FORTY-SIX

Friday 27 November

‘Service!’ Imogen hit the bell for the umpteenth time that evening – and it had only just gone six o’clock. One of the waiters came to take the plates of pizza and deliver them to another customer in the restaurant. It wasn’t exactly the high-end fare she had been used to making but she still cared deeply enough about what she made for her diners to go the extra mile. If you put your mind to it, even pizza could surprise the taste buds. And it was that extra effort that – hopefully – would bring the customers back. She hadn’t had any feedback yet though and it was making her nervous. The plates came back (mostly) empty, and they’d had dozens of orders for takeaway as well as the fully booked restaurant, but she wanted to hear what her customers thought.

She considered peering through the hatch into the restaurant itself but there was no time. The orders kept coming in. She’d asked the waiting staff if people were enjoying her food, and they said ‘yes’, but were too busy to elaborate.

The door to the kitchen opened and James came in, looking sombre.

Imogen looked up, concerned. ‘What is it?’

‘You need to come out here a moment,’ said James. ‘Customer complaint.’

Her heart sank. She handed over to her sous chef and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked as she nervously walked into the restaurant. She thought: Please don’t let this be serious, please not after all this hard work, all these hopes, everything she’d put in to make this place something, to improve her family’s situation . . . and then she realized that everyone was cheering, clapping her, smiling, their faces full of admiration, and she had absolutely nothing to worry about.

‘I suppose you think you’re funny,’ she murmured to James.

‘Oh, I am. Hilarious,’ he said, and she knew he enjoyed exerting control over her when he could. It was not to her liking.

The relief that there wasn’t a problem was intoxicating and she went around the tables, humbly taking in the compliments, the good wishes, people telling her they’d missed her on the high street, missed her cooking, her ability to create magic in the kitchen. They were on her side, she realized, more than she’d ever thought possible.

‘My husband got very lucky when you invited him to go into business with you,’ said Carol, as Imogen stopped by her table. ‘This is the best pizza I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve been to Italy many times.’

‘Thank you,’ said Imogen. She agreed with Carol, James was very lucky. In more ways than Carol knew. James was sleeping with her. Imogen just wasn’t sure he appreciated how lucky.

‘It’s amazing,’ gushed Lorna, who was sitting opposite her mum. ‘You’re going to be famous again. Our very own celebrity chef. And this place,’ Lorna gazed around, wide-eyed, ‘well, you must be making a killing! It’s so full!’

Not yet, she wasn’t, but Imogen was forecast to. Not that she was going to engage in any conversation with Lorna on the matter. Her crassness was irritating.

She smiled warmly. ‘It’s so nice to see such close friends here,’ she said, placing a hand on each of Carol and Lorna’s shoulders. ‘And James is an excellent business partner,’ she added, looking at Carol. ‘So attentive, and he has a real personal touch.’

‘He’s spent so much time here on the run-up to opening. I can see why now,’ said Carol.

No, you can’t, thought Imogen. He’s been here for other reasons. She shouldn’t have said anything about James’s personal touch. Her annoyance was with Carol’s daughter, not Carol herself.

‘Will you excuse me?’ she asked. ‘I hope you have a lovely night.’ And she headed to another table.

‘I think the whole village must be here,’ said Lorna enviously.

‘Not the whole village,’ said Carol. ‘That isn’t possible.’

‘Oh, look, there’s Nicole!’ said Lorna, calling out the other mum’s name and waving enthusiastically. ‘She’s come in for a takeaway. Bloody hell, eight boxes! At ten to fifteen pounds a pop! And there must have been at least four other people come in to collect in the last ten minutes alone. Plus, once we’re all gone,’ she waved a hand over the diners, ‘there’s another seating at eight. That will cover the whole village,’ she said jokingly, ‘well, except perhaps Nancy.’

‘Is that the woman who lives in Imogen’s old house?’ asked Carol.

Lorna nodded. ‘She’s not exactly Miss Popular around here.’

‘Has something else happened?’

‘Some of the mums think she’s ruined the water down at the reservoir. Ever since she built her natural pool.’

Carol laughed at first. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Try telling them that.’

‘But the whole of Heron Water? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Not the whole of it. The bit near her house. At least that’s what some people think.’

‘What people?’

‘Well, Nicole for starters,’ said Lorna, waving gaily at Nicole as she left the restaurant, pizza boxes piled high. ‘And quite a few of the others. It’s the dogs,’ she explained, ‘they’re getting poisoned, and people think it might be due to the unusually high levels of blue-green algae near her place.’

Carol was shocked into silence for a moment. ‘And they genuinely believe this?’

‘Yes. I mean, it’s because the village has never had this problem before. With the algae. And the dogs. It’s only since Nancy moved here. At least, that’s what they’re saying.’

‘It’s like a witch-hunt,’ Carol said quietly.

Imogen was high on all the congratulations. Every table had stopped her, told her how much they loved her food, said they’d be recommending the restaurant – and even more importantly that they’d definitely be back. And she could tell in their eyes that they meant it. It was better than she’d ever imagined. She felt someone come up behind her, touch her gently on the lower back and for a brief second she thought it was James. Alarmed, she turned quickly.

It was Dylan. She felt a flush of relief. Her husband was looking buoyant.

‘How was the interview?’ she asked.

‘Surprisingly good. I liked him. The head. And I think he liked me too.’

‘Of course he did,’ said Imogen, kissing him on the lips. Out of the corner of her eye she saw James watching them, giving a minuscule frown. He didn’t like seeing her being affectionate with her husband. She turned her back.

‘You think you got it?’ she asked Dylan.

He hesitated and she could see he was seriously entertaining the idea, and for the first time with a sense of optimism.

‘Who knows?’

‘You want it?’

He looked at her and smiled. ‘I do. I never thought I’d say that but I really do.’

He was going to get it, Imogen thought. She knew it. And in that moment she was filled with such a sense of euphoria she felt lighter than air. They were on the up. The tide had turned and she was going to get back everything she’d lost.