Ice-cold rain started to fall, soaking Ava and Willow as they peered through the trees. The truck’s headlights illuminated the bare, spindly trees that stretched across the road from both sides forming an arch. It was impossible to see who was sitting behind the wheel, but Ava recognised the battered truck, knew who it was.
She picked Willow up and dived towards the buggy, heart thumping as she attempted to strap her in with shaking hands. She had to get away from here. But he threw open the truck door and stormed towards her, grabbing her arm.
‘Justin, let go of me,’ she cried, trying to shake free, but his fingers pressed hard into her arm.
‘You’re not taking Willow away from me,’ he yelled, and the child burst into tears and wiggled in the buggy.
‘So now you want her?’ Ava cried, rain stinging her cheeks. ‘Now you can’t have her, you panic.’
‘I’ve always wanted her, Ava.’ He lessened his grip. ‘I just haven’t had the time – what with my music.’
‘And other girls, and drugs, and basically being a total waster.’ She pulled away from him and unbuckled Willow, lifting her crying from the buggy.
‘Who I sleep with is up to me, Ava.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Justin – you said you loved me, that we’d be together, the three of us. But you haven’t done anything to make that happen, you haven’t paid a penny towards bringing up Willow. Have you any idea how hard it’s been?’
‘I will help. As soon as my music takes off.’
‘I’ve heard it before, Justin. It’s too late.’
‘I’ll fight for her. She’s my daughter too.’ He made a grab for Willow, whose sobbing had taken on a new level.
A car engine rumbled nearby and a Ford Sierra rounded the bend, headlights blinding them. Ava ran into the road, screaming and waving, while holding tightly onto Willow with one arm.
Justin raced back to his truck. ‘You won’t take her from me, Ava,’ he said before ducking into the driving seat. He slammed the door closed, and pulled away with a screech of tyres, as the other car pulled to a stop, windscreen wipers ticktocking.
‘Inspector Jones?’ Ava whispered, when he flicked on the interior light and buzzed down the window.
She’d seen him about the village. He’d even been in the DIY store where she worked. She’d helped him pick out some magnolia paint and some decent paintbrushes.
The inspector was in his late thirties, his pleasant face comforting as he leaned out of his car window, his gold-framed glasses getting splattered with rain. ‘Is everything OK?’ he said, looking concerned. His blue eyes were friendly, his dark hair cropped short – with a hint of army rather than police force.
She knew she looked a sight. Her face, still wet from tears, must have been red and blotchy, her eyes puffy, her hair soaked from the rain and clinging to her skull. ‘Not really,’ she said, squeezing Willow so close they were practically one person.
A sudden memory of the inspector coming to the cottage when she was a child, just before Peter took off for Australia, came and went. He’d made her a hot chocolate that day – yes, she remembered that.
‘You couldn’t give us a lift home, could you?’ she said.
‘Of course.’ He unclipped his seatbelt and within moments he was by her side folding the buggy. She sighed with relief as he put it in the boot. ‘Climb in the back,’ he said with a smile aimed at Willow, who was holding onto Ava’s neck, as though she was on a log in rapid waters.
‘Thanks,’ Ava said, opening the door. ‘I live at Ocean View Cottage.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
Inspector Jones carefully took the bends in the roads, his headlights picking out the occasional rabbit on the grass verge, classical music playing softly on the radio. ‘Whoever he is,’ he said, meeting her eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘He’s not worth it.’
She smiled, comforted by the inspector’s soothing Welsh accent, his kindly words. Part of her didn’t want to leave the security of the back seat.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve been a total idiot.’
‘Get him out of your life, love. If he makes you feel like this, he doesn’t deserve you.’
‘I will. I mean I have.’ Tears pricked. ‘I went round his house hoping to sort things out. But he had some woman with him. I’ve told him he can’t see Willow anymore.’
‘He’s Willow’s father?’
‘Uh-huh, for his sins.’
Before too long the inspector pulled up outside Ocean View Cottage, tugged on the handbrake, and killed the engine. He flicked on the courtesy light once more and looked over his shoulder at Ava unbuckling the seatbelts.
‘He doesn’t deserve my darling girl,’ she said, opening the door. ‘And you know what else, I’m going to make a better life for Willow. I really am. I’m going to get a better job, save money, and …’ A tear rolled down her face. She sounded ridiculous. How the hell was she going to make that happen? ‘Well, thanks for the lift,’ she said, climbing out of the car.
‘Why not study from home?’ he said, his tone serious. ‘I bet you’re a bright girl, Ava. You’ve stumbled, that’s all. But with time and hard work you can make that life you want for you both. With qualifications you could get a good job.’
The idea bounced around her head. ‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘My son’s done a few courses and we’ve still got all the details. I can drop them off sometime, if you like.’
‘Yes. Yes, I’d like that,’ she said, the idea taking shape in her head. ‘Thanks, Inspector Jones.’
‘Call me Gareth.’
‘OK, Gareth,’ she said with another smile, as she climbed from the car. She stood for a moment with Willow in her arms, looking up at the cottage, fine rain tickling her cheeks. Peter was standing outside the door in the porch light, a cigarette glowing between his fingers.
Gareth buzzed down his window. ‘Who’s that?’ he said, nodding towards the house.
‘My brother.’
‘Peter? He’s back?’
‘Yes, for Gail and Rory’s wedding.’
‘Ava!’ Peter was strutting down the path, huddled into his fur-collared coat. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘I’d better take off,’ Gareth said, starting the engine and pulling away.
Peter reached her side. ‘Who was that?’ he said with a slur, watching Gareth’s car disappear into the darkness.
‘What do you want?’ Ava said, pushing past him, heading towards the house. ‘You’re drunk, and I’ve had a crap evening.’
He followed. ‘Listen,’ he called after her. ‘Wait up, please.’
She stopped, glanced over her shoulder. ‘What?’
He was rubbing the cold from his arms, his eyes wide. He looked suddenly vulnerable, like a lost little boy. ‘The thing is, I wanted to say sorry.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Yeah. I’ve been a bit of a dick since I arrived.’
‘You’re fine, Peter. I’m just tired, and it’s cold out here,’ she said, continuing towards the front door.
He raced after her, grabbed her arm, squeezing.
‘Let go of my arm,’ she said, as Willow started to cry.
‘Sorry,’ he said, releasing her. He went to touch Willow’s face, but the child buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. ‘I want to be here for you, Ava. If you need me.’
‘I’ve had a crap night,’ she said again. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow.’ She rushed into the house, and up the stairs, leaving him alone on the doorstep.
*
Later, in bed, Ava listened as the village church bells chimed midnight and the roar of Rory’s Ferrari made its way down the hill.
Before long, Jeannette and Peter climbed the stairs, and after a rush of whispers, taps running, toilets flushing, doors banging – the cottage was finally at peace.