Finding Home by Kate Field (read book .txt) 📗

the documents relating to the business: accounts, occupancy statistics, bar sales, receipts, all neatly organised and filed away. It wouldn’t have suited everyone, but she had loved doing all this, had savoured the solidity and reliability of working with numbers. You knew where you were with numbers. They didn’t judge or behave differently for different people.

‘Here’s the receipt from the pawn shop,’ she said, bringing up a copy that she had scanned and saved. ‘And just in case you were about to make more accusations, on the next tab you’ll find the bank statement confirming the money was paid into the business account on the same day.’

Corin took the laptop and showed it to Yvonne.

‘You shouldn’t have all this,’ Yvonne said, peering at the screen. ‘This is confidential hotel business.’

‘Okay, I’ll hold up my hands to that one,’ Mim said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have copied it. But it was my insurance and I was right to think I might need it, wasn’t I?’ She stood in front of Yvonne. Should she say more? Yvonne had treated Mim badly for years, but it was Yvonne’s behaviour towards Gordon that angered Mim most. She had to stand up for him one last time. ‘It’s a bit late to get sentimental about Gordon’s watch. If you’d bothered to visit when he was alive, you would have had real memories to treasure. If I’d had a dad like yours, I’d never have abandoned him like you did. My family would have come before anything. And now I really do think it’s time for you to go.’

‘After you’ve apologised,’ Corin added, removing the laptop from Yvonne’s grasp.

‘I’d sooner cut my tongue out.’

‘Gracious me, I can’t bear this foul-mouthed woman a moment longer.’ Bea stood up and opened her arms wide as if she were herding animals. ‘Come along. Out. Out you go.’

She was magnificent. Without another word, she steered Yvonne out of the room, leaving Mim alone with Corin. Mim retrieved the laptop and closed down the folders she’d opened.

‘Are you okay?’ Corin asked, perching on the arm of the chair beside her. He touched her shoulder – a tentative touch, but it was enough to drive away Mim’s lingering tension.

‘Fine.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve dealt with far worse than Yvonne and lived to tell the tale.’

‘You deserve better.’

‘If life worked like that, and gave people what they deserve, I’d be living in a palace, waited on hand and foot, I expect.’ She laughed. ‘As it doesn’t, I’ll make do with my caravan. As long as Bea lets me stay after today’s mess. She won’t want to risk any repeat of this, will she?’

‘You have to stay.’ He spoke quickly. Mim looked up and caught an odd expression on his face, as if he’d surprised himself with his words. He smiled. ‘For purely selfish reasons. Now I’ve seen what you can do with accounts, I hope you might take pity and help me with mine.’

‘Out of pity?’ Mim grinned. ‘I’ll never make it to my palace on those terms.’

‘I’ll pay you in hard cash and with as much cake and disgustingly milky tea as you like.’

He knew how she liked her tea? It was a little thing but it felt significant, as if a root was winding down into the earth and anchoring her here. She felt she belonged here more than anywhere else she’d stayed and had a real connection to the place and the people. She didn’t want to leave.

‘You’ve got a deal,’ she said.

‘This is your filing system?’ Mim asked, when she went round to Corin’s house the next day to look at his accounts. ‘It’s not very impressive, is it?’

‘Don’t be rude. That’s a top quality padded envelope,’ Corin said.

‘It isn’t even a new envelope.’

‘I’m a keen recycler.’

Mim laughed and tipped the contents of the envelope onto Corin’s desk. An assortment of papers fell out: receipts, handwritten notes, printed pages, and one paper napkin with a telephone number on it. Corin grabbed that, screwed it up and dropped it in the wastepaper basket. Mim sifted through the rest.

‘Most of the outgoings are in there,’ Corin said. ‘You’ll have to access the bank statements for the rest and for the income.’

Mim pulled a face.

‘It seems a bit nosy going through your bank statements. Are you sure you want me to? Don’t you have accountants for the business who could do this for you properly?’

‘Don’t worry. You won’t find any embarrassing standing orders in there.’ Corin smiled. ‘And if you’d ever met the family accountants, you’d understand why I’d much rather have you in my house than them. They bore me to sleep with complicated words.’

Mim didn’t object. She was lucky to have a whole caravan to herself, but nothing compared to being in a house with solid walls and a firm roof, as she’d discovered on a few stormy nights when it had felt as if the wind might lift the caravan off its base, or the pounding rain might penetrate the metal above her head. And there was something cosy and comfortable about Corin’s house, even today when the sun streamed in and the windows were wide open, letting in the sea air. It wasn’t as fancy as Vennhallow and was a fraction of the size, but it had everything it needed to make it a home. She could understand why Corin preferred to live here.

While Mim tried to make sense of the accounts, Corin carried out jobs around the house, ironing a pile of sheets and then cooking something that smelled delicious and made Mim’s mouth water.

‘You’re quite the domestic goddess, aren’t you?’ she said, when he brought her another mug of tea and a chocolate brownie.

‘I like to be self-sufficient. I’m making lasagne – is that okay?’

‘Do what you like. You’re not bothering me.’

Corin laughed.

‘I meant, is it okay for you? Do you like it? I should have checked first, I suppose.’

‘You’re making it for me?’

‘Not just for you. I was planning to eat some too. At the