Page 92 of Love in Tune

Honey reached out and picked up Mimi’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the fact that it was shaking slightly. Lucille’s fingers tightened around Honey’s wrist and they sat in silence until their visitors came to a halt in front of them.

‘Well there’s no denying whose brother you are, is there?’ Mimi said brusquely, dashing her spare hand across the back of her eyes.

‘Ernie!’ Lucille cried, springing up and kissing his cheek.

‘I saw you both on the news and I had to come,’ he said, holding on to her hand. ‘You girls are being so brave, I thought I should be too.’ His gaze moved to Mimi, uncertain. ‘Is that okay?’

Honey stood and moved her chair out from between Mimi and Lucille.

Mimi sighed. ‘You better park yourself up here,’ she nodded at the freshly vacated space. ‘Honey, you better go and get Ernie a nice cup of tea.’

Billy wasn’t acting the goat or entertaining the crowds. Shirtsleeves rolled back and pinny on, he was working up a storm alongside Hal and Skinny Steve, reacquainting himself with knife skills gained in the army kitchens. There was something about their new chef that intrigued him. Maybe it was the fact that he reminded him in some ways of his much-missed brother. Maybe it was that he sensed a deep melancholy in him, and innately understood it. Maybe it was purely selfish, that every now and then Billy needed to turn the showman off for a while. Or maybe he wanted to check Hal out as a potential suitor for Honey, because it was written all over the girl that she was in way over her head. Perhaps it was a jumble of all of those things that placed Billy in the kitchen, but whatever it was, Hal was grateful for both his help and his company.

A second TV company had been and gone by half past four, and the protest had managed to make most of the national news channels as well as the local ones. It was the kind of story that caught hold of everyone’s imagination, and Honey’s impassioned speech had set Twitter on fire with the hashtag #standwithus trending across the country. Going make-up free had been an unintentional stroke of genius; she’d become the tearstained poster girl that everyone wanted to wade in and support.

‘Five hundred tealights,’ Nell puffed, dropping a straining carrier bag down and rubbing her fingers where the plastic had bit into them. They were going to lose light soon and no one was showing any sign of going home, so they’d decided to break just about every health and safety rule in the book and hand out tealights.

‘Candles create atmosphere,’ Tash had reasoned. ‘They make people feel all sentimental. Imagine how it’ll look on the TV, Honey, like one of those vigils that makes everyone pick up the phone to give money they don’t have.’

‘Have we heard anything at all from the owners of the home?’ Simon asked, standing with his arm around Nell’s shoulders.

Nell shook her head. ‘The only thing they’re saying on the TV is that they’ve declined to comment.’

‘Well, they’re just about the only one who has,’ Nell looked up from her mobile and grinned. ‘Phillip Schofield’s just tweeted the standwithus hashtag to over three million followers!’

‘Oooh, I love Phillip!’ Lucille piped up, her hand fluttering over her hair as if he might appear at any moment. ‘What’s a hashtag?’

‘Oh my God, look,’ Tash said, turning her screen around to show Honey the shot of Davina McCall in daisy chain handcuffs underneath #standwithus. ‘If this doesn’t make the difference, I don’t know what will.’

Skinny Steve couldn’t believe anyone would ever want to interview him, and he fell over his words when a reporter from one of the nationals waylaid him en route back to the kitchens with empty coffee flasks.

‘You’re doing a fantastic job here today, congratulations,’ the pretty reporter gushed.

‘Thank you,’ Steve stammered. ‘But it’s not all down to me. I wouldn’t have known where to start without Hal to tell me what to do.’

The woman smiled winningly, and Steve really liked the way her kind blue eyes twinkled.

‘Hal?’ she said.

Steve nodded. ‘He’s amazing. I can’t believe I’m being taught to cook by someone as famous as him.’

The reporter tipped her head to one side. ‘Do you think we could meet him too?’

Steve frowned, realising that he might have said too much.

‘I don’t think so. Hal doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.’ He bit his lip. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

The reporter drew lines over her heart with her shell-pink nails.

‘Cross my heart.’

She reached inside her shirt and pulled a business card out of her bra, then reached out and tucked it into Steve’s apron pocket.

‘In case you think of anything else to tell me,’ she said, and then tripped away on her high heels.

Skinny Steve breathed a sigh of relief and headed inside for more coffee.

As dusk fell just before six o’clock, the candles turned the pavement into a flickering carpet of light and Honey returned to her sweet spot between Lucille and Mimi.

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