opened up to her, not yet, but Daff is hopeful, and grateful that she wants to be here, grateful that it has happened so quickly and so relatively painlessly.
Focusing on Jess has stopped her focusing on Michael, on the pain he so obviously feels, on his withdrawing from everyone in the house, taking off into town and not coming home until late at night when he knew everyone would be asleep.
How quickly these people have become her family, she realizes. Living together perhaps it was inevitable, but she had no idea this would happen when she first phoned about the rental. She imagined Windermere as a boarding house in the truest sense of the word, a place where people had rooms but got on with their lives on their own during waking hours.
Never did she dream she would feel, from almost the moment she set foot here, as if she had come home. Never did she dream she would care about the other people in this house quite as much as she does, feel as comfortable with them as she does.
Michael looks up and gives her a small smile. “Hey. I was hoping you’d be up soon.”
“Oh? Do you want some tea?”
“No. I have coffee. Thanks. I thought perhaps you’d like to go for a walk. I . . . I know I’ve been a bit distant and I wanted to explain.”
“Don’t worry.” Daff’s tone is light, careful not to convey how she really feels. “I know you’re going through a lot. You don’t owe me an explanation at all. It’s fine.” She busies herself filling the kettle with water, so Michael can’t see her eyes, how she really feels.
“Please, Daff.” He walks up behind her and lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, and when she turns he puts his arms around her and hugs her. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and when they pull apart he looks at her with a raised eyebrow.
“A walk?”
“Okay.” She smiles. “But let me find Jess.”
“She’s fine,” he says. “She’s with my mom. They’re working in the garden.”
“What?” Daff is stunned. “Jess? Working? That’s not my daughter. My daughter sleeps until noon and doesn’t work or help out unless there’s a bribe attached.”
“Well, perhaps aliens came down and swapped her during the night, but she’s out there. Look.” Michael brings Daff to the window and she looks out in amazement to see, in the distance, Nan chatting away to Jess and showing her how to stake the now-flopping cucumbers, Nan stepping back as Jess bangs the stake in and clips the wire, looking to Nan for approval.
“Oh my God,” Daff says. “I think your mother may be a witch.”
“There are those in town who’ve been saying that for years.”
“No, but seriously, my daughter’s a teenager. She hates everything and everyone, but she actually looks—I can’t believe I’m going to say this—but she actually looks like she’s enjoying herself.”
“She probably is.” Michael grins. “Remember when we were kids and we got to do chores or help out, or have jobs like waiting tables or working at gas stations? Remember the sense of achievement we got? Nowadays all the kids seem to work as interns for friends of their parents, and it’s not real work, not like the work we did. She feels useful. It’s probably a great feeling, and a new one for her.”
Daff tears her eyes away from Jess to look at Michael in amazement. “Thank you,” she says. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. She feels useful. We don’t give her anything to do; it would never occur to me to have her do gardening like I used to do. I always hated it and I thought I was doing her a favor, not having her do it and paying the landscapers to handle it, but you’re right.” Daff sighs. “That’s probably what all the stealing was about. She needs something else in her life. She needs to feel useful.”
“She certainly doesn’t look unhappy now.” They both look over to see Jess smiling shyly as Nan claps her hands in delight. “I’d say she looks pretty great.”
“Thank you.” Daff’s eyes fill with tears. “She is. And thank you for seeing that, and for saying it.” She blinks away the tears and sighs. “That’s enough about me. I wanted to find out how you are. I’ve been so worried about you.”
“It’s all a bit of a nightmare.” Michael frowns. “Jordana, the woman who turned up, is, well, you know who she is. And it seems