it. He turned to face his mum, ready to walk her in, offer his arm, make sure she was accompanied. The look on her face was serious as she stared at the laughing Kelleways as if she was part of it, but not part of it.
And as they made their way en masse into the Italian restaurant, he understood.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAISY HARROP
Daisy swept the floor, filled the salt and pepper pots on the tables and wiped dust from the neck of some of the wine bottles that were for display only behind the narrow, dark-wood bar. She closed her eyes and tried to control her nerves. She owed Gianna and Carlo more than to be some dithering wreck all evening. And just like that the bell above the door rang and in they walked: the perfect Kelleways.
As if it was a movie clip, they entered in slo-mo, the whole crew: Mr Bernie Kelleway and his bouquet-receiving wife, Winnie, who had known Daisy since before she was born – as the woman was fond of reminding her. Their son Lawrence and his wife Julie. Lawrence’s younger sister Cleo and her husband Georgie, who was carrying a stunning, ornately decorated cake which Carlo carefully took from him and placed on the bar. Finally, Lawrence and Julie’s children. Their pretty daughter Domino was in the year below her at school and seemed to rarely speak. Daisy had heard whispers in the lunch queue that the girl had a reputation as a bit of a rebel, a party girl, but she very much doubted the accuracy of this information. To her she seemed a little timid, a little unsure, and Daisy hated how the rumour mill, often churning out misinformation, could malign someone in this way. And then came their son . . . their son, who happened to be her brother Jake’s best friend as well as the object of her desire. Cassian.
‘Daisy!’ Mrs Kelleway called loudly, her smile wide as she waved. ‘Hello, lovey! We were hoping you’d be on tonight. I said to Bernie, “I do hope it’s our Daisy’s night,” and here you are!’
‘She’s working, Winnie, don’t distract her.’ Mr Kelleway tutted and smiled at her. Lovely Mr Kelleway who she liked to watch in the garden from her bedroom window, taking his time, snipping the dead leaves and heads from his rose bush one cut at a time as he chatted on his phone. His patience and precision fascinated her, as well as his love for his flowers, which she totally understood. Hours were spent ogling the garden next door from her bedroom window, not only in case she caught sight of Cassian, but peering at their flower beds and lawn was the closest she was going to get to having her own lovely garden.
Their own back yard was a little threadbare. The grass was sparse, flowerbeds devoid of flowers and groaning with weeds. The dirt was clotted, crumbly and dry, and the patio littered with broken flowerpots, empty planters, Jake’s old roller-skates, a bucket or two and a long-since dumped basin that she had no recollection of seeing inside the house. Sometimes in dreams she recalled the way the garden used to be – dotted with flowers, never grand, ornate or immaculate, but pretty enough, pleasant to sit in. To open her curtains and face the reality was jarring. Caring for the garden had also come to a halt when her mum stopped caring for herself. Daisy was reluctant to step in and take the task over. It had always been her mum’s space and while she was keen to help, what she really wanted was for her mum to find her spark and get back out there.
‘I can’t help it; I’m pleased to see her!’ Mrs Kelleway beamed and shrugged her arms from her silk wrap, which she threw on to a chair. She treated it carelessly, obviously it was something she’d just grabbed to ward off the chill, but its plum tone set off her tan and perfectly matched the beads of her necklace. She looked lovely, glamorous.
‘I’ve known her since she was a baby, haven’t I, Daisy? Her gran was my neighbour for years!’
‘That’s right.’ She smiled at Lawrence and Julie, who acknowledged her and took seats at the back of the table. Cleo, with her big round pregnant tummy, sidled on to the bench and Georgie, her husband, plonked down beside her.
‘Look!’ Mrs Kelleway yelled. ‘Look at us all! This is what we do, we take over! There’s so many of us, always feels like an invasion when the Kelleways turn up; all these kids and grandchildren, and another on the way.’ She tutted, but the woman’s volume, directed towards the back of the restaurant, and expression left Daisy in no doubt that it was a state that delighted her.
‘Can you get in there all right, Georgie?’ Lawrence teased Georgie, as his brother-in-law placed his hand on his tum, which was not far off the dimensions of his wife’s, and took up his seat. ‘Do you want me to pull the table out a bit?’
‘I can manage.’ Georgie shook his head. ‘Do you want me to pull it out on my side so you can get your ego and your big gob in?’