Sinking down onto the grass, my back against the trunk of the tree, I pull up my knees and hug them to my chest. Then I stare for a long time at the remains of the campfire.
I’ve no idea where Jake lives. He mentioned it was about an hour’s drive away but that could be anywhere.
I can’t believe I’ll never see him again.
Recalling I have his email address, a little surge of hope rises up. But it quickly dies when I remember the hundreds of miles separating us, once I’m back in Manchester. It’s not as if I could casually email him, suggesting we meet up for a coffee …
I think what hurts most of all is that he didn’t come to say goodbye.
When I leave the campsite on Sunday, I’ll be leaving my friendship with Jake behind, too. I thought we had a genuine connection. But it obviously meant far more to me than it did to Jake.
A panicky feeling flutters in my throat.
Why do I keep getting things so badly wrong?
Tears spring up but I dash them away and get to my feet.
I need to cancel that hotel booking. It’s so late in the day, I’ll probably be required to pay for the room anyway but that’s the least of my worries.
Feeling slightly wobbly on my feet, I set off, walking in a daze back to the hotel. It’s good to have something practical to focus on. After I’ve sorted things out at the hotel, I’ll go back to the camp and ask Clemmy’s advice on ordering a hire car to get me home. Then I’ll pack up and leave first thing tomorrow.
I think of home and have a sudden longing to see Rachel. I’ll have so much to tell her. And none of it good.
The sooner I can get away from this place, the better …
*
I stare at the bill the receptionist has just presented me with.
I’m having a hard job processing the total in bold at the bottom of the print-out. Can it really be that much? As I haven’t given twenty-four hours’ notice of cancellation, I’m apparently required to pay the whole amount.
Looking back, I was so excited about treating Toby to a night of luxury, I didn’t pay much attention to how much it was all going to cost. I suppose I thought that if I were a few quid short, I could always borrow from Toby and pay him back later. How foolish it all seems now, in retrospect.
‘Are you sure this is right?’ I ask, thinking frantically about the state of my bank balance. I doubt there’s enough in there to cover it.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it is. Our policy clearly states that there’s no charge for cancellations we receive up to forty-eight hours before your stay. But after that, the whole amount becomes due.’
I stare at her, wondering if I should tell her about the exceptional circumstances. That my boyfriend decided to knock off the next-door neighbour.
‘It’s just that we’re unlikely to be able to fill the room at such late notice.’ She frowns. ‘Sorry.’
My throat feels too choked to speak so I fumble in my bag for my debit card. And then when she tries to put the transaction through, my card is declined.
‘Do you have another card?’ she asks. ‘We could split the amount.’
I shake my head. My only credit card is maxed out after paying for the glamping trip.
Suddenly, it’s all too much. I’ve been an emotional wreck ever since I arrived here. And now this …
Tears spring to my eyes and the total on the print-out dances around in a blur. My throat aches with the effort of keeping the despair inside.
The receptionist swiftly provides a box of paper hankies and I pull out a couple and cover my face, sobbing uncontrollably. Trying to minimise the noise just makes it worse. The receptionist is staring at me in horror and I feel quite bad for her. She’s trying her best to remain professional but she clearly hasn’t a clue what to do with me.
Then someone says, ‘Daisy. What’s wrong?’
It’s Sylvia. I shake my head, unable to speak, making awkward little involuntary gasping noises instead. She leads me over to a sofa in a little alcove, well away from the busy reception desk, and sits down beside me, her hands in her lap.
In between sobs, and feeling ridiculously dramatic, I blurt out my sorry tale, explaining why I’m having to cancel after Sylvia went to such great trouble to find me a special room for tonight.
She observes me with a sympathetic frown. Then she says firmly, ‘We’ll waive the cancellation fee.’
‘Really?’ If anything, that makes me feel even worse about the situation. ‘But are you sure? I could pay some today then pay the balance next month?’
She shakes her head. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. You’d no idea Toby was going to – um – be such a cad. You booked in all faith that things would be lovely.’
I smile sadly and nod. ‘Well, if you’re sure. I’ll definitely be back, though. It’s such a gorgeous place you have here.’
‘Thank you.’ Sylvia’s face lights up. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile with her eyes and it totally transforms her. ‘Running the hotel is my life,’ she says simply, ‘and comments like that make me think that maybe I’ve made the right choices.’
I nod, envying Sylvia her passion for her work, yet at the same time feeling a sadness emanating from her.
She leans forward suddenly, an intense gleam in her eye. ‘Don’t let Toby’s betrayal stop you from forging other relationships. You deserve to find someone special.’
Her words take me by surprise and tears spring to my eyes again. ‘Gosh, you’re going to start me off again if you keep being nice to me.’ I try to laugh it off but thoughts of Jake are making me feel hollow inside. I had found someone special but it wasn’t meant to be …
Sylvia stands up, snapping back to her usual professional manner. ‘Right, I’d better get on. Take care, Daisy. And if there’s anything I can do, just let me know.’
‘I will.’ I can’t imagine there’d be anything – unless I found myself stranded here with nowhere to stay – but it’s really nice of her to say so.
As I leave the hotel, I make a mental note to do what Sylvia says and not dwell on the bad things but move forward as best I can.
Back at the tent, I pick up my cardigan, remembering how delighted I was when Jake brought it back. I wish now that I’d told him the truth about Toby and me. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have just disappeared without a word.
I’d been planning to stay for the summer fayre tomorrow to help out on Poppy’s cake stall. Now, I’m tempted to just pack up and leave early tomorrow morning. Move on with my life, as Sylvia advised me to do.
I bury my face in the cardigan’s softness, as though Mum’s scent might still be lingering there. But all I can smell is the faint aroma of fabric conditioner and an outdoorsy, smoky scent. The garment has been washed so many times, it now has more bobbles than a shop full of woolly hats. Carefully, I fold it up. Then I open my case and lay it inside.
It’s the middle of summer.
I have no need of an extra layer …