I got changed myself when I got in, but not into a tracksuit, just some chinos and a T-shirt. I put on Oasis and turned on the oven. My plan was to flash fry one of the steaks in garlic and salt and then give it ten minutes in the oven, whilst I made a good dressing for my salad. But as I got the packets out of the bag I saw both had a sell-by date for the next twenty-four hours, which meant I would have to cook them both or waste one. I was hungry anyway, so I released both steaks into the air, rubbing them with garlic. Once they were in the oven I opened the bag of organic baby leaves and chopped an avocado and some baby plum tomatoes and made a mustardy dressing.
I had over-estimated and there was enough salad for two people. I put the bowl on the table and lit the candles which lived in glass hurricane lamps. They reflected nicely in the bifold doors and I saw the kitchen was well designed for supper parties or romantic dinners. V loved a nicely laid table and so I got two white napkins out along with the cutlery. Then I took down two wine glasses and put the bottle of red between the places. The steaks smelt ready and so I served them up. Two would have taken a whole plate and looked ridiculous. I carried both plates to the table and put them into their places. The meat was succulent and cooked to perfection, the hard brown skin yielding to the red, earthy flesh. And the salad was a perfect complement, crisp and light and benefitting from the blood on the plate. The wine had also been a good choice, full bodied and fruity, real coat-your-throat stuff.
As I sat, Liam began his mournful rendition of ‘Wonderwall’ and I had to put down my knife and fork for a minute to stop myself from choking. Because nobody does know you the way I do, V said, as the lyric sounded out, and I heard her words so clearly I had to remind myself that she wasn’t actually sitting opposite me.
‘Your favourite song, V,’ I said, raising a glass and catching sight of my reflection in the door.
For the record, I didn’t actually think V was sitting with me that night. But it gave me a wonderful glimpse of what our future held, of how we would be when she did finally come home to live with me.
If she had been there I would have spoken to her about the time we were in Ireland and I arranged for her to hold an eagle. At least, hold is the wrong word. She had to put on a long, thick leather glove which reached right up to her shoulder and stand very still, while the eagle’s handler attracted the bird with a dead mouse. We were standing in the grounds of an old castle, the sea whipping against the shore and the trees and grasses of the garden bent almost double by the wind. V’s hair was flying around her head, as if it was alive, and her eyes were fixed upwards. I followed her gaze and saw a speck of a bird high up in the slate-grey skies above our heads. It hovered for a few minutes, surveying us, and in those moments I wanted to rush to V and rip the glove off her hand, to pull her away and cover her with my body. Because as the eagle started to descend it was obvious it saw only the prey, obvious it cared nothing for us and our petty concerns. It whizzed over my head, so close I could feel the wind from its wings, and as it glided towards V I could see the meanness of its talons, the damage they could do. Don’t touch her, I wanted to shout, but it was landing before I could move, with a weight that made V’s arm buckle so the handler had to grab it and hold it upright and she laughed. The eagle picked at the mouse in her hand and V stared at it as though it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. But then the handler moved behind the bird and put a tiny black mask over the eagle’s eyes, making it look like an executioner. He then transferred the bird on to his own gloved hand and V dropped her arm, reaching out to stroke the top of the eagle’s head. ‘Thank you so much,’ she was saying by the time I reached them.
She turned to me and her eyes were sparking. ‘That’s the best present anyone’s ever given me,’ she said.
Angus might be able to buy her more diamonds than I could, but I doubted very much he was as thoughtful as I am. I doubted very much that he even knew her well enough to be as thoughtful as I am.
The days I spent at work were becoming unusually hard and I felt like we were wading through mud towards the finish line. Not completing the deal simply wasn’t an option and I made sure everyone in my team knew as much. Kaitlyn put her head round the door at the end of the day and I looked up and realised most people had gone home already. I glanced at the clock on the computer and was surprised to see it was nearly eight.
‘I’m just about to head off,’ Kaitlyn said. ‘Wondered if you fancied a drink on the way home?’
I opened my mouth to deliver a ready excuse, but was struck by the length of the evening ahead of me. All I would do if I went straight home was stop again at the deli and eat on my own, and the thought seemed suddenly desolate. And Kaitlyn was fine, nice even. ‘OK. Give me ten minutes.’
We took the tube to Clapham and went into a pub on the High Street. Kaitlyn sat at a table and I went to the bar to get us both a pint.
‘Thanks,’ she said, as I sat back down opposite her. I raised my glass to her in mock salute. ‘So, how’s Hector going?’
I rubbed my hands across my face. ‘Slower than I expected.’
‘Yes, I heard you weren’t happy.’
I looked up at her. ‘What do you mean you heard?’
She coloured. ‘Oh, nothing. You’ve just looked quite stressed.’
‘Have I? I haven’t felt that stressed.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s OK not to be Mr Super Cool all the time, you know.’
I gulped at my drink and felt the alcohol releasing into my blood stream.
‘Where are you from, Mike?’ Kaitlyn’s eyes were fixed on me.
‘You mean where was I brought up?’ She nodded. ‘Well, all over really.’ I nearly stopped myself from saying any more, but Kaitlyn was smiling and sometimes it felt good to talk, as the adverts always say. ‘I was born in Luton, but I was taken into care at ten and I didn’t get a permanent home until I was twelve. That was in Aylesbury.’
Kaitlyn’s smile had fallen. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
I shrugged. ‘Why would you?’
‘Why were you taken into care?’
I drained my glass. ‘Usual story. Alcoholic mother, abusive boyfriend, absent father.’
‘That’s awful. I had no idea.’
I laughed because why on earth would she have any idea. I am not the sort of person you would look at and think they had been in care. ‘Would you like another?’ I held up my empty glass.
Hers was half full but she stood up. ‘My turn, let me.’ I watched her go to the bar and order our drinks. I noticed that she took one of her feet out of their killer heels and let it rest on the cool metal footrest.
When she came back she had recovered her smile. ‘So, you were adopted at twelve. Who by?’
I shook my head. ‘Not adopted. But I went into permanent foster care. A really nice couple called Elaine and Barry. They were great.’ And as I said Elaine’s name I could have been sitting at the kitchen table with one of her stews in front of me. It was funny to think of her like that, out of context, and it made me feel like I had a hole in my stomach.
‘So do you still see them then?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what about your mum?’
‘Oh God, no, not for years.’
‘Well, they must have done a pretty good job, your foster parents. I mean, you’ve turned out well, haven’t you?’ She laughed lightly.
I knew my hand was tight around my pint. ‘It was Elaine who made me realise I was good with numbers,’ I said. ‘I was really struggling before I went to live with her but she put everything into perspective for me.’ The atmosphere in the pub had become very close, almost as though we were underwater and running out of air. I knew I had heard that phrase ‘putting everything into perspective’ before, but I couldn’t quite place it and I couldn’t work out why it made me feel so uneasy. And I also couldn’t quite remember what Elaine had done or what I had struggled with before.