Tully and Rachel looked at her. Heather looked like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights.

‘I’d say,’ Heather ventured bravely, ‘that you were making conversation. Slightly flirtatious conversation.’

Tully looked at Rachel triumphantly. Maybe Heather wasn’t so bad after all.

12

RACHEL

Rachel stood with her back to Heather and Tully and her head in the pantry, pretending to survey the spices. There were two French madeleines in there that she’d made yesterday, and she picked up one and shoved it in her mouth. She’d worn her black wraparound dress, so she could loosen it, if need be. The way things were going with this lunch, she suspected she’d need to.

‘He was definitely flirting,’ Tully was saying, from where she sat in the dining area. She was utterly delighted, stretched out and looking more relaxed than Rachel had seen her in months. Probably because she was already on her second glass of chardonnay. Heather was on her third. Meanwhile, Rachel hadn’t even managed to have a sip of her first. Her mouth was full so she turned around, rolled her eyes, and turned back again.

‘Where on earth did you find him?’

Rachel swallowed. ‘Long-term unemployed list. It was a government program.’

‘Wow,’ Tully said, mystified. ‘Who wouldn’t want to employ him?’

‘Maybe he’s unreliable,’ Rachel said. ‘Or forgetful. Or lazy. He was late the first time he showed up for a delivery.’

‘Who cares?’ Tully cried. ‘Do I need to remind you what he looks like? Sometimes I wonder if you actually have red blood running through your veins, Rachel, I really do.’

Rachel picked up the other madeleine and stuffed it in her mouth, saving herself from having to answer. The truth was, Darcy’s visit had rattled her a little. It was hard to put her finger on what it was about him. Probably it was the dumb jokes or the fact he complimented her food. She enjoyed dumb jokes and people complimenting her food. But she was wary of him too. He’d been unemployed for over a year before working for her, which was a long time for an able-bodied, charismatic young man like Darcy. There had to be a story there.

‘Rachel doesn’t date men,’ Tully explained to Heather, as if they were suddenly best friends. ‘Or women. When we were younger, she did. She was the rebel child, always wanting to go out at night, always hanging out with boys in places she shouldn’t. Every boy at school was in love with Rachel. It was her hair. She had this long, shiny hair . . . A boyfriend of mine once told me he had a dream about Rachel’s hair and I had to break up with him. Do you remember that, Rach?’

‘Aaron Henderson,’ Rachel said without looking up. ‘He was a giant tosser.’

‘Colossal tosser,’ Tully agreed, before turning back to Heather. ‘Anyway, one day when she was sixteen or seventeen, she shaved it all off. I’ll never forget coming home from school, and there was Rachel, sitting up at the kitchen counter, bald.’