‘Did you see her hand?’ said Imogen to Dylan as she chopped vegetables at the kitchen counter. Her husband had just come in from work and had been greeting Rosie in the living room where she was watching TV.
‘She showed me. It’s a bit of a nasty scrape but it’ll heal,’ said Dylan. He put his bag of books down on the floor, right by the fridge, where Imogen knew it would be in the way. Like he always did. Even though she always asked him to move it. She resisted the urge to ask him to move it yet again.
‘But did she tell you how it happened?’ she asked instead.
‘Something about Lara treading on it.’
Imogen waited for a sense of outrage, but none came.
‘On purpose,’ she added forcefully.
‘It was probably an accident.’
‘Did she tell you it was an accident?’
‘No. But it’s easy to misconstrue things.’
Imogen couldn’t quite believe how calm her husband was being. ‘Lara deliberately walked up to Rosie, looked at her meanly, trod on her hand and then sauntered off.’
‘What?’ Dylan screwed up his face.
‘Exactly,’ said Imogen.
‘No, I mean, is that what she told you?’
‘Yes!’
‘Hmm.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing. I just think Rosie is upset. Maybe she’s being a little dramatic.’
‘I think she’s telling us what happened. And the point is this other child has hurt Rosie. Again.’ Imogen stirred the soup then put down the spoon, wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I’m going to call James.’
‘It’s half seven at night. He’s not going to want to be bothered with it now.’
‘Bothered? This is our daughter.’
Dylan took her hands gently. ‘I know. And I don’t like seeing her upset any more than you do. But let the man have his evening. You can call tomorrow.’
Imogen thought. James would be at home with Carol. It might be difficult to talk. ‘OK.’
‘And . . .’ continued Dylan, ‘I think we have to be careful.’
Imogen removed her hands from his. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Rosie’s upset about leaving the house, her room, her pony. We know this. She’s not going to be that enamoured with the child who’s taken over her old home. Especially when they’re in the same class. I think we need to factor that in when she tells us about these run-ins with this other girl.’
‘Are you suggesting she’s making it up? Treading on her own hand?’
‘Of course not.’ Dylan paused. ‘But she does know how to play you.’ Imogen went to speak – she hated it when Dylan patronized her like this – but he put his hands on the tops of her arms. ‘She knows you’d do anything for her,’ he said softly.
Imogen sniffed, mollified a little. ‘Miss Young did say she was going to speak to Nancy.’
‘There you go, then. I’m sure this is all being sorted out.’
‘Glass of wine?’ asked Imogen, pulling a bottle of red out of the cupboard.
‘It’s Monday night.’
‘I know, but a small one can’t hurt.’ She got the corkscrew, popped the cork and poured them both a glass. She took a mouthful, swallowed then smiled at Dylan.
‘I’ve had an idea.’
He returned her smile, a touch nervously. She knew he was sometimes intimidated by her ‘ideas’ but this was a good one. ‘Oh yeah?’ he ventured.
Imogen moved closer to him, put her hand on his chest. Dylan was tall – over six foot – it was one of the things that had made her fall in love with him when they first met. She looked up into his eyes.
‘We want to save up for a deposit, right? Get our own place again?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘Now please hear me out. I know you love your job but there will always be teaching jobs at state secondary schools.’ She paused. ‘They’ve published the ad for the job at Kingsgate—’
‘You know how I feel abou—’
‘It pays twenty thousand a year more.’
A tiny bud of satisfaction bloomed quietly as she saw the look of surprise on his face. ‘You’d walk it, Dylan. I know you would. You’re the best teacher at Ripton High – Kingsgate would be mad not to hire you.’
Dylan gave a half grimace. ‘Not sure about that.’
‘Just think about it. Please?’ Imogen gave her best earnest look. ‘And I want to help out too.’
‘Oh?’
‘The restaurant premises are still empty.’
‘I don’t understand . . .’
‘You know no one ever gets rich working for someone else. I want to set up another company—’
‘Imogen—’
She shook her head. ‘Not like before. Not with tons of upfront investment to create the most high-end restaurant and be saddled with loads of debt. No, this time, I was thinking of a pizzeria.’
Dylan looked doubtful. ‘But who’s going to fund it? Our credit’s stuffed for some time.’
‘I have an offer from a private investor.’
He was surprised. ‘Who?’
She paused. ‘James.’
‘James? Since when has he been into funding restaurants?’
‘It’s not restaurants that interest him, it’s viable businesses. He and I have talked it all through. He’s fronting the capital, my part is my expertise in running a restaurant – and of course the cooking. Profits fifty-fifty.’
Dylan laughed nervously. Ran his hand through his hair. She could tell he was on the verge of telling her it was too soon, too risky.
She jumped in quickly. ‘You know we need a hefty deposit on a house to be considered by a lender . . . with the new business – and your help too, of course – we should be able to achieve that in a year.’
Dylan was surprised. ‘Really? A year? As soon as that?’ The carrot she was dangling was having an effect. He was allowing himself to think of the impossible – their own place again.
‘What’s he charging on the funding?’
Imogen smiled. This was the sensitive part. ‘Nothing. He wants to help. Get us back on our feet.’
‘Why?’
‘Why not? He’s our friend.’ She rested her hand on his, leaned in to kiss him. ‘It’s an opportunity that only comes along once in a blue moon. We’re lucky. It’s our chance to change things.’ She moved over to the hob, stirred the soup. ‘We plan to open in December,’ she added casually.
‘This December?’
‘Yes.’
‘But . . . the lease . . . setting everything up . . .’ He was looking at her and the penny dropped. ‘You’ve already done it.’
‘I saw the estate agent today. Haven’t signed anything yet. I’m so excited about it,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s all for us, you know. Me, you and Rosie. Think about it. This time next year. Our own front door again.’
She stopped, let that sink in. She knew what he was wrestling with in his mind, knew he was feeling under pressure.
‘So what do you think?’ she asked tentatively.
He looked at her and in his eyes she saw admiration, but also exhaustion. And deeply hidden, a flash of resentment. She held her breath.
‘I think I’d better apply for the job at Kingsgate,’ he said, ‘seeing as we’re in this together.’
Her heart leapt with joy. She threw her arms around his neck.
‘On one condition,’ said Dylan, his voice muffled by her hair.
‘Yes?’
‘I do it on my own. I don’t want you talking to James, asking him to help.’
‘But—’
‘I mean it, Imogen. It’s on my own or nothing. You promise?’
She looked at him, realized his mind was set. ‘Promise.’
Imogen closed her eyes with relief. Another victory. Step by step she was going to reclaim her rightful place in this village.