The Barn on Half Moon Hill (5 page)

‘Hello, love, nice to see you again.' A different waitress, who recognised the young lady from a previous visit, had appeared at their table, pen poised over her notepad, and was
addressing Cariad, but staring at Franco. ‘This your young man?'

‘Er . . .'

‘Yes,' Franco answered for her.

‘You're a belter, aren't you?' She twisted her head around to shout to her colleague. ‘Hey, Ena, isn't this young fella a smasher?'

‘He is that, Sue,' replied Ena. ‘I wouldn't mind him with a fried egg.'

‘You look familiar,' said Sue the waitress. ‘Have you been here before?'

‘No, it's a first time for me,' replied Franco, careful to speak in the Irish voice he had been using with the taxi driver.

‘Aw, you've found a fellow Welsh ‘un.' Sue smiled at Cariad, who disguised her giggle with a cough.

‘I'm sure I know you,' Sue persisted. ‘What's your name?'

‘Michael,' Franco supplied quickly.

Sue studied him with her sharp little bird-eyes. ‘Michael what?'

‘Er . . . Bublé,' replied Franco, grabbing at the first name that sailed into his mind.

Sue rolled the name around in her head silently then threw back her head and laughed. ‘If you're Michael Bublé, I'm Elizabeth Taylor,' she said. ‘Anyway,
it's “ten-per-cent-off Tuesday”. Do you know what you want or shall I give you a couple more minutes?'

‘Why don't you order for me?' said Franco to Cariad. So Cariad ordered two haddock and chips – with curry sauce, obviously – a pot of tea and some bread and
butter.

‘Well done on the incognito front,' said Cariad, when Sue had gone to hand the order into the kitchen, ‘
Mr Bublé
.'

‘It was the first name I thought of,' replied Franco, blue eyes glittering like the waters of the Winterworld lagoon. Cariad had read in so many slushy romance books of people
wanting to dive into someone's eyes and she now knew why.

‘So, here we are,' Franco eventually said, a wide lazy smile resting on his deliciously kissable lips.

‘Yep. In a chip shop in Barnsley,' replied Cariad. ‘I can see us in the next issue of
Hello!
. It'll make a right change from you whisking women off to the
Cipriani Hotel in Venice or Raffles in Singapore.

‘I'm only doing a photoshoot if Sue and Ena are in it,' Franco said, scratching the stubble that was already coming through after a shave early that morning.

Cariad smiled, then remembered that she'd actually called him a bastard. If she hadn't been restrained by a seatbelt, she might have slapped him as well.

‘So you actually read my letters? Really?'

‘Every single one of them – you can test me if you like. Go ahead and ask questions about them,' he said. ‘Including the last one when you said you weren't going to
write any more.'

‘I started to feel a bit stupid,' said Cariad. ‘I should have stopped writing much sooner.'

Franco reached for her hand across the table. ‘No, no. I loved getting your letters. Sometimes they were the only bit of sanity in my life.' Then they had to pull apart as Sue needed
to put down a huge pot of tea, two mugs and a plate full of buttered bread triangles in the middle of the table.

‘I kept your guide to grieving for a dad on my wall for a long time,' Franco went on. ‘It helped me a lot.'

‘Good,' said Cariad with a smile. ‘I'm glad it did.'

‘It's in a box with all the others now. It was kind of you to send it to me. I hope someone helped you through your grief.'

‘I'll pour, shall I?' Cariad lifted the teapot. She didn't want to talk about her father. It would make her upset and today was enough of an emotional roller-coaster to
deal with.

‘I read them all again before I came to England.'

‘Yeah, course you did.'

‘I did. I wanted to make sure I had you here —' He pressed his fist into his heart ‘— so I wouldn't miss you. I couldn't see you, at first, then I heard
Becky's, or Lacey's, voice in the crowd. She sounded just like I imagined her to. All witchy and yeurch.'

Cariad smiled. ‘That sums them both up. I expect I'll have a lot of questions to answer when they see me later.'

‘Why don't you move out? They sound awful.'

‘They are.' Cariad sighed. ‘But I can't afford another place yet.'
I did a stupid thing you see . . .

Sue was on her way back over with two oval plates full of fish and chips and curry sauce and a puzzled expression weighing on her eyebrows.

‘You're not out of
EastEnders
, are you?' she asked Franco, staring at him over the top of her glasses. ‘You've got a look of Beppe di Marco. Or was it his
brother? Now what was his name again?' She called across to Ena. ‘Ena, what was Beppe's brother called in
EastEnders
?'

‘Geoffrey,' said Ena, who was wiping down a table.

‘No, it was something Italian . . .' She clicked her fingers. ‘Giovanni? I know . . . Gianni, that was it. Then again, he'd be much older than you because I'm going
back a few years. You look Italian.'

‘I'm not Italian or off the TV,' said Franco, shaking his head. ‘I'm a builder. From Bally . . . cork . . . bottle.'

‘That rings a bell.' Sue sniffed. ‘Anyway, enjoy your dinners. Did I tell you there's ten per cent off today?'

‘Absolutely you did,' replied Franco, in his real accent so to make up for the error he then threw out a, ‘to be sure.'

Jacques and Eve were sitting in their office, waiting for the grumpy old coffee machine to do its magic. It took an age for it to heat the water and push it through the ground
beans, but it delivered a premium brew.

‘Did all that just happen?' asked Jacques, thumbing backwards to where the men were taking down the temporary stage. ‘Did a Hollywood actor really borrow my spare jeans and run
off with our ice-cream lady?'

‘I hope he looks after her,' said Eve. ‘Effin didn't look very impressed.'

‘Did he say they'd been writing to each other?'

‘That's one hell of a pen-pal.' Eve sighed. ‘Mine was a boy from Belgium who used to send me pictures of donkeys. Then, when he eventually sent me a photo of himself,
well, let's just say, the donkeys were much better looking. He was called Jacques too, come to think about it.'

Jacques grinned. ‘And here's me thinking you fell in love with me because I was unique and not because you have a thing about my name.' He tried not to make it sound heavy when
he asked: ‘You do love me, don't you?'

‘Of course I do,' Eve returned quickly. ‘You don't have to ask.'

‘You've been quiet recently. There's something on your mind,' he said.

‘No, there . . . well, yes, there is. But let me just get on with sorting it myself. I don't need any help.'

‘Okay,' he said, wishing she would let him in.

‘I can't wait to see us on the TV later,' said Eve. The moment had passed. Jacques wouldn't find out over this coffee what was going on in her head.

‘This looks great,' said Franco. ‘I haven't eaten all day. And the food in the hotel last night wasn't to my taste. I have to try this curry
sauce.' And he started to tuck in, while Cariad sat and stared at him.

She thought that looking at his face was like viewing a piece of iridescent glass which shifted colours at the tiniest tilt of angle. Franco reminded her of Henry Cavill, of Sean Connery, then a
moment later of Christopher Reeve . . . maybe even, he was a little Fabio-esque from all those romantic book covers, with a hint of Raul Cruz, the chef from the TV who made her mother fan her face
whenever he appeared on a cookery programme.

‘What's the matter?' Franco asked, when he became aware of the heat of her gaze.

‘I think I'm either dreaming or someone has slipped some LSD into my system.'

‘Just eat. The curry sauce really is very good,' said Franco, pointing to her plate as if he were her mother.

Cariad picked up her knife and fork and sliced into the batter surrounding the fish.

‘I have never had British fish and chips before,' said Franco, his mouth glossy. ‘Why didn't anyone tell me they were this good? What does Gianni di Marco look
like?'

‘No idea,' replied Cariad, though she thought that he sounded handsome with a name like that.

‘The view looks familiar,' said Franco, through a mouthful of chips, pointing out of the window with his knife. ‘You sent me a picture of it a few months ago, didn't
you?'

Cariad was impressed that he'd remembered. ‘Yes, I did. I think it's lovely around here.'

Franco tapped his chin, hoping that might speed up his thought processes. It did.

‘This is Half Moon Hill, right?
La Collina della Mezza Luna
.'

‘Er . . . yes. That's right.'

‘You said you were going to live up here one day.'

‘Did I?' Had she told him that?

‘Yes, you did. And if you're testing my memory, you also told me that you had a dog called Fenn and that Gwyneth Owen kissed your boyfriend Wyn and that you were going to be a dancer
and you sent me photos and drawings of all the trophies you won, then you suddenly said you weren't. I always wondered why that was.'

Cariad shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just went off it.'

‘When I was in the stage show of
Dirty Dancing
, I thought of you sometimes.'

‘Yeah, course you did.'

‘It's true, I did. I thought that if we ever met I'd like to dance with you.'

‘I don't dance any more,' replied Cariad, dabbing at her lips. ‘Anyway. Wyn got Gwyneth up the duff. They got married in a right rush. Mam said she was the
ugliest-looking bride she'd ever seen, but I think she just said that to make me feel better. It's what mams do, isn't it?'

‘I suppose,' Franco answered, though he didn't know what it was to have a relationship with a mother who cared enough. He was, and always had been, more of a cash cow to Helen
Mezzaluna than a son.

‘Have you been staying in one of those big London hotels then?' Cariad asked, glad that the taxi driver had alerted her to the joys of Sedgewick's curry sauce.

‘Of course,' he replied. ‘Very luxurious. Yet strangely, also very characterless and cold.'

‘Do you have those riders, in hotels? When stars ask for daft things like kittens to play with and stuff?' asked Cariad, reaching for a slice of bread. ‘I'd have a big
box of expensive chocolates with all the toffee ones taken out and a massive selection of bath bombs.'

Franco laughed. Cariad Williams was even more funny and sweet in person than she was on the page. ‘I used to, when I was younger and more stupid and arrogant. I would ask for impossible
things, expensive things.' He gave her a pained smile as some unpleasant memories smacked his brain.

‘And now?'

‘I'm very easy to please. I occasionally ask for Gatorades and Twinkies – my God, I love Twinkies so much. Though I might start asking for British curry sauce. Am I okay having
more bread? I've had more than my fair share.'

‘Yes, take it. I just want this one,' replied Cariad, nibbling delicately on the sandwich she had made herself out of chips and curry sauce.

‘Boy, it's good stuff.' Franco was eating as if he had been locked up for a month and starved. ‘I have to come here again.'

‘Might not be here next time,' said Cariad. ‘I think the restaurant will be closing.'

‘No! Why's that?'

‘There's a businessman who has bought a pub down the road and he's turned it into a fish-and-chip restaurant. Duncan Grinter, he's called, horrible man. One of those
flash types who doesn't care about people, just profit. The food is nowhere near as good, but he can afford all the fancy PR and advertising. He's already closed a few businesses down
by opening up rival ones nearby.' Cariad sighed. ‘It would be a proper shame if Sedgewick's closed. You don't get a view like this in Grinter's place for a start
off.'

Franco stared out of the window at the smoky blue-tinged Pennine hills in the distance and the cloudless sky above them.

‘I don't see much of England when I come here. No countryside, unless I'm flying over it. What's Wales like?'

‘Rainy,' said Cariad. ‘Green, beautiful. At least where I'm from – the Mawddach estuary.'

‘I know, I know. You sent me photos of your giant who lives in the mountains. Idris.'

Cariad was surprised that he'd remembered that too. In fact – skip that – she was gobsmacked.

‘My mam used to tell me that Idris used to lie on his back there and look up at the stars. And if I didn't get to sleep, I'd disturb his peace and quiet and he'd come
looking for me.' Cariad laughed. ‘I used to rap on the window, hoping I'd wake him and he'd turn up outside our house. Not the result my mam was after.'

‘Your mom sounds great.'

‘She is,' Cariad smiled fondly. ‘She's started seeing Arfon Davies from across the street. He's always had a soft spot for her and he's a lovely man. I know
she was worried what I'd think, but she's too young to be by herself, so I told her to get in there. She's been lonely since Da went.'

‘And no man on the horizon for you? No more Wesleys?'

Nefi blw! Heaven's above!
He really had read her letters thoroughly.

‘Definitely not. He wasn't a proper date anyway. I think it was a practical joke. Something Becky and her fella dreamed up.'

Franco whispered something dark under his breath. It sounded like a hex.

They carried on eating, but at a slower pace now as they were almost full up.

‘Everything all right with you two?' Sue appeared at their side to inquire.