Flora wanted to weep. She barely knew what people had eaten. All the lovely, delicately handmade little cakes and hors d’oeuvres she’d had ready at the start had been shovelled carelessly into the mouths of boys who couldn’t have cared less what they were eating. People had been looking around with hungry looks on their faces until they got drunk enough not to care or were happy enough with a bag of crisps. The idea of anyone wanting to book her after this was unthinkable. Plus they’d spent all their petty cash in the local shop and probably owed Inge-Britt money for the crisps.
As the straggling members of the wedding party headed outside to watch Charlie and Jan go to pick up the night ferry to the mainland – they were going to Italy, Flora had heard Jan say a million times – Flora laid her exhausted head against a doorframe and let a tear run down her cheek. Then she told herself not to be so silly, there were still hours of clearing up to do. And she didn’t even want to think about the envelope that had been pushed into the kitchen by Jan’s taciturn father.
It would contain, she knew, a cheque for the precise amount that they had agreed in advance – to feed a hundred people. It would be nowhere near enough to cover the extra food and extra hours or the use of Inge-Britt’s kitchen. The wedding was meant to make them money – launch them. Instead, all that people would remember were the empty plates; the messy sandwiches.
Oh, there was no point, she told herself. No point in worrying about this or dwelling on it too long. Perhaps she had been getting complacent; the Seaside Kitchen had been running so well she had taken a weekend off. She had taken her eyes off the prize and forgotten what it was actually like to run a catering situation, day after day. Well. Now she knew. She rolled up her sleeves and filled the sink, and tried to chalk it up to experience. But her teeth were definitely gritted.
There was a quiet knock at the swing doors of the kitchen. Flora glanced up wearily. There wasn’t, truly, a single soul she was terribly desperate to see at that precise moment, and that in itself made her sad. The woman standing there was a stranger, although Flora had glimpsed her in the wedding party. She was wearing a flowery dress and white sandals; she had thick glasses and long black hair and an apologetic look.
‘Um, hello?’
‘I don’t work here,’ said Flora. ‘You need Inge-Britt. Hang on.’
‘No, no,’ said the woman. She had a Glasgow accent. ‘I just wanted to say … I’m so sorry … I’m the youth worker. With the boys. I’m so sorry – I realised when I came in what they’d done to the buffet … I was caught behind them at the church.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Flora. ‘They did quite a lot of stamping, though.’
‘They were over all week doing Outward Bound and they just had such a wonderful time, and I was meant to be escorting them back when they found out about the wedding and just pestered and pestered to be allowed to stay.’
She looked down.
‘You know … they get so few happy events like this, some of them. A lot of them, they barely go out at all. And there certainly aren’t a lot of weddings in their backgrounds. Some of them.’
At this, Flora felt absolutely stricken with guilt. All she’d thought about was the boys making a mess of her lovely spread. She had forgotten completely about who they were, and where they’d come from. She tried to think about what they would be like teasing Charlie, who, despite his size, was the softest lump ever to walk the earth, and the hope in their little faces and how on earth you could turn that down.
‘I meant to come out and control them, obviously.’ The woman twisted her fingers nervously. ‘But I got caught up in the pews, and one of them had to go to the loo and by the time I’d showed him the rest had kind of pelted down the street and … I’m really sorry.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Flora. Weirdly, just saying that, and getting the apology, did somehow make it feel a bit better.
The woman glanced around. ‘Do you want me to send them over to help clear up?’
‘Oh gracious, no,’ said Flora. ‘No. I want them to enjoy their holiday.’
The lady smiled. ‘They’re on the same ferry over as Jan and Charlie, so I don’t know how much of a wedding night they’re going to have.’
Flora grinned. ‘I’m glad they managed to come.’
‘So are they,’ said the woman. ‘Thanks for being so understanding. I thought you’d be writing furious letters to the council demanding my head on a platter!’
‘I would not be doing that,’ said Flora. ‘Although I might have served it if I’d thought of it earlier. Do you want a cup of tea? Or, sod it, there’s some leftover Prosecco here …’
Kind Inge-Britt had secreted away a bottle for her.
The woman looked guilty. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t. I’ve got to see the boys back … okay. Half a glass. Don’t tell anyone.’
‘I shan’t. Where are they?’
‘They’re all early for the ferry. Charlie’s arranged a kick-about match for them on the green.’
Flora shook her head. ‘On his wedding day?’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘He is,’ said Flora, musing. ‘He really is.’
They sat together in the kitchen.
‘Can I ask you something?’ said Flora.
‘Sure.’
‘These kids … They’re in care, aren’t they?’
‘Some of them … Some of them are sometimes with a parent. Often the best situation is when you can get them with a grandparent.’
‘What makes care places fail?’
‘Aggression usually. If there are other children in the family, and the child can’t handle sharing the attention … sometimes they kick off if that’s all they know.’
Flora frowned. This didn’t sound like Joel at all. He could be distant, but she couldn’t imagine him being violent or having uncontrollable rage. If anything, he was far too controlled.
‘Any other reasons?’
The youth worker took another sip from her glass. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Sometimes kids just don’t fit. It’s not their fault. Trauma at home knocks them off-kilter, but they’re a little unusual to begin with. Asperger’s syndrome can be difficult to place. Or, weirdly, sometimes the opposite. A lot of our foster families come from lower to middle incomes. We had a child once who was a genius, more or less: unbelievably clever, really unusually good at maths, a bit of a prodigy. We couldn’t settle him in foster care at all. Either his foster family thought he was too snotty or showing off or they just didn’t know how to deal with him.’
‘How is he now?’ said Flora, breathless. This was more like it.
‘He was lucky. We found him a scholarship, parachuted him out of the care system. To boarding school.’
‘Wouldn’t he be lonely there?’
The woman looked sad. ‘That’s the deal with my job,’ she said gently. ‘They’re all lonely, dear. So lonely. Something a child should never know how to be.’
She got up to go and poured the last of her glass down the sink.
‘One more question!’ said Flora. ‘I have a friend. A friend who …’
And she explained the situation with Saif and his boys.
‘It will probably be fine,’ said the youth worker. She handed over her card. Her name was Indira, Flora saw. ‘But, any problems, you call me, okay? I won’t forget you feeding the five thousand today. I owe you one.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Saif didn’t mean to yell. He had never been the yelling type. But Lorna was so damned enthusiastic, as if this was a school project, not his life.
Lorna hadn’t been able to think of much else, was desperately full of ideas of what they would be like and how it would be, and what she could do to welcome them, and how troubled they would be – would they be violent? Brainwashed? So traumatised they upset the other children? She would have to work out a strategy for dealing with the other children – she would possibly need help from refugee resettlement groups which meant people coming from the mainland – and, gosh, it was exciting, of course it was, but so complicated too.
So she was spilling over with plans and thoughts when she went to meet Saif that morning for an early walk. It was a windy day and fun to feel blown down to the Endless Beach, the breeze waking her up, making the waves dance – although going back would be harder – only to find him there, staring out to sea, his face absolutely set in stone.
He had turned round slowly, and it was only then that she realised his eyes were full of rage.