‘I’m not sure I follow.’
He laughs lightly and reaches forward, tenderly giving my cheek a little rub. ‘Not now, Eleanor. But I have a feeling you’ll be around long enough to hear the Hunt family legacy.’
‘Oh, no, Mr H, we’re not going over this again, are we? I told you, I’m immune.’ How can I lie to a dear old man?
He smacks the bottom of his cane on the floor, chuckling. ‘Yes, yes, so you say. I meant to work, Eleanor. You’ll be around a while to work.’
I blush profusely. ‘Of course,’ I mutter, because if I was around for the reason I mistakenly thought he was referring to, I wouldn’t actually be around for long at all.
‘Just remember what I told you.’
‘What did you tell me?’ The old man has spoken a whole lot of nothing.
‘My Becker is spirited.’
I frown. What relevance does that have in all this, for crying out loud?
‘You’re a very spirited young woman, too, Eleanor. That spirit has only flourished since I first clapped eyes on you, and I’m wondering why.’ He seems to take immense pleasure in watching me disintegrate under the heat of my own cheeks, his old eyes sparkling like I haven’t seen in the short time I’ve known him. ‘Something tells me it’s not just the beauty of our Haven and its treasure.’ I keep my mouth firmly closed as his hand comes up to my face and he strokes my cheek gently again. ‘Don’t let anyone take that fire away from you. I like you. I don’t want to see you hurt. We love having you around, Eleanor. Women who get caught up with Becker don’t stay around for long. Call me selfish, but I want to keep you.’ He winks. It’s so endearing. And then he ambles out, meeting Mrs Potts in the doorway. She’s wrapped up warm and loaded with two very heavy-looking shopping bags. It’s a perfect distraction. Mr H’s words make perfect sense, and I hate that he’s right. My spirit has definitely grown, and has been . . . nurtured since I’ve been at The Haven. What Becker said last night is true. They love having me around and know Becker could fuck that all up. My conscience is being attacked by guilt. I feel rotten. That was a subtle reminder. Or not so subtle. He knows his grandson will hurt me. Annoyingly, he already has, but I’m all for damage control. This wonderful place can still be my haven, too.
I dash over and claim the bags from Mrs Potts, and she takes old Mr H’s arm. He shrugs her off. ‘Dorothy, please, I’m walking thirty feet to the courtyard to get some fresh air.’
‘Aren’t you going to get dressed?’ she asks, dropping her hold begrudgingly.
‘Might do. Might not.’ He pushes Mrs Potts back into the kitchen and takes the handle. ‘I’m not going to die if I don’t take a shower for another hour, am I?’
‘Don’t get smart with me, Donald.’
He flips me another wink before shutting the door so Mrs Potts and I are alone. Now I have another cringeworthy confrontation to face. This morning is full of them. Bracing myself for her imminent inquisition on my lateness, I start emptying the bags, a ploy to avoid having to look at her when she hits me with the questions I know are coming. Except they don’t. Mrs Potts takes the items I’m removing from the bags and puts them away in silence. This worries me more, because now I’m worried she’s annoyed with me. Becker’s grandad’s little speech about spirit and his subtle warning, and now Mrs Potts’s silent treatment. The last time we were all together, I was having oh dears thrown at me left, right and centre. They can’t know about last night, and I plan on keeping it that way. Call me pitiful, but I don’t want to disappoint them.
The silence drags and drags, until I have no more things to empty from the bag. It’s painful. At least, it is for me, and when I’ve slowly folded the carrier bags into neat little squares, I cave, unable to take the discomfort any more.
‘I’m sorry about this morning, Mrs Potts.’ I turn and rest my bum on the counter, wincing at the flash of pain. ‘I broke my phone last night and had to order a new one.’
She’s across the room on her tiptoes, trying to get something down from the top shelf of a wall cupboard. ‘What, dear?’ she says, shifting a bag of sugar back further with her reaching fingers. ‘Bugger.’
I scoot over and grab the packet for her. ‘I said I’m sorry about this morning.’
‘What about this morning?’
I slowly retract my hand when she’s taken the sugar, confused. ‘For being late.’
She bursts into laughter and trots across the room, leaving me bemused as I watch her potter around happily. ‘You silly girl,’ she says. ‘I’ve been in town all morning fetching some shopping. If you hadn’t mentioned it, I would never have known.’ She laughs some more, and my confusion begins to subside, something else taking over. ‘Although your honesty is appreciated.’