Jake spooned coffee into two mugs. When she couldn’t get her favourite skinny decaf flat white from the Harbour Kiosk, Poppy liked her instant strong with plenty of milk. He knew her better than she thought. After the previous night, he now knew her a lot better.
Early morning sunshine spilled onto the kitchen tiles. Making coffee had been his second job after checking on Leo, who allowed himself to be stroked and then tucked into his breakfast. He was now lounging on his cat bed, batting at a fly with his good front paw and no doubt planning to take over the world. He’d probably do a much better job than any of the current lot running it, thought Jake, while he waited for the kettle to boil.
He’d left Poppy asleep on his side of the bed. She’d actually been down to check on Leo in the middle of the night during a break from the bedroom proceedings. Once satisfied that Leo was dozing contentedly, she’d come back to bed with a happy smile that had driven Jake insane. Phew. He was already knackered before he even started his journey to Brazil, but what a way to go.
Grinning so hard it hurt, he carried the mugs up the twisty cottage staircase. He’d managed to find his boxers without waking her, so at least she wouldn’t have too big a shock when he delivered the coffee. Then again, he thought, he hadn’t been out of bed that long …
A thought hit him: would she be getting dressed right now, ready to get the hell out of the cottage and vowing never to see him again? Last night had been … awkward, funny, sexy as hell. As it turned out, neither of them had forgotten how the whole thing worked. But she was sitting up in bed with the sheet pulled up over her breasts, checking her phone, when he walked in.
‘Leo?’ she asked.
‘Wolfed down his breakfast and plotting world domination from his bed. I brought you a coffee.’ He rested the mug on a crocheted coaster on the bedside table.
‘Thanks.’ She did a double take and her lips parted in surprise as if she’d suddenly realised he was in his boxers and she was in nothing at all. Jake’s insides did the funny little thing they had been doing for a while now when he looked at her. That weird tingly feeling ought to have been a warning not to get too deeply involved. It wasn’t one he’d heeded though, was it?
He took his own mug to his side of the bed. ‘Ow! That bloody crate.’ Hot coffee splashed onto his arm and he cursed again. He wasn’t sure which hurt most, the stubbed toe or scalded arm.
She scrambled down the bed and rescued the mug while he rubbed his arm.
‘I really need to move that thing.’
She laughed. ‘You said that half a dozen times last night.’
‘I know …’
Jake collected his coffee and sat on the bed glaring at the crate.
Poppy sipped her coffee, then said, ‘Are those the paintings Archie left you? The ones you based your photographs on?’
‘Yes. Grandpa left them for me to open after he passed away, but I couldn’t resist.’
‘Judging by the photos they inspired, I guess they conjured a mixture of memories?’
He nodded. ‘You could say that. Some were of me and my parents with Grandpa when I was young in our favourite spots on St Piran’s. Others … were harder to look at and harder to revisit.’
‘You didn’t have to revisit them. I hope that you didn’t feel you had to for my sake.’
‘No. I wanted to create something fresh and original for the studio and when I’d opened the crate, I had no choice. Once the idea of recreating Grandpa’s scenes took hold, I felt compelled to do it. If that doesn’t sound too up myself.’
She laid a warm hand on his arm. The hairs stood on end at the lightness and warmth of her touch. This was dangerous. It hadn’t been just sex.
He put down the mug. Had last night been the biggest mistake of his life or the best decision he’d ever made?
‘I also needed to confront the memories, to see how bad they really were. I’ve kept away from St Piran’s since the accident happened, apart from one quick visit. That was almost two years ago and I could hardly bear to be here. Every minute was torture and having to hear people’s sympathy and keep on answering politely when I wanted to scream and swear – well, I couldn’t handle it. But this time, I’ve stayed longer. I didn’t think I would, and taking the pictures, remaking the memories – some of them anyway – I did it, but there’s something else now that I can’t handle.’
‘What?’
He took a deep breath before speaking. ‘It’s Harriet – her presence. It used to be with me every waking minute and in my dreams, but now …’ He hesitated but Poppy’s eyes were gentle and encouraging so he went on. ‘I’m losing her, Poppy. At first, she was seared on my mind. Every feature, every word, her voice, the scent of her, even the taste, but now she’s almost gone. I can’t see her colours so vividly or hear her like I used to.’
Like seeing her disappear beneath the surface of the water, even as he held out his hand, as he reached down. He’d caught her and pulled her aboard, dislocating his shoulder in the process. He didn’t even notice the pain at the time, it was eclipsed by the agony of knowing she was dead.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’ He sat on the bed and rubbed his hand over his mouth. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t know if I am or not. I don’t know if I want to see or hear or feel her that strongly. For a while now, I haven’t been able to decide if it’s because things are getting better that she’s fading. Maybe she has to fade away before …’ He was going to say, before someone else can take her place, but stopped just in time.
Perhaps not quickly enough for Poppy, who, judging by the swallow and the confusion in her expression, had read his thoughts. Damn. You weren’t supposed to talk about past partners in this situation, were you? Well, bollocks to that. They were both drawn together by loss and loneliness, and not only because he’d wanted to take her to bed almost from the first moment he’d seen her step off the boat. He could admit that now.
‘While I was downstairs, you checked Dan’s Facebook, didn’t you?’
‘No, I …’ Poppy shook her head. ‘Yes. I shouldn’t have. I couldn’t help it. I don’t do it so often now, but since he and Eve have been posting about the baby, I can’t seem to help myself. I hate looking. I want to stop.’
‘You will one day, but you’re not ready yet.’
‘Sounds as if neither of us is ready,’ she said. ‘Not quite.’
‘Do you love him?’
She hesitated, which was enough for Jake. It had only been two months since she’d split with Dan, a heartbeat of time when you’d once thought you’d love someone for the rest of your life. For eternity.
‘I did once,’ said Poppy. ‘Now, I just don’t know … Does that sound mad when he left me for another woman and is clearly a massive tosser?’
Jake had to smile. ‘Not at all. Plenty of women – and men – have fallen for massive tossers. And keep on loving them. Like I said, you can’t just untangle yourself from love, like untying a complicated knot. You might think you’re free one day, and then bam, you’re pulled back sharply and it hurts every time. You’re still part of that person’s life and maybe you’ll always have the tie that binds you to them. I don’t know.’
‘I don’t want to be tied to Dan forever.’
‘You might not be. I don’t know … maybe because he’s still here and you can see that he’s becoming an even bigger tosser every day, you’ll find it easier to cut him adrift.’
‘Jake. Last night was great. But, you know, I think I’d find it easier if we said our goodbyes now. Is that OK?’
Her words were gentle but firm. She seemed to be pushing him away. Was she trying to avoid making the parting even more painful? Was that for her sake or his?
He nodded. ‘Probably best. I have to get my plane this morning or I really will miss my flight to Brazil.’
She smiled. ‘I’ll take Leo with me when I leave. I need to open the studio.’
‘Good idea. I’ll bring his bed and things over with me before I go.’
‘I can collect them if you leave the key.’
Wow. She really was keen to avoid a long goodbye and make a clean break. ‘Whatever you want,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you get dressed.’
‘If you don’t mind.’
The fact she needed privacy was another sign to him that last night’s intimacy was at an end.
He went to the bathroom and came back to find she was already downstairs. He made them toast, which neither of them wanted, and then she left, after the briefest of hugs, carrying the disgruntled Leo in his basket.
The cottage was eerily quiet inside when she’d gone, with only the crying of gulls on the roof breaking the silence. Jake looked at one of his grandpa’s paintings again that had inspired his photographs. It showed the studio, with him standing outside with a fishing net. His parents were next to him, his dad with his arm around his back and his mother smiling, holding a forerunner of Leo in her arms. It was the ultimate happy family portrait. His grandpa didn’t go in for sentimentality as a rule. In fact, Jake could never recall seeing work up for sale or public view with such a personal edge. These paintings were obviously meant to be a family album and one that Grandpa Archie hadn’t felt able to share while he was alive.
‘I get it, Grandpa, that I should count my blessings. I know that’s your message and what you’re trying to do,’ he said aloud to the picture.
Harriet was gone – truly gone – but Poppy was here.
If he did admit how much he cared for her, what would she say? She liked him, he seemed to make her laugh and she’d obviously found him less than hideous or she wouldn’t have spent the night with him. And what an amazing night. The memory flooded back. They’d laughed and explored each other, tentative at first, then growing in confidence. He’d felt … like himself again. Ready to make new memories. The problem was that Poppy was still fresh from loss and betrayal. He really didn’t think she was ready to start again. Perhaps, one day …