Donnie was just showing Jez and Eric out of the surgery, and wondering if he could lock up already—get to the hospital a little early, see if Leonora was on duty and would let him in—when Maisie and Henry arrived. Really, Donnie was beginning to wonder why he’d bothered putting a sign on the door if everyone ignored it. He stood half in and half out of the entrance, while the others clustered around him on the pavement.
“I’ve drafted the project schedule,” Maisie said without preamble. Her hair had blue streaks today, and was braided in a complex pattern over her ears like Princess Leia. “Uncle Rick’s looking for capital funding for the actual building, and I said we’d work on the renovations and decoration.” She waved a small sheaf of papers in Donnie’s face. “I need you to go through this with me.”
“Of course I will.” Donnie took a slow breath. “But not today.”
Maisie blinked.
“Is Will back yet?” Henry asked. He held a handful of papers. “I must talk to him about the pet show. He said he’d meet me for lunch today—”
“Henry, he’s in the hospital,” Donnie said sharply.
“Yes, I know, but it was only a fall, wasn’t it? Surely they’ll have discharged him by now.”
“You tosser,” Maisie snapped at Henry. “It’s all about the me me me, isn’t it?”
“Look, Ms Viper Tongue, if we don’t get these things sorted soon, we’ll never have time to raise enough. We need strategy, marketing buzz. Cashflow forecasts.”
“I can do those,” Eric chipped in, though Jez was trying to pull him away. Jez looked uncomfortable with everyone so close.
“What’s that list you’ve got?” Maisie peered suspiciously at Henry’s papers. “I thought so! That’s not a copy of the committee action plan!”
“So, you don’t want to take advantage of my experience in business matters? You put me in charge of fundraising, and I have to say bake sales are just not going to do it in this day and age. I have grand plans!”
Mentally, Donnie closed his eyes and tried to do the same for his ears. Would anyone notice if he slipped through them and ran for his car?
“I can organise weekly open mic nights at the Kings Head pub,” Henry was continuing, his voice getting louder. “We have the pet show in August. And I suggest setting up an art club at the bar over the school holidays, culminating in a children’s exhibition in the community centre hall.”
“Art club?” Donnie raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know Henry had any artistic leanings, and from the scornful look on Maisie’s face, she didn’t either. Last Donnie heard, Henry thought modern art was pretentious twaddle, and galleries nothing but magnets for misbehaving tourists.
But Henry was on a roll. “I see it as a chance for children—and their carers—to learn methods of expression using paint, pencils, fabric, and other materials where they see inspiration.”
Yes, Henry was definitely getting better at expressing his genuine feelings. He didn’t look so much like he’d swallowed a wasp every time he opened his mouth. But did it have to happen right now, when Donnie was keen to get to the hospital as soon as possible?
Henry cleared his throat. “I’d like to discuss some things with you, Donnie. You have an eye for style, with the way you mix colours and shapes in your baking creations.”
Henry had never ever used the word style and Donnie in the same sentence. As well as dissing Donnie’s lumpen mis-shapes from the kitchen, he used to say Donnie dressed like he’d woken up in the charity shop bin bag left outside the shop. Donnie frowned. “You’re taking the piss, right?”
“No!” Henry, to give him credit, looked horrified Donnie should think that. “Dammit, I told Abi you wouldn’t believe me! You of all people know how I’ve always taken such great care over what I wear, and how I’m sensibly groomed before I even step outside my front door, but he said I needed to get in touch with a more spontaneous style, that I needed to embrace the colour and sensuality of other mediums, and I couldn’t do much better than take a leaf out of your relaxed and lively style… what? What?”
“What’s the matter with Maisie?” Eric asked. “Her face is splotchy.”
“Maisie,” Donnie said warningly, though his mouth twitched with the urge to smile.
“Maisie, don’t be such a bloody witch,” Henry growled.
But Maisie was roaring with laughter by now. Henry looked angry, appalled, and thoroughly mortified. Donnie despaired of the two of them ever getting on, though things would be so much better—and much more would be achieved—if they did. Jez had withdrawn into the doorway as if trying to find another haven like the one he’d slept in before. Eric was tugging on Henry’s arm, trying to make himself heard over Maisie’s raucous whoops.
And then Simon came out of the bakery and walked toward the group.
No, no, Donnie thought. Not more trouble. Maybe he could pretend he’d left something in the car, but never come back. Wait, perhaps he could pray for an alien intervention to scoop him up into a passing UFO. He could work on getting used to the probing…
“Donnie?”
He wrenched his attention back to Simon who was glaring at him. Simon glared a lot, actually. When Donnie saw him with Trev, he was more relaxed, but on his own? Sometimes scary. “Can I help?” He checked quickly, but Simon didn’t have a pet with him. “The surgery’s closed for the day, I’m afraid.” He felt like he’d been saying this forever.
“The surgery?” Simon glanced with confusion at the group of people on the pavement, bickering and talking over each other. Then his expression cleared. “Oh, you mean the vet? No, I’m not here for that. I came to see you.” He looked a bit shifty. “Trev insisted.”
Shit, what was it now? Had Donnie returned the baking tin he used last time he tried to make wholemeal bread? He suspected the yeast hadn’t been fresh because instead of rising it had imploded. But he’d managed to clean it all off, he thought. Simon was an ace breadmaker. Simon was obsessive about his equipment being spotless. Simon was scary. Had Donnie already thought that? Maybe they were offended by his amateur attempts to make confectionery, thought he was trying to steal business from their bakery—
“Jesus, Donnie! You look like I’m going to wallop you for something.” Simon interrupted Donnie’s increasing panic. “Trev reminded me how good your Easter chocolates were, and I wondered if you’d do some more at the bakery some time.”
“I… what?”
Simon looked flushed. “Okay, so I should have said how good they were before now. It’s not like I don’t appreciate how important it is to praise as well as complain. We all need that, right?”
“Right,” Donnie said faintly.
“I’ve just… had things on my mind. What with Trev getting the bakery up and running again and everything. But we both had a taste of one you left behind at the parade that day…” He was blushing even more than Trev had at the mention of sharing sweets. “… and Trev says you know all about me nicking those fudge snakes off the kids at school—”
“Fingers,” Donnie whispered, helplessly.
“—but I need to tell you, you’ve got a real talent with tastes.”
“Not particularly with shape, though.”
“No, not with shape.” But Simon was grinning cheerfully. “What the fuck does that matter if something tastes good? We can work on the presentation.”
Trev had said almost the same thing, over his coffee with Donnie. “What does…? We can…?” Donnie didn’t seem to be able to finish a sentence.
“Trev says to come along to the bakery sometime after shop hours, and you can use our… his… kitchen to practise in. We’ve got a lot of instructional podcasts to share, too. We’re always learning new things.”
“We both say that,” said Trev, appearing suddenly behind Simon. “If you want.”
If I want? A proper kitchen, proper supplies and equipment, proper bakers to help him improve, to share his inspiration with? Donnie felt his smile almost split his face. Followed almost immediately with the jagged pain of disappointment as the sound of his other friends arguing away came back into focus.
“I can’t think of anything I’d like more! But it’s not going to happen, is it? I haven’t got time for that. I can’t juggle it all! Will’s in hospital and his surgery’s locked up for who knows how long, but people are still calling for appointments. Eric needs help with the accounts, especially as Will’s thinking of taking on another business. Will wants me to take on running them both, but I don’t know if I want to, and I don’t know how to explain that to him.” Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he realised everyone else had fallen quiet, but he couldn’t seem to stop now. “Maisie and Henry need help with the fundraising, but they won’t stop arguing about it all, and thank God Jez has offered to help with the new house, but I don’t know how we’re going to get it all done with so few pairs of hands. And…” His vision was blurred, his head was thumping like he had an oncoming migraine. “And I’m still not sure I didn’t poison Will in the first place!”
There was a moment when no one spoke, when all Donnie could hear was the hum of traffic on the road and the beep of the crossing outside the supermarket, and a dog barking cheerfully over on the green. It was probably that terrier, after a ball again.
And then the babble of voices broke out again around him.
“Donnie, don’t be daft!”
“You’re misunderstanding the whole thing—”
“I’ll come back later, if you can say when—”
“With everyone shouting, I can’t hear myself talk—”
“Just take a look at this—”
“I only need you to—”
“You’ve always helped before—”
And then…
“Look at Donnie!”
“What’s the matter with him?”
Donnie sank slowly, limply to the pavement outside the surgery, his head in his hands. And shut his eyes and ears against it all.