Everyone picks up their forks cautiously and I make a great show of digging in with huge enthusiasm. Dom takes a mouthful, clutches his throat and falls off his chair. We all giggle. But only after Dominic has mashed the fig mixture up, put it on toast, sprinkled it with sugar and laid banana slices over the top will Harry eat it.
'Do you need anything doing today, Isabel?' Harry asks between mouthfuls.
'Em, not just now, thanks, but there'll be loads of stuff tomorrow.' Meg was given a haircut by Harry as one of his bob-a-jobs because it was getting too hot for her. Now she's walking around shivering as she was shorn to within an inch of her life. The grandfather clock in the hall chimes ten times every hour and Monty only asked him to wind it up every night. So whenever I ask Harry to do something, I always make sure there is plenty of time to correct the mistakes. 'Off to Scouts tomorrow?' I ask. Harry nods. 'You'll ask how Godfrey Farlington is getting on, won't you?'
'Course I will!' he exclaims shrilly.
'How many more weeks have you got to go?'
'One! But Godfrey always wins – his dad is a plumber and the captain of the cricket team so he is forever getting jobs. Mum won't let me go into the village by myself to ask anyone for jobs.'
'We'll find jobs for you here.'
'I'll never win if I keep losing bets,' he says gloomily.
I glance over at Dom who is looking the picture of innocence. 'Dominic didn't take any money off you, did he?'
'No, he didn't. But Aunt Flo said I couldn't make any more bets after this one.'
'Which one?'
'The one between all of us.'
I narrow my eyes and stare at Dominic. 'Dom? What's this about a bet?' The table slowly goes quiet. 'You TOLD them, didn't you?'
'Izzy, I think the hair-ruffling definitely sounds encouraging,' puts in Aunt Winnie. 'Positively flirtatious.'
'I didn't tell them as such, Izzy. I was just reporting back.'
'Reporting back?'
'They sent me,' he says sulkily.
'God, is nothing private around here? We simply went out for a walk together.'
'Darling, if you want privacy then this is simply the wrong family for you,' says Aunt Flo. 'Think how easy things would be if you were a beetle.'
'But then she wouldn't fancy Simon,' puts in Dom helpfully.
'She would if he were a beetle.'
'But do beetles fancy each other?' asks Aunt Winnie.
'I should say so! You should see them mating!'
'Simon isn't a beetle and he doesn't fancy me,' I say sharply.
'But suppose he was!' persists Dom.
'Then Izzy wouldn't fancy him if he were a beetle.'
'She would if she were a female beetle.'
'I'm not a beetle either and I don't fancy him,' I put in. A slight throbbing around my temples tells me that we've taken this discussion further than I wanted it to go.
Mid-morning, after seeing our American visitors off and receiving invitations from all of them to visit if I'm ever in Chicago, I go through to the drawing room to see if everyone is ready for coffee. Simon is talking to his collection of lawyers and accountants. They all give me a brief nod or smile to acknowledge my presence before going back to their notes, utterly absorbed by what Simon is telling them. Just for a second, I see him from another perspective. The silence is so respectful you could hear a pin drop. Whatever detail Simon is explaining to the group, he is passionate about it. It doesn't mean a lot to me but it sounds pretty damn impressive. Where did Simon learn all this? At university? I listen to him some more, quietly impressed.
After a few more minutes, I ascertain that coffee would be very welcome in about half an hour and wander back to the kitchen.
'Cup of tea?' Mrs Delaney offers. 'Kettle has just boiled.'
I nod my thanks. For the first time ever, Mrs Delaney and I have tea together. She sits down opposite me and with floury hands pours tea from the huge ubiquitous brown teapot.
'Em, how are you?' I proffer politely.
'Better,' she says. I get the feeling she would quite like to talk about things.
'Yesterday must have been quite a shock for you.'
'Yes. Yes, it was. I feel pretty dreadful about everything. Believe it or not, I was quite young when we first got married.' She looks me in the eye with a wry smile.
I open my mouth to protest, realise anything I say is going to come out wrong and close it again.
She continues: 'Tom and I had been going through such a bad patch that we both thought it would be a good idea to separate for a month or so, just to think things over. Then I found out I was pregnant. I didn't want us to get back together simply because I was pregnant and of course I knew it would change everything if I told him. The more I thought about it, the more panicky I became. I imagined the dreadful atmosphere our child might have to grow up in and in the end I convinced myself that it would be better if we weren't together. So I left.'
She looks at me defensively as though I might judge her harshly. I try an encouraging smile. 'So you didn't ever tell him you were pregnant?'
'No. I feel awful about it. Always have. But the longer I left it the worse it became until I had absolutely convinced myself that it would never work out. All that weekend visiting for Harry. We had some money problems as well so I thought Tom was better off out of it.'
'And then you got a job here?'
'I don't have any family to speak of so I had to support Harry. Besides, the Monkwells are my family now.'
'I know they feel the same way about you.'
She smiles at me. 'I'm glad Tom knows though. I hope he's going to be a good father to Harry and not mess him around.'
'I'm sure he'll be a great dad. I think it's hard for a child to be without their father.'
'Do you really?'
'Yes,' I say simply, thinking of my own frequently absent one. 'I don't think you'll regret letting him back into your life.'
'We're seeing him in a couple of weeks. I promised I'd take Harry to Oxford for the day.'
'At least Harry has all the family here. They love having him around.'
Mrs Delaney smiles suddenly, a warm, friendly smile that makes her face seem quite different. 'I was so lucky to find them. They've all been extremely kind. Anyone should count themselves honoured to be attached to this family. I'm sorry I've been a bit defensive about them.'
'That's okay. I understand why.'
She looks at her hands for a second. 'I feel even worse now I know how hard Tom's been looking for me.'
'But he found you,' I say simply. 'That's all that matters.'
I quickly leave a message for the marquee company to check they're going to start work tomorrow and to instruct them that on no account should they leave anything structurally important up to a small ginger-haired boy asking for bob-a-jobs. Then I run up to my room to pack my overnight bag. I have shoe-horned a meeting with Rose and Mary into this afternoon and then I'll drive back to London. I plan to return to Pantiles tomorrow afternoon. Dom comes in while I am packing and lies on his bed.
'Are you coming to London with me?' I ask, thinking a bottle of wine may be in order this evening, along with a long comforting chat.
'No, I'm going to visit someone. Monty's offered to lend me his car.' He doesn't quite look me in the eye.
I stare at him for a second. 'Dom, what's going on?'
He reaches over and plays with the zip on my bag for a second. I don't take my eyes off his face. 'Em, it's difficult, Izzy. I don't want to upset you.'
'You're not going to—' A knock at the door interrupts me. I walk over and open it.
'Oh, hi Harry!' I say in surprise.
He's carrying something. 'You left your cardigan downstairs. I thought you might want it.'
'Oh, er, thanks.' He hands it over to me and there is a slight pause while he stands awkwardly in the doorway. 'Do you want to come in?' I ask. I get the feeling he does.
He shrugs slightly so I leave the door open and he follows me in. I resume packing.
Dominic gets up. 'Well, I must be going. Izzy, I will talk to you tomorrow.' Our eyes meet in implicit understanding. He gives me a kiss, ruffles Harry's hair and leaves.
Harry comes and sits on the bed and starts to swing his legs. Poor little mite, he's had a hell of a week too. 'I'm going to have an awful lot of bob-a-jobs for you tomorrow,' I tell him.
'I don't mind!' he says eagerly.
'Good!' I busy myself with my clothes but find that Harry is looking at me curiously. I wonder if he wants to talk about his father or whether I just look a bit strange. I clear my throat awkwardly. 'So! You met your father yesterday.' I wonder briefly whether I should have a degree in counselling or something before attempting such a tricky subject. Too late now.
Harry looks at his hands for a while. 'First time I've met him!'
'Was it?' I ask in feigned surprise. 'And, er, how was, er, that?' It would help to be able to form sentences properly.
'It was fine,' he says cheerily, seemingly unaffected by this life-changing event.
'Are you going to see your dad again?'
'Yes, we're going to Oxford in two weeks' time.'
'Right.' I nod for a couple of seconds.
'Izzz-zeee,' Harry drawls slowly.
'Yes Harry?'
'How do you know when …' He fiddles with his cuff.
'When what?' I prompt.
'When you love someone?'
My arms halt abruptly en-route to my hold-all. Normally this is just my forte – I can spend hours mulling over my relationships with Dom. But when an eight-year-old boy asks me this question I know I'd better not botch it up.
'Em, is there someone in particular you're thinking of?'
Harry blushes bright red. Not advisable with carrot hair. 'Emily,' he mumbles. At least I think he says Emily. It was pretty hard to catch.
'Em, Emily?'
He nods frantically. 'Well …' I say, struggling for something sensible to offer him. 'Do you like being around her?'
'More than anyone!' he says enthusiastically. 'Most girls are stupid. They whisper and giggle but Emily talks to me. She doesn't have a father either. I get this funny feeling. In my tummy.' He looks at me for answers. If only he knew I'm the last place on earth he's going to find them.
I would love to tell him that he's just eaten something funny and it will wear off but sadly I know that these crushes never really do.
'In your stomach?' I query, suddenly struck by something.
'Yes. Do you get them too?'
'A sort of butterfly thing when you see them, or if you think you're going to see them?'
'Yes!'
I sit down suddenly next to Harry. Actually, that is a slightly familiar feeling. A fairly recent one too. Was it with Rob? Will? The answer strikes me right between the eyes. Shit.
'Izzy?'
'Yes, Harry?'
'What do you think about me and Emily?'
'Well, it sounds as though you like her an awful lot.'
He nods slowly and seems satisfied with this completely inadequate answer. I wish I could add something more comforting but there's nothing to say to Harry or myself.
I look at my watch and realise I really do have to leave in order to get to my meeting on time. I also need to be by myself to think about this new development.
'Let's go and get you an ice pop,' I say, holding out my hand to Harry, and we wander slowly down to the kitchen. My walk may be nonchalant but my heart is going ten to the dozen. This sudden change of heart, I tell myself, for someone who until a few days ago you couldn't stand the sight of, and had regular fantasies about giving a swift kicking, may just be due to the fact that you're very, very tired.
I deposit Harry into the arms of Monty and Aunt Winnie and an ice pop and return to the hall. I pause at the bottom of the stairs.
'Izzy!' a familiar voice calls behind me.
I spin around to find Simon hurrying towards me. 'Simon, hi!' I raise my eyebrows and fix a smile on my face.
He halts in front of me and frowns. 'What's up with you?'
'With me?'
'Yes, you look strange.'
'Strange?'
'Are you going to repeat everything I say?'
'No, of course not. That would be strange when I am, of course, feeling perfectly fine.'
'Fine?'
'Now you're doing it.'
'Where are you off to? I wondered if you wanted to take a walk down to see the deer?' A walk? Again? What is it with all this walking? Is it a country thing?
'I can't,' I say quickly. 'I'm going to London.'
'When are you back?'
'Tomorrow.'
He looks disappointed. 'Well, I'll be working right up to next weekend but I'll give you a hand with the ball on Saturday if you like.'
'Great! Thanks! I'll see you later.' I turn away and run up the stairs, feeling the need to put as much distance as possible between myself and Pantiles. This latest turn of events is making me very confused. Very confused indeed.
I collect my stuff from my room and rush down to the kitchen via the back stairs. I leave a note for the family, give Meg a quick pat and zoom out to the car.
My feeling of claustrophobia lifts slightly as I put some miles between me and the estate. What am I thinking? Am I losing my tiny mind? Why not fancy Will? Ah yes, Will. A carbon copy of his older brother but not a patch on the original. Great fun to be around but lacking the depth, charisma, attractiveness and sheer magnitude of his sibling.
But therein lies the problem. It certainly will be an uncomfortable state of affairs if history repeats itself. It's as though I've sneaked a look at the exam questions and know all the answers. I know how this is going to end up. It's not going to be pretty.
After a brief meeting with Rose and Mary in Bury St Edmunds, I race down to London with my mind on one thing and one thing only. I dash up the steps to the flat and call Aidan. Although it is Sunday, he agrees to meet me at a little Italian restaurant on the Kings Road which is a lunchtime favourite with all of Table Manner's staff. The waiters know us well and always attempt to teach us pidgin Italian while we instruct them in the complexities of the English language.
After we have 'Ciao bella!'-ed like mad, perched ourselves on the highly uncomfortable bar stools and equipped ourselves with a bottle of house white, Aidan encourages me to start my story. I think I confuse him somewhat with tales of stolen furniture, killer spiders and urns containing dead people's ashes. My tale of woe culminates in my moonlight walk with Simon and the rather unfortunate fact that I think I fancy the pants off him.
'You mean Will,' Aidan puts in helpfully at this stage.
I narrow my eyes. I wonder if he has been listening at all. 'No, I mean Simon.'
He looks patently bewildered by this. 'But Dom said you fancied Will.'
'When did you talk to Dom?' I ask suspiciously.
'Does it matter? He said you fancied Will.'
'Nooo,' I hiss, impatiently waving my arm about and damn near punching the nearest diner in the face. 'I fancy Simon.' I don't like the way this is making me sound, especially as the diners nearest to us have stopped talking to each other in an effort to tune in to our conversation. Giuseppe, the head waiter, opens his mouth to say something but I silence him with a look.
'Simon? You fancy Simon? Not Will?' Aidan says incredulously. I'm starting to wonder if he has some sort of mental deficiency. Even the diners by the door are looking interested now.
'I'm trying not to think about it,' I mutter. Easier said than done. All I can remember about Pantiles is how wonderful I think Simon is. How much he loves his family. How hard he is working to save his home. And how much I used to love him.
'Bloody hell,' Aidan adds for good measure, pulls a face and then stares into his wine glass for a minute.
While he recovers from this latest revelation, I have one of my own and discover that the wine bottle is empty. Before I can open my mouth to order another, Giuseppe plops one down in front of me. 'On the house!' he announces grandly. I suppose I'm cheaper entertainment than a magician. Maybe I should have a sign saying 'Also available for weddings and bar mitzvahs'.
I refill both our glasses and wait for Aidan's response.
'But I thought you
hated
him,' he says eventually.
'I did. But things have changed slightly. He's actually a very nice person. Considerate. And he's been doing all the business stuff for a very noble reason: to save his family home.'
'So?'
'I just started to fancy him.
Really
fancy him.' I lean forward to illustrate my point and nearly fall off my stool. I struggle back on again.
'But doesn't he have a girlfriend?' Aidan asks. Giuseppe looks suitably aghast at this and I wonder if he has given up serving food completely for the evening. I try to ignore him.