‘All of them have sold.’ Tabitha beamed as though it was her own collection. Then again, the gallery would get a healthy commission from my paintings. No wonder she looked like a Cheshire cat.
I peered at the stickers next to each, realising I’d be glad to see the back of them. ‘Who knew seascapes were so popular?’
‘When they’re this good, they are.’
The exhibition had been a success, an event I’d remember for all the right reasons, unlike my birthday party.
‘I’m sure we can sell the ones you didn’t exhibit, unless you want to do it privately,’ Tabitha said, when I’d signed the paperwork, and we’d finalised details for packing and delivery of the paintings.
‘No, that would be great.’
‘Do you have some news to share?’ She glanced at my midriff.
My face warmed. I placed a palm on my stomach. ‘How did you know? It’s barely eight weeks,’ I said. ‘I haven’t even told my parents.’
She smiled. ‘You have that look about you, like my daughter. She’s pregnant too.’
As I picked up my bag and walked away, I wondered whether it was obvious to everyone, still amazed at how much my life had changed in such a short space of time.
Rosa had gone by the time we arrived back in Oxford and Jamie returned to their flat. She’d packed a few things and left a note, saying she’d resigned from the police and was going abroad for a new start and not to contact her – as if she imagined Jamie would beg her to come back.
He’d looked into it, to be sure she’d really disappeared, and discovered she’d bought a one-way ticket to New Zealand. ‘Maybe she’s decided to reconnect with her mother’s family.’
Now, Jamie was gone too. He’d given up work, used his savings to buy a boat and was sailing single-handedly around the world. He was currently anchored off the coast of Singapore, according to his latest Facebook update. I doubted our relationship would ever recover properly. He couldn’t forgive me for thinking he’d been behind the texts, or that he’d wanted me dead, my apologies weak offerings he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, accept. It was my biggest regret.
He’d told our parents everything in the end. I couldn’t work out whether he’d done it because he couldn’t bear to have secrets from them, or to position himself as a hero in their minds, but either way, I couldn’t blame him. At the end of the day, he was a hero.
Since then, there’d been a shift in my relationship with my parents, once they’d got over their shock. They fretted about Jamie now, and I felt as though they blamed me. They never said so, but I read it in their reproachful looks whenever his name was mentioned, and despite trying hard to not feel responsible for their reactions, it wasn’t easy after so many years.
They were delighted Matt and I had reconciled, that my wedding ring was back on my finger, and were still loving grandparents to Hayley, but although they were relieved my ordeal was over – an ordeal they’d known nothing about, devastated to discover the person behind it was the woman they’d hoped would one day be their daughter-in-law – I knew my scene in the garage with Jamie had stayed with them, nudging their priorities in a different direction.
When Hayley told them that Mummy had fallen in the sea and was going to learn to swim, Dad had said simply, ‘About time,’ and hadn’t mentioned it again.
I was sure they felt sorry for Vic, who’d slipped out of my life as quietly as he’d come into it, but maybe that was my guilty conscience.
He’d been at the cottage when I returned from the hospital to get my things, the bracelet from Matt and Hayley I’d left on the bedside table, while they waited outside with Jamie in his car.
‘I’m glad you’re OK,’ he’d said, making no attempt to touch me, looking tired and defeated, his suitcase at his feet. ‘She was the last person I would have suspected.’
‘Me too.’
A wave of something passed between us, an acknowledgement maybe, of what we’d shared, but it was as if there was a force field around him, keeping me out.
‘I’m so sorry, Vic. That I thought it was you.’
He looked at me squarely. ‘At some point, you thought it was everyone.’
It was true. Even Marianne, who’d called as soon as I was back, to talk about Katya. She didn’t say so, but I could tell she’d lost confidence in me, that she thought I’d handled the situation with Katya badly. She was probably right. Thankfully, Katya had seemed her usual self once she knew I was safe.
‘I know it was a bit crazy, coming after you like that, but I honestly didn’t know what else to do,’ she said, when I met with her at Fernley House. She confided that Rosa had given her the creeps. ‘She said you’d love that book about the artists, but you looked so scared when you saw it, I knew something wasn’t right. She had this weird vibe, like, angry, but not so anyone would notice.’
‘None of us noticed,’ I said, not wanting to tell her the whole story, but knowing I owed some sort of explanation. ‘She developed a bit of an obsession with me, but she’s gone now. I’m really grateful you were keeping an eye on me, Katya, but you frightened a lot of people, taking off like that.’
She’d promised not to do it again, seemed happier, more settled somehow. It turned out she had a boyfriend; someone new to occupy her mind.
I’d resigned from Fernley House, sensing Marianne’s new wary watchfulness, especially after I turned down her suggestion of counselling. Maybe I needed a release from feeling responsible for others’ well-being for a while. There’d been some interest from a London gallery after my exhibition was featured in the culture section on the local news. I was keen to start something new; spend more time at home.
Home. I stood for a moment outside the house, just as I had on my birthday. Then, I’d been dreading going inside, wondering which of my guests had wanted me dead. Now, there were only people who loved me behind the door, yet it no longer felt like home.
I looked at the ‘For Sale’ sign planted out the front. We’d decided to move away; put some distance between us and everything that had happened. A fresh start.
It would be good for all of us, especially Matt, who didn’t need reminding that, for a while, he’d left a space in our home that I’d filled with someone new, whose clothes had nudged mine in the wardrobe, his shoes in the hallway – gone now to the charity shop. Vic hadn’t wanted them back, but I’d insisted on returning the ruby pendant. I’d grown tearful when he asked after Hayley. I knew how much he would miss her. He was going to Canada, he said, to stay with his sister for a while, didn’t know when he’d be back.
It seemed everyone was leaving, starting anew.
‘Here she is,’ Pam said, as I came inside to the smell of cooking.
She was followed by Baxter and Bella, our newest addition – a golden Labrador named after my childhood pet. Hayley was close behind, eyes permanently shiny since her fifth birthday when Bella had joined us. She was only slightly more excited about having a baby brother or sister. I was just grateful she’d quickly adjusted to Vic’s absence and Matt’s return to our home.
‘Mummy, come on,’ she said, crouching to pet Bella’s ears. ‘Daddy’s made sausages for dinner – they’re better than your ones because they haven’t got black bits on.’
Smiling, I said, ‘I might not be able to cook, but at least I can nearly swim.’
My lessons were hit and miss. Sometimes, I thought I was making progress, other times, I struggled to get in the pool, clinging to the side as shivers racked my body. I had learnt how to tread water, though. I never wanted to almost-drown again.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Pam said, beckoning to Baxter. ‘We should be getting home.’
‘You’re welcome to stay.’ Matt came through in his apron and kissed me, his gaze tender. ‘The more people to appreciate my sausages the better.’
‘Oh, well, if you’re sure, I’d love to.’ She hadn’t talked about us moving, but I knew she was making the most of us still being next door, for now.
‘Emma’s on her way,’ Matt said, returning to the kitchen. ‘I’m expecting a lot of baby talk.’
Just as Matt had forgiven me, so had Emma. She was living back in London permanently, enjoying her job and looking forward to single motherhood; had talked about reconnecting with her adoptive parents.
As I headed into the kitchen after Matt, I paused to look in the living room, at the painting of Perran Cove above the fireplace. I’d lost my phone, but Matt still had the photo of the sunrise I’d sent him that morning. Not that I’d needed reminding; the view was etched in my brain, just like everything else about that day. I’d needed to get it out of my head and onto canvas and had hung the painting, not only to replace the picture Rosa had defaced, but also to remind me every day how lucky I was, and to make the most of the third chance I’d been given at life.
It was the last seascape I’d ever paint.