Page 55 of Murder in the Winter Woods
‘Thank you,’ Ken said, opening the door. Julia and Jake steeled themselves and launched determinedly into the wind and up the path.
‘And thanks for bringing the book,’ he called after them. ‘And the muffins.’
27
When Julia, Tabitha and Jake arrived at Sean’s in the early evening, it was already well dark, and cold. They were pleased to step inside the warm aromatic fug of the kitchen and unravel themselves from their coats and hats and scarves. It was a hive of activity. Sean had a chicken roasting in the oven, glowing golden through the glass. Laine and Jono were ‘on vegetable detail’ as Laine put it, their two dark heads bent over an iPhone propped up against a bottle of olive oil.
‘Smash the garlic with the side of the knife and add to the sizzling butter…’ Laine read out loud.
‘That sounds promising already,’ said Julia.
‘You’re so right. You can’t go wrong with butter and garlic. What are you making?’ asked Tabitha.
‘We’re trying a new spinach recipe,’ Jono said, pounding the side of his fist down hard on the knife, and releasing a strong smell of garlic. ‘Spinach with almonds, za’atar, red onion and lemon.’
‘Gosh, that sounds good.’
‘I’m putting the baby spuds on now,’ said Laine to Jono. ‘I think they’ll take about twenty minutes.’
‘OK, timing should be good with the chicken, right, Dad?’
Sean looked at his watch. ‘That’s right. Fifteen minutes or so and then it should sit for a while.’
‘Do you want me to set a timer for the potatoes, Lainie?’ Jono asked.
‘Nah, I’ll keep an eye on them.’
Julia caught Sean’s eye, and they smiled gently. She knew that he, like her, was observing the easy back and forth between the two young people, the way they worked together and communicated gently, anticipated needs and passed utensils, and moved past and around each other at the stove in the little domestic ballet that was cooking together. And it made him happy to see.
‘Can I help at all?’ Julia asked.
‘And me!’ said Tabitha.
‘We’ve got it,’ said Jono cheerily. ‘You relax.’
‘All right then,’ Julia said, putting the apple crumble on the sideboard. ‘It’s still warm, and we can pop it in for a minute or two before we eat.’
‘Yum, apple crumble, that’s my favourite,’ said Sean.
‘Really? Well, that’s a lucky surprise, isn’t it? I had no idea,’ she said, giving him a friendly nudge in the ribs.
‘Of course you did. Thank you. Shall we leave the chefs to the kitchen?’
Sean, Julia and Tabitha went through to the sitting room, where a fire was alight. Jake and Leo were already lying in front of it, tummies to the heat source. A bottle of Pinot Noir stood on the sideboard, opened, but not yet poured.
‘Ah, well this is very nice and cosy,’ said Tabitha, standing in front of the fire. She stretched her arms over the dogs, reaching her palms towards its warmth. ‘Sunday night at mine is usually a boiled egg and an early night.’
‘Mine too, actually. Sometimes I push the boat out and open a tin of baked beans. But the kids wanted to cook, and the weeks are so busy with everyone working,’ said Sean.
‘The kids…’ said Julia teasingly. Jono and Laine were both well into their twenties, as was Julia’s Jess, but somehow, they were still ‘the kids’.
The doorbell rang, and they heard the hubbub of young voices in the kitchen. The dogs raised their heads, but decided not to involve themselves in the welcome. ‘Speaking of the kids, that’ll be Dylan,’ said Sean.
Dylan was Jess’s ex or maybe-sort-of boyfriend. After their whirlwind romance on Jess’s trip to Berrywick for her father’s wedding, when Jess had gone home to Hong Kong, she and Dylan had decided that ‘a long-distance thing would be crazy’. So said Jess, although Julia knew for a fact that the two of them kept in almost daily contact, and that Jess hadn’t dated anyone since she’d got back home. It sounded very much like a ‘long-distance thing’ to Julia. She felt her heart clench slightly at the thought of her Jess, so far away. She’d like to have her daughter in the kitchen with the others, making the gravy, or tossing a salad.
Dylan’s shaggy head appeared at the door. ‘Hello, Dr O’Connor, hello, Julia, hello, Tabitha.’ He was dressed, as usual, in a style that Julia thought of as urban lumberjack, in a green-and-black plaid shirt over a long-sleeved black sweater and black jeans. He wore a fleece-lined suede jacket over the top of it all against the cold. ‘Thanks for the invitation, Dr O’Connor.’
‘My pleasure, Dylan. Please call me Sean.’
