He beckoned her over, but she couldn’t trust her limbs to move. ‘I thought you were a lawyer,’ she said.
‘Yeah, good luck to corporate lawyers who can’t read a profit and loss account,’ said Joel. He looked up at her. ‘I mean, you could get cash in, but it would be like putting water in a leaky bucket.’
Flora nodded, biting her lip.
‘I mean, you make far more pastries than you sell every week. Why aren’t you just making fewer?’
Flora stared hard at the ground. She didn’t want to tell him: because she needed something to give Teàrlach’s boys.
‘And why are you even paying near market value for produce from your family farm?’
‘Because your bloody boss hasn’t opened the hotel yet, which would allow us all to make a living,’ said Flora, her face hot. Joel blinked but didn’t comment.
‘I mean, you’re just charging far, far too little. For everything. Do you really need three different types of sausages?’
Well, she did, Flora thought crossly, because not everyone on Mure ate pork any more, and he should know that.
‘But … but people are spending their pensions in here,’ she said. ‘There are young mums … and you know what farming is going through.’
‘Yes, but you’re packed out with rich holidaymakers. Presumably they could spend a bit more.’
‘We can’t do that,’ said Flora. ‘We can’t have one price for local people and one for tourists.’
Joel arched an eyebrow. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Because it’s illegal, Mr Lawyer-person.’
‘Well, there are ways around that …’
‘I just want to run a good business!’
‘I want you to do that too, Flora. I just … You know I want good things for you.’
And? thought Flora desperately. And? And what else?
‘Listen, I’ll … Can I send you an email with some thoughts?’
‘I don’t need rescuing.’
He stopped short at that, and half-smiled. ‘I can’t even rescue myself,’ he said. ‘But there are things you could do. Lots. Positive things. Think about it. Please?’
Flora nodded mutely as he stood up to go.
‘Oh,’ she said at the door, yearning to take his hand and bury her head in his chest, even though Mark had made it delicately clear that they both needed space. ‘Why … why did you come by?’
Joel put his coat back on. ‘I … I can’t come to the party on Sunday,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
Her face fell. She had hoped … just a little … that he would turn up, see how brilliantly everything was going and what a happy time everybody was having and he’d want to join in and … Joel joining in. That was a stupid thought, for starters.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the tips.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, and ducked out into the pale-grey foggy evening, and she lost sight of him before his footsteps faded from earshot.
Chapter Fifty
Saif was still anxious, but not quite as terrified as he had been, when Neda showed up later that week.
His optimism, as they went down to the harbour to collect Neda from the ferry, faded fast. She emerged, tall and glamorous-looking, by the quayside next to the bearded walkers and excited Americans clutching their bumbags. She stood and looked around.
It was a glorious morning, cold and breathtakingly fresh, like a glass of iced water. The chilly waves danced in the light. She blinked, pulled on a large pair of sunglasses and walked up the jetty towards them, her heels clacking loudly on the cobblestones.
Instantly Ash was trembling in Saif’s arms, and Ibrahim turned away, back to his iPad.
‘It’s Neda!’ said Saif encouragingly. ‘She’s nice!’
Ash was still shaking.
‘What is it?’
The little boy muttered something that Saif strained to hear, even as Neda leaned over. She shook her head.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Listen to me, Ash. I’m not here to take you back.’
Saif gasped that he would think that. Ash was still flinching, and the tears were running down his face as Neda straightened up again.
‘I’m just visiting! I have presents for you!’
But Saif couldn’t hear her. He had turned his face away. It felt ridiculous now he was even thinking about it, but nonetheless it was true. There was a tiny part of him that had also worried that maybe they would want to go back. That anywhere would be preferable to living with him. He suddenly felt overwhelmed and grabbed Ash close. Neda glanced at him shrewdly, then smiled.
‘Look at this amazing place!’ she said. ‘Now, is there anywhere you can get a cup of coffee? We need to sit down to unwrap presents!’
Ibrahim lagged behind as Saif showed her up the harbour walkway towards Annie’s Seaside Kitchen, where many of the grateful disembarkees – the ones who were home and the ones who’d been warned of poor food on their journey – simply couldn’t believe their luck. She turned to Saif and smiled broadly and spoke in English.
‘Did you seriously think they’d rather come back with me?’
Saif blinked twice. ‘Only for a second.’
She shook her head. ‘Honestly. Did you really think they’d be here for five minutes and everything would be rainbows and fairy tales?’
Saif’s shoulders sagged. ‘But it’s so, so hard.’
‘Welcome to parenting,’ said Neda.
Saif smiled weakly. ‘But I can’t put Ash down, or get Ibrahim off his iPad.’
Indeed, the boy was walking, staring at the screen, oblivious to everything around him.
‘What do you mean, you can’t?’
Saif looked at her.
‘Just put Ash down.’ They had crossed the quiet road and were walking up the pavement towards the Seaside Kitchen, in its little pink building. Neda looked at him. ‘Do it!’
‘Um, I don’t think he wants to go down.’
‘He doesn’t want to eat his vegetables either, am I right?’
Saif winced. ‘One thing at a time.’
Neda shook her head. ‘Doesn’t work that way I’m afraid, my friend. You can’t fight every battle. Just fight one.’
‘Which one?’
‘The “do as I say” one.’
Saif laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’
They headed up the road, Saif aware everyone was looking at them.
‘Well, you’re a doctor. What would you recommend?’
‘I would recommend people do not come and visit me for child-rearing advice.’
Neda tutted. ‘Come on. What would you say?’ Saif shrugged. Neda lowered her voice. ‘What would Amena say?’
It was a low blow, and Saif winced a little. ‘There is no news?’ he said quickly.
Neda shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Saif. But if she were here …’
‘She would say, “Ash, you are a big boy, you have to walk.”’
‘Mm …’ said Neda.
They took another couple of steps. Then Saif whispered in Ash’s ear. ‘Darling. I’m going to put you down, so you can walk and make your leg all nice and strong.’
Ash’s little jaw jutted out and he immediately got a steely look in his eye. ‘No, Abba.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Neda. ‘We’re going to the coffee shop to get treats and presents. Want to come?’
She indicated to Saif, who put Ash on the ground. Ash immediately started to scramble back up his trouser leg. For an underfed six-year-old with a damaged foot, he was surprisingly strong. Neda watched Saif to see what he would do, and Saif found himself red and conscious that this was a test – not for Ash, but for him.
Saif uncurled the little fingers, even though it felt unbearably cruel. Ash screamed all the louder. This was great, thought Saif, growing red, Ash having the mother of all crazed screaming tantrums in the middle of the high street, on the thronged harbour, on an early Friday morning. The number of people on the island who wouldn’t have heard about the doctor’s deranged child by lunchtime was practically negligible.
‘Right, let’s go,’ said Neda. She smiled cheerily at Ash. ‘We’ll see you in there. I hope they have buns. I love buns, don’t you?’
Ash continued howling, his face bright red, his good leg hitting the pavement. Neda kept smiling.
‘Am I just supposed to walk away? When he’s upset?’
Neda shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, Saif.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It might make things trickier, you know, in the long run, if you can’t treat him like a normal kid.’