The next day, Henry and I arrive at the beach house at the same moment.
‘Hey…’ he says as he jumps out of his Jeep.
‘Hi,’ I say back with a smile.
There is something new to him, something… fresh and charming. He looks as if he’s in a great mood. I, too, have to admit that it’s a good day, and it can only get better. After all, I don’t see how it could get any worse.
We are barely through the door when a car comes into view of the long drive. A car I’ve never seen before. This is a private road, and we have no appointments today. Could it finally be my window casings man? God knows how long I’ve been waiting for him to show.
Henry glances at me and I shrug as the car finally comes to a stop and out steps… Gabe. Here, in the flesh, wearing his usual skinny jeans and one of his rock T-shirts. Precisely the Led Zeppelin one I’d given him on our very first month-aversary.
I can’t believe I’m standing opposite him and actually keeping it together. He certainly is, by the looks of him. Only he’s thinner. More gaunt, with the look of sleepless nights, I notice as he shoves his shades up over his head and plants his huge baby blues on me. And I stop mid-step as my legs turn to water and the air in my lungs wooshes out so loudly I’m sure they can hear me all around the house over the din of the power tools.
‘Faith, hi,’ he says. ‘Henry—’
Henry glances at me uncertainly, but I can barely breathe, let alone speak. ‘Hello, Gabe. What brings you here?’
‘Sorry, I, er, meant to come sooner.’
Total silence. Even the work in the background seems to have stopped.
‘Faith,’ he reprises. ‘I didn’t think you’d be here, after you said that you weren’t working on the job. It’s good to see you. You look great. Fantastic, in fact.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I blurt.
Gabe stuffs his hands into his pockets, his eyes darting around as he lets out an attempt at a chuckle. ‘I’ve got a house sale to take care of.’
‘Have you, now?’ Henry snorts.
‘Can we… talk, for a minute, Faith? Henry, would you mind?’
I can feel Henry hesitate, and I make the decision for him. ‘I mind,’ I say. ‘Unless it’s about business, I’m not in the least interested.’
Gabe turns to look at Henry.
‘You heard her,’ Henry says.
Gabe nods and sighs. ‘Right. Well, then, can I at least come in and fetch my Gibson? I need her.’
It takes all the effort I have to not snort at his words. I need her. Once upon a time he would have said that about me. But now is now and it’s no longer the truth.
I shrug, a huge knot forming in my throat. ‘It’s your home. Go ahead.’
‘Right then,’ he says, eyeing us as he brushes past me, his arm grazing mine, and I close my eyes in agony at the contact. We once loved each other. We shared everything. And now he’s just a client.
‘Hey,’ Henry whispers, caressing my arm where Gabe had touched me, almost as if to disperse the tactile memory. ‘You okay?’
I open my eyes and paste on my strongest smile, but I realise I’m trying too hard. So I square my shoulders and lift my chin. ‘Not really, but thanks, Henry.’
‘You’re doing great,’ he whispers.
A moment later Gabe reappears, lugging his darling Gibson. He stops a few feet away, staring at the floor. And I am much too angry to just gaze at him in sheer awe as I used to.
He clears his throat as if he’s about to sing. ‘So… I guess I’ll be going,’ he says.
‘Goodbye,’ is all I can say.
‘Will you keep me updated on the progress?’ Gabe asks.
‘Or you could just trust Faith,’ Henry suggests. ‘Seeing as she’s worthy of it.’ And you’re not, he seems to want to add, but thankfully he decides to leave that can of worms sealed.
It’s a clear message. Gabe bites his lip. ‘Okay. Uhm, then. Bye for now…’
‘Goodbye, Gabe,’ Henry says.
He glances at me, obviously not wanting to go. What else could he possibly want to say? I win?
At the door, he turns as if to say something, but changes his mind, and he walks out without looking back. Something he’s extremely good at.
Henry closes the door behind him and turns to me, obviously concerned.
‘He couldn’t even look at me,’ I whisper.
‘Of course he couldn’t,’ Henry agrees. ‘Who could, after the stunt he pulled on you?’
‘I can’t believe he’d even have the guts to show his face, knowing I was still here, working on his home.’
Henry coughs. ‘Forgive me for the nosy question. You can tell me to mind my own business…’
‘What?’
He looks at me, studying my face. ‘Did Gabe actually break up with you when he told you about the baby? Did he actually tell you he was leaving you? Or did he expect you to be there for him while he sorted his problems out?’
I bite my lip. ‘He wanted me to stay with him. But I couldn’t. I’m not that generous a person, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s not about generosity, but self-preservation,’ he says.
‘Well, I’m not very good at that, either.’
‘There are relationships that continue after something like that,’ Henry reminds me.
‘Not this relationship,’ I reply. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we are over, and there’s absolutely no going back.’
‘You won’t change your mind?’
I snort. ‘You mean like he did, over and over? Not a chance. I don’t care if I have to be lonely for the rest of my life.’
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Enough said. You know what you need? An afternoon off.’
‘Hm? Oh, no, no, I don’t think so. I’ve already taken enough time off. And we’re already behind schedule as it is.’
‘Schedule? Come on, you’re your own boss.’
I smile at Henry despite myself. ‘That’s one way of looking at it. Are you always this optimistic?’
He rewards me with one of his brilliant smiles. ‘Let’s say it’s a secret of the trade. Believe in yourself and everybody else will soon follow.’
‘Gosh, I’ll have to remember that.’
‘And Faith?’
‘Yes?’
‘Remember to smile as well. You look so much prettier.’
I gape at him and he laughs, taking my arm. ‘Let’s go for a stroll around the village, and then I’ll treat you to lunch. Come on.’ He nudges me. ‘Just you and me – what do you say?’
What do I say to the stroll part, or the just him and me part? If he’s asking about the latter, I say that my judgement hasn’t been that dependable lately. I’ve made so many mistakes, I can’t afford to make any more, on any level. So I should probably say no to the stroll. It would only steer me in the wrong direction.
But it is true that once this job is over, I won’t have any excuse to come back to Perrancombe and its quirky villagers. Over the last few years I have made a many good friends here, and feel much more part of the community than I ever have anywhere else. Because Perrancombe isn’t exactly a metropolis where I can lose myself and go unnoticed. It’s a true, veritable hug of a village.
They would have all been invited to our wedding. There would have been a short ceremony, lots of good food, and lots of music and dancing. Hope would have been my matron of honour and Thea and my coastal girls my bridesmaids. Jowen would have been my very reluctant ring boy and Verity my very lovely and proud flower girl.
And now, in a few weeks’ time, I won’t have an excuse to stay, or even hang out with Henry – or Orson – and just the thought makes me want to cry.
But enough of this feeling sorry for myself. It’s only my problem, and mine alone. Well, and everyone else who has to bear with my miserable mug. I owe them something. And now this poor, gorgeous sod here wants to cheer me up. I can only be thankful that someone wants to spend time with me without asking for anything else in return, such as, oh, I don’t know, baby-proofing his home.
‘Okay,’ I finally agree. ‘But remember – I warned you.’
He raises his hands. ‘Duly noted. Be back to pick you up in twenty minutes, I’ve got an errand to run first.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘See you in twenty.’ The poor man doesn’t know what a drab afternoon it’s going to be.
*
‘What is that?’ I ask, pointing at the picnic basket in the back of his Jeep.
‘This beauty? Oh, it’s an original vintage piece. I thought it would look good on your kitchen table.’
I glance at it, then at him. ‘Er…’
He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘Ah, your face – I’m kidding, Faith!’
‘Oh!’ I say, catching on as he shakes his head and takes my elbow.
‘Let’s go. I’ve got a great place to show you, if you’ve the guts.’
Oh God, what’s on his mind now? I can barely keep myself together these days. I have no guts left.
Once seated, I buckle up and turn to face him. ‘Where is it we’re going?’
‘It’s a surpri-ise,’ he sing-songs. I never thought that Henry could sing-song, but there it is. Unlike me, he’s already proven himself in the world with a successful joinery business and can afford to sit back and chill. Good for him. I’m still trying to make myself a name in my field. And I can only do that by honing my craft, working hard and never giving up.
Thirty minutes later, he stops the Jeep and I look out the window in awe. It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of heights, because where in the world has Henry dragged me but to the highest cliff in Cornwall? We’re about a mile from Crackington Haven, at Cambeak Point on the north coast, and the view is absolutely unrivalled.
As we descend from the Jeep and I catch sight of the sugarloaf lookalike (well, of sorts), I wonder how on earth I’m going to traipse around the clifftops in my pencil skirt and heels. I look down the path in dismay and he chuckles.
‘Come on, you think I haven’t thought of that?’ he says mischievously as he reaches into the boot and produces a pair of thick black leggings and sturdy walking boots, complete with thick socks and light windbreaker.
There is no way I’m going to ditch my workwear to follow him to the most dangerous part of Cornwall, just so I can prove I’m not uptight. No way am I going to just head off into this wild nature at the drop of a hat. I’ve got things to do, suppliers to chase up, the bathroom tiles to confirm and those door handles are not going to choose themselves, are they?
He is still smiling down at me, the boots dangling from one hand. ‘You know you want to,’ he cajoles with an impish face.
I roll my eyes. What I want to do, and what I can do are two completely different things. Should I care that everyone knows I’m so uptight the strings of a harp seemed more relaxed? Because I am, I know I am, and I have to do something about it.
‘Oh, go on, then,’ I concede, sending him a sheepish grin as I head behind the Jeep to change. It takes me a full minute to wriggle out of my skirt and pull on the leggings and when I sit down on the edge of the open boot to pull on the socks, something akin to excitement courses through me. What’s the matter with me? I’ve scampered up and down these cliffs a gazillion times while growing up. Why does it seem so monumental that I’m doing it now?
Why am I suddenly looking forward to this, when instead I should be on my mobile securing myself the best and most exclusive home furnishings circles of the county, or even, why not, still taking some time to wallow in my misery of newly found singledom?
Because Crackington Haven is within an AONB, Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, that’s why. Because just being here is a gift in its own. Because I know Henry won’t let me get hurt. Because he’s dependable.
To the point, he stretches his hand out to steady me as I lift my feet to get over a tiny ridge in the rock. As I stand next to him, looking out to the ultramarine horizon, he breathes in deeply and I do the same, tasting the salty sea air as it fills my lungs. It feels so foreign, having fresh air inside me while my head completely empties itself. Usually it’s the exact opposite. My God, when was the last time I was aware of my own body, and breathing in this deeply, so at one with nature?
He raises an eyebrow as if to say, This is nothing yet, and with visible, utter contentment, he breathes in again. The breeze caresses his dark curls and he’s not shielding his eyes but squinting ever so slightly as he gazes into the sun, protected by that ridiculous mass of long dark lashes that make him look like one of the Muppets. But in a handsome way.
I can tell he’s an outdoorsy type who is used to hiking up and down these coastlines. Unlike me, as I am already gasping for air. God, when was the last time I actually did any exercise?
As I take in the views, he pulls out the picnic basket and a knapsack.
‘This way,’ he says and I follow him down a very narrow path, wide enough for only one, until we reach the bottom of a tiny hillock.
‘Up you go,’ he says, helping me up the next steep incline and staying behind me to make sure I don’t slide back and go tits over arse. And it’s a great feeling, knowing that someone’s literally got your back. ‘It’ll be worth it, trust me.’
‘It better be,’ I answer him as he smiles at me over his shoulder. Because I am already wheezing bits of lung through my nostrils while pretending I’m absolutely fit, and am thankful that he is leading so he won’t see me gagging for air.
‘Have you never been here before?’ he asks, glancing back at me just as I am about to gulp in more air, and I stop, completely winded while pretending to have to stop and think about the answer.
‘Ah…’ Breathe, breathe, breathe! ‘Uhm…’ I shrug, trying to earn another deep breath. ‘Dunno. Maybe… when I was little.’ And fit.
He laughs. ‘Okay, let’s stop here.’
Thank you, God!
I almost fall to my knees with fatigue and gratitude as he shakes out a waterproof picnic blanket. ‘Wait till you see what I’ve got for you to eat.’
What he hasn’t got me to eat would be more accurate. There are my favourites: pasties, mini scotch eggs, Yarg cheese, crackers, grapes, meat pies, Cornish chutney. And, crap – apple cider, my absolute number-one drink in the world.
‘This looks familiar,’ I say, looking at the bottle label: Crooked Hill Farm.
Henry nods. ‘My friend Jack makes it over in Penworth Ford. He gave me a few bottles.’
‘Jack? I know him. I did his farmhouse. He’s a friend of a friend.’
‘You did? Of course you did – his place is gorgeous. He’s a good man, Jack. You couldn’t find a kinder man.’
Actually, I could, but I don’t think Henry would take my compliment seriously. Not after all the times I’ve made such a fool of myself.
‘You’ve gone serious again,’ he says, nudging me. ‘You all right?’
‘Absolutely. But, I can’t drink it, Henry. I’m sorry. I never told you, but as a teenager, I had a few problems with the bottle. Hope blames our abandonment, but she turned out all right. I guess I’m just the weak one.’
‘Nonsense. You are amazing. I’d like to see anyone do as well with yourself as you have.’
I dart him a glance, but there is sincerity in his eyes. He truly believes I am worth his respect.
‘I haven’t had a drop since I was fourteen – except for the other night, when you slept over. I am truly sorry about putting you on the spot there, Henry. You were very kind to me.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am. I mean, I was. Very few blokes have come this close without expecting something in return.’
Henry puts the cider away and pulls out a couple of bottles of water as if nothing had happened. ‘Did you know that kids get caught tombstoning here?’ he says.
I look up as I unwrap a pasty. ‘Tombstoning? What’s that? I don’t like the sound of it.’
He chuckles. ‘You and me both. Tombstoning is the practice of jumping off high cliffs into the sea in a standing position.’
I feel my eyes pop out of my head. ‘That’s crazy dangerous!’
‘People looking for highs the wrong way,’ he agrees. ‘What do you do to let your hair down, Faith?’ he asks.
I swallow a chunk of potato. ‘Me? Oh, nothing really. I read.’
‘Let me guess – books on interior designing?’
I can feel myself blushing despite the cool breeze. ‘Yes.’
‘Don’t you ever do anything non-work-related? Like relaxing?’
‘Oh, I relax when I sleep in on a Sunday.’
He grins. ‘Define sleeping in,’ he says as he takes another sip.
I shrug. ‘Around seven.’ Except for when I’m miserable, and then I could sleep all day.
He snorts, almost spluttering out his water, which he makes an effort to swallow while he laughs. ‘Seven? You’re not joking?’
‘I’m a busy girl,’ I defend. ‘The minute I take my eyes off my goals I’m dead.’
Henry studies me. ‘Is that the way you see your profession? Like a battle?’
‘Lately, it’s been a flat-out war. Plus Vanessa, Gabe’s – ooff, I didn’t really want to mention them today,’ I apologise.
‘You can mention whomever you want,’ he assures me.
‘She’s always trying to steal my clients.’
‘Does she manage?’
‘Not always. Her taste is not exactly appreciated by all.’
‘Well, that counts for something, doesn’t it?’
‘I guess so.’
‘But remember – your profession is only a part of who you are. Remember the essential things in life.’
‘Such as?’
He laces his fingers together over his knee as he looks out to sea again. ‘Family. Love. Happiness. Without those, we’ve got nothing.’
Family. Love. Happiness. Funny he should mention all those things. ‘Yes, well, then I’ve got nothing,’ I say into the breeze as he takes another sip of water. For a moment I hope he hasn’t heard me. At some point I have to stop wallowing. It’s been ages now.
‘Nonsense,’ he says. ‘You’ve got a sister and a niece and a nephew. That’s family, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, well, one out of three isn’t bad, I guess. It could be worse.’
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Things are never as bad as they seem. And when you think they can’t get any worse, it’s time to come back up again.’
‘You are such a wise man,’ I say.
He smiles and shrugs.
‘And what about you?’ Done with my pasty, I smack my lips and reach for a grape. ‘You’re so lucky to have Orson.’
‘He’s my reason for living,’ Henry says proudly. ‘My family says I’m all the better because of him.’
‘Tell me more about your family.’
He smiles, and it’s so wonderful to see the love on his face. ‘I have two brothers and two sisters. And oodles of nieces and nephews.’
‘Wow.’
‘Yes. It can get pretty hectic at times, but Christmas and summer holidays are the best.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘They come and go, but they have a place in St Ives. My brother Evan is a lawyer and Michael is a doctor. My sister Rowena is a headmistress and my sister Becca works from home. She’s a writer.’
‘I always thought you were born in a vacuum or something, or had a weird childhood, kind of like Superman.’
‘I never told you?’ he asks innocently.
I roll my eyes. ‘Henry, you never talk about yourself.’
‘Of course I do – you practically know me inside out now.’
‘I may know your tastes in food and furniture, but I don’t know anything about you. So spill.’
He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck as he does when he’s embarrassed. ‘There’s nothing to say, really. Dad’s a university professor and Mum is a journalist.’
‘Are you close?’
‘Very. We talk at least once a week.’
‘Are they proud of you?’
‘Dad wanted me to be a university teacher like himself and Mum wanted me in journalism, so no, I guess not really. But they pretend to be, and that’s what’s important.’
‘I’m sure they’re not pretending. You sound like a successful bunch. It’s nice to know you all inherited smart genes.’
‘Would you… want to meet your father someday?’ he asks out of the blue.
I sit back and look out to sea, completely lost. On the horizon, there’s a ship with old medieval-looking masts. Several of them, actually. Probably part of a historical regatta. History can be interesting. But other times it can be a burden. ‘No,’ I say finally. ‘I don’t think I would be able to look him in the eye. It still hurts, thinking of how he betrayed my mum’s trust. She didn’t even know he was married.’
‘I’m so sorry… you must have all suffered greatly.’
I shrug. ‘We all had our own ways of dealing with it. Hope was the rebel; I was the clingy one. Which was worse, because she was always relieved to leave every foster home when they got sick of us. The story of my life. Even Gabe—’ I bit my lip. ‘Even he had tired of me, just like my dad had tired of my mum. Perhaps it’s fate, to be returned to the sender.’
He’s silent for a moment, then squints out towards the horizon again. ‘You mustn’t think that, Faith.’
‘It’s true,’ I insist, and then give him one of my best smiles. ‘But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m all grown up now, and I have to move on.’
‘I’m sure there are much better things in your future, Faith,’ he says, patting my hand in a kind gesture and suddenly a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm, surprising me and… unsettling me as I look down at it and realise my fingers have caught his in a soft clasp.
And then again, it happens – it’s like lightning coursing through me. An electric bolt of… raw desire. Attraction. Not as in, Now, he’s a bit of all right, but rather an What am I going to do now? sort of thing. This… thing – roiling inside me, unsettling my nerves, making me feel hot and cold at the same time while making my breath short – is not something that I’d expected, and I instinctively know that I really am in big trouble. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t want to be the needy, clingy girlfriend anymore, especially with someone like Henry, who is larger than life, sitting like a god on a throne overlooking his lands. And yet he is still. Quiet. Serene. Regal. Monumental. He doesn’t need to do anything to be as he is, but he somehow manages to infuse me with a sense of Everything Is Right With The World. Of course I know it isn’t, nor will it be for a very long time. But for now, in this exact moment, I can’t help but feel enveloped by his presence. Sucked in by a sudden yet strange sense of… happiness?
Yes. Despite my current, ongoing state of misery, in this very moment, with the breeze wreaking havoc on my hair, and a belly full of proper Cornish food and looking out onto what is probably one of the most beautiful places on earth, I am happy. I wish I could sit here forever. But I know myself. Love, happiness, a family… they are not for me. I will never be able to have all that. Because right here, right now, while I am basking in all this wondrousness and counting my blessings, I am on borrowed time. Borrowed happiness. Because Henry has brought me here today merely to cheer me up, whilst wasting precious work time.
‘Henry – thank you for taking the time out to bring me here. You’re so kind.’
He takes my hands in his huge ones and squeezes them gently, and suddenly, out of the blue, I know he’s going to kiss me.
I can see it in the way his eyes are wandering over my face, down to my mouth and back to my eyes.
But having learnt my lesson the humiliating way, I force myself to stand still so I won’t blow the whole romantic moment. Something I am officially known for. I lick my lips, hoping that there is at least a tiny trace of my lip gloss left, but I highly doubt it after the amount of food I’ve packed away.
He is still doing that mesmerising eye-dance thing, his gaze still concentrated on my face. I hold my breath as he moves closer to me. What do I do? Am I ready to kiss another bloke?
How long has it been since Gabe dumped me? How do I respond to Henry if he kisses me? Do I pull away (I’d like to see you manage that one) or just let go to the chance that he may be an amazing kisser, and that I might actually enjoy the soft touch of another bloke’s lips against mine?
But I can’t seem to stop myself, and suddenly my emotions come to the fore, like a raging river beating against a weak dam, and I reach up and draw him close to me by his neck so that his face is inches from mine and in the sun I can see that his eyes are not brown at all, but the colour of dark honey, almost bordering on an uncommon shade of dark green.
Something flashes across his face and his lips part. Without a word, I close my eyes and let him take my mouth with his and for a moment, the very waves below seem to have frozen in their tracks, almost as if hushing to see what happens next.
It is the softest of kisses I have ever experienced. I never imagined his mouth could be so enticing. And gentle. Nor had I ever imagined the fragrance of his breath, or the softness of his hair. I would love Henry to hold me like a man holds his woman, to at least see how it feels. I want to know how it feels to be held in a different way from a moment ago when he was comforting me. Now I want him to hold me like he never wanted to let go. And not just because he is beautiful.
I thought that kissing anyone else one day would feel so foreign, so wrong, but as I watch Henry’s beautiful face and sexy mouth near me again, I realise that they are not so foreign after all. After all this time, I now know his face by heart. I know every single feature, every blade of stubble, the exact hues and sparkles of gold in his otherwise dark irises, the length of his lashes, the boyish yet manly curve of his nose, that smell of freshly washed man. And for once, I want to let myself go to a natural sensation without worrying about what I’m going to do afterwards.
I close my eyes and let his nearness envelop me, once and for all. His lips are so, so gentle, and yet, I can feel the banked force of his body, wrapped under layers and layers of civility and kindness.
Because Henry, if anything, is a true gentleman. Most men – at least the men I’ve met – would have taken my clothes off and crawled into bed beside me that night when I’d had too much to drink. But not Henry. He’d stayed by my side, sleeping in a tiny chair, just to make sure I was all right.
He takes a deep breath as he pulls away. ‘Faith, you drive me crazy,’ he whispers, taking my head into his hands. ‘I want this with you. Every day.’
I stare at him. He wants this with me, every day? But what happens when I find out I’m in love with him, and I become needy or insecure, and he tires of me? Will we start arguing, or is he going to quietly drift away from me and find someone new, just like Gabe had?
‘Am I scaring you? Is it too soon?’
Too soon? How long does it take for your heart to knit itself together after years of being blown apart over and over again? How long does it take to be able to trust someone new? I don’t even know if I can. Despite the fact that I want to see Henry every day, and I’m miserable when he’s not around. But I am broken inside. And I don’t want to break him, too.
I run a hand through my hair, wishing I could tear it out for what I am about to say. But he needs to know. I can’t lure him into another relationship that is destined to fail because of me.
‘Henry, I – I can’t. You’re an amazing man and I truly admire you so much – for everything. You’re an amazing joiner with an incredible work ethic, and you’re an amazing father. If I were back in the business of love, you would be my one and only. But—’ I bite my lip. ‘My dad… he broke my mum’s heart. I’m not… I can’t t-trust anymore.’ I dash a hand over my now wet cheeks. Bugger it. ‘I think life – and Gabe – have broken me…’
Henry takes my shoulders. ‘No. You aren’t broken, Faith. Maybe just a little bruised. But you are far from broken. And I’m sorry I just came onto you like this. Normally, I wouldn’t have, but you and I… I can’t explain it. You make me want to be a better man. Have another shot at happiness and… you know?’
I nod. ‘I’m so sorry, Henry. I’d only tire you with all my insecurities. I have abandonment issues if you hadn’t noticed.’ I snort and bawl at the same time. ‘I’m no good for you, and you deserve someone strong.’
‘I agree,’ he whispers, ducking to look into my face. ‘That’s why I want you, and no one else.’
And then I force out a laugh. ‘I want you, too, Henry. Believe me. But I can’t.’
He pulls me to him, but doesn’t insist. ‘I understand. Let’s just hang out as friends then, okay?’
In his arms, I nod, but I realise that I can’t pretend we’re just friends either.
*
The next day is market day and the harbour quay is a-bustle with busy stalls featuring anything and everything from knitting needles to antique furniture. I weave in and out of the stalls, aimlessly until I stumble upon Mrs Trengrouse sorting out a selection of brightly coloured yarns from her own shop, Cat’s Cradle.
‘Hallo, pet,’ she greets me with a wink.
‘Hello, Mrs Trengrouse. How’ve you been?’
‘I’m okay. And where’s that rock star of yours, then? Gone off on another concert tour, I imagine?’
I bite my lip. No one knows about the split yet. Wait until Dougie and Mick find out, then the news will be all over the sodding county. ‘He’s back.’
‘Oh, crikey,’ she mumbles.
I blink at her, unsure of what to say.
‘Look, pet – you know we’ve loved you since the day you moved to Perrancombe. But Gabe… he’s always been…’
‘I know,’ I say, not wanting to hear any of it.
‘He’d be absolutely lost without you to steer him and keep him on the straight and narrow. It’s common knowledge that you pulled him out of the drugs and drink and that if it weren’t for you he’d still be singing at the Up ’N’ Down pub after working at the chippy.’
‘Who knows, maybe he’d have been better off,’ I say before I can stop myself. But none of it matters anymore. The word will soon be out and everyone who has nothing better to do with their life will start taking sides like the first time.
‘Nonsense,’ she says, pulling a cotton turquoise scarf off the rack of hand-knitted items. ‘Here, love. Take this – to match your lovely eyes.’
‘Awh, Mrs Trengrouse, thank you so much. You don’t have to—’
‘I want to. You hang in there, all right?’
‘Will do, Mrs Trengrouse. And thank you.’
She waves me away. ‘Take care, love,’ she says, her eyes kind.
As I resume my meandering through the stalls, breathing in a mixture of sea air and musty furniture, my eyes travel over the wares on offer and I reflect upon how these objects were all part of someone’s life. Someone’s happiness lost.
In a messy pile of textiles, I spot the corner of a nice cream and duck egg tartan table runner and pull it to me, but it’s stuck. Really, they should present their wares in a much neater fashion. I glance at the other side of the pile, and there he is, pulling at the same runner – sodding Henry Turner.
‘Hi,’ he says breathlessly, raising his hands in defeat to release the runner. ‘Sorry. We seem to like the same things. A sign?’
A sign that I probably need to stay away from him. If that kiss was anything to go by, I could very easily lose my sanity.
I look back at Mrs Trengrouse, aware that she’s watching me. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘It’s in my blood,’ he replies with a grin. ‘There’s something about the musty and threadbare that entices me. Antiques is my middle name.’
‘Okay, so what have you got to say about this?’ I ask, moving along to the next stall and holding up a silver teapot.
He rounds the corner until he is standing next to me. He really does smell like spring rain and freshly cut grass.
He takes the pot and turns it upside down. ‘British. Victorian.’
When I make an impressed face, he grins and moves in closer, pointing at a tiny mark. ‘After the American Revolution, Old Blighty needed to refurbish her coffers, so the crown levied taxes of silver. This is a duty mark with Queen Victoria’s profile, which means that taxes were paid to her. Hers was a left profile, while all the other monarchs between 1784 and 1890 were right profiles. In any case, the tax on silver was abolished in 1890.’
‘Wow. You sure know your history. And your silver.’
He grins. ‘The passion was drummed into me when I was a kid.’
‘Faith! Faith!’ comes a voice from across the way. I turn and see Karen from Cornish Born and Bread who is waving, beckoning to me.
‘Excuse me, I’ll be right back,’ I say.
‘Okay, but don’t complain if I’ve bought something totally useless when you get back,’ he says with a grin.
I laugh and make my way to the cake stand, all the while grinning to myself. Gabe would have rather been shot between the eyes than spend an afternoon with what he calls rummaging through tat.
‘He certainly is a bit of all right, isn’t he?’ Karen says as Henry is examining an end table across the way. ‘Good for you. You deserve someone like that after what Gabe did to you.’
So they do know. ‘Oh, no, Karen – I’m not with Henry.’
‘Not yet,’ she corrects me. ‘Perrancombe is too tiny to keep secrets – especially a delicious one like yours.’
‘I have no delicious secrets,’ I say, my face heating up at the memory of his kiss.
And with that, she takes my shoulders and turns me so I am facing Henry.
Oh. Looks like the jig is up.
‘Faith!’ Henry calls. ‘You won’t believe what I’ve found! Hi, Karen!’
‘Hallo, Henry!’ she calls back.
I turn to smile at her. ‘I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you soon?’
‘Absolutely, my dear.’
I buy two bottles of water and head back to Henry who is practically skipping from one foot to another like a child who has to go to the loo.
‘Look!’ he exclaims, shoving something under my nose. ‘Look at this!’
‘What is it, a vase?’
‘It’s a Frankoma!’
‘That sounds like a disease,’ I observe.
He laughs. ‘No, no! This is part of the Frankoma Potteries collection, which is invaluable! And you see here? It’s rubber-stamped Frankoma.’
‘And?’
‘Well, this particular rubber stamp was used for a very short time, so anything bearing this particular stamp is very rare. And worth, gosh, I have no idea!’
‘Wow…’
‘And… look at this!’ he says. ‘Green Art Deco glass. It’s a bonbonnière in the rare Cameo pattern.’
I look up at him in surprise. ‘No – it can’t be,’ I argue. ‘This was last seen in an estate.’
‘Well, obviously the estate had a sale!’
I re-examine it. ‘I’m obviously no expert, but I have to admit that it looks pretty close to what you’d expect from an original.’
‘I have an idea,’ he says. ‘Let’s buy it and see what happens.’
‘Are you always such an impulsive buyer?’ I ask. ‘I can’t imagine what your home must look like.’
He laughs. ‘Actually, my home is almost clinically aseptic and spartan.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Truly, it is. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you come and see for yourself?’
I swear my eyes are popping out of my head, I have to blink over and over again to keep them in their sockets. ‘Me? In your home?’
He shrugs and I can tell his indifference is forced. ‘Why not? It’s safe to say we are just friends, isn’t it?’
Friends. Nothing more.
‘I promise to be the perfect gentleman, but if it makes you feel any better, you can come on a day that I have Orson, and you can bring Verity and Jowen. What do you think?’
So we are just friends after all. ‘Oh.’ I laugh. ‘Verity and Jowen in a home full of antiques is not a good idea.’
‘Nonsense. It’s a perfectly childproof home. So?’
Is he defying me, I wonder? To see if we can be friends after all? I cross my arms in front of my chest. ‘Fine. I agree. Thank you.’
‘So you’ll come?’
‘Absolutely maybe,’ I answer, cringing inwardly. That didn’t sound as haughty as I’d intended it.
‘Well then maybe I’ll even cook for you,’ he threatens me.
‘Well then maybe I’ll even bring dessert,’ I counter-threaten. ‘If you promise me it’s not a date.’
‘A date? Of course not, why would we date?’ (Don’t you just love him?)
‘Good!’
‘Good. So I’ll see you at six? I want to show you a little something before we eat.’
Not in front of the children, darling. ‘Okay, tomorrow night it is, then.’
And then of course, being me, I immediately go into panic mode and with a phantom appointment, leave him there amidst his antiques and speed-dial my sister.
‘What’s up?’ she greets me as cheerfully as always.
‘Hope – I need the kids tomorrow night!’
‘What? Faith, I know you love them, but get yourself a date instead. I wish I could.’
‘I’m serious – I need them. Henry has invited me to d-dinner.’
‘So what the hell do you need the kids for?’
‘Orson will be there. Henry made that very clear.’
‘So then why has he invited you to his house and not just to a restaurant?’
‘To show me his antiques collection.’
A loud cackle of delight almost tears my eardrum. ‘Hope, I’m serious…’
‘I know, and that’s what’s absolutely brilliant! You are in the presence of a non-dater.’
‘A what?’
‘Non-dating. It’s my sous-chef’s new thing, too. She goes out with a bloke on the pretence that it’s not a date. They have drinks, talk, have dinner. And then they go home, each to their own place.’
I scratch my head. ‘So what’s the point of going out if there’s no interest in each other?’
‘Practice,’ she explains. ‘So when the right date happens, she’ll be so au fait with it all, she won’t sweat through ten outfits or make a fool of herself by drinking too much or caring too much if she drops her spoon or puts her foot in her mouth.’
‘Are you serious? Is that what people are doing nowadays?’
‘Absolutely serious. It’s totally brilliant, and she has become uber-confident. Now she doesn’t give a toss if she makes a fool out of herself. And she has the assurance she’ll never see them again because the rule is to date someone not local.’
‘Which becomes a huge hassle if it works out instead,’ I say, making her giggle.
‘Well then, let’s hope you’ll have the hassle.’
‘Not happening. We are just friends,’ I assure her. But when I ring off, I am smiling.
*
After having picked up Verity and Jowen (and the crème brûlée that Hope has left me), we drive for about thirty minutes during which they natter on endlessly, bless them, while my mind is in absolute turmoil.
And I finally understand why Friday is date night and not, say, Saturday or Sunday. Because, however the (non-)date goes, you’ll need time to recuperate from that out-of-body experience. You need Saturday and Sunday to either peel yourself off the floor if it went biblically badly or to come down back down to earth if it went monumentally well.
I follow the squiggly lines on my screen leading to his location, but I find that we are now on a small and unmarked country lane running through the middle of the woods.
‘Are we going in there?’ Verity asks from her seat in the back.
‘Ooh, it’s like a mystery forest, with talking trees and whispering goblins,’ Jowen says, turning in his seat.
‘Stop,’ Verity says, covering her ears.
‘Jowen, we’ve had this conversation before. No scaring your sister.’
‘Where does Henry live? In a haunted house?’ Jowen insists.
‘Jowen, seeing as you’re so brave, you can get out and walk the rest of the way,’ I say calmly.
He sinks into his seat. ‘Sorry, Auntie Fi…’
‘Good boy.’ Now, for Aunt Fi to find the frickin’ front door.
I drive a bit further down the lane until we come to a set of huge, wrought-iron gates with a sign that reads “Quiet Meadows”. I think the last time someone has actually passed through these gates is probably now eternally resting peacefully in a quiet meadow himself.
I stop the car and open my door, trying to prevent my jaw from hitting the floor. ‘Holy shit!’ Jowen says.
‘Jowen, please.’
‘Ooohhh,’ Verity says. ‘It looks like a castle!’
More like a medieval manor, actually. Surely this is not Henry’s house? I’m debating whether to ring the huge cast-iron bell, when Henry suddenly appears from around the side of the house.
‘Hello, welcome, you guys!’ he says. ‘Come, come!’
Verity gets out of the car and makes a dash for him.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he says, bending down to her, then to me: ‘Did you find the place easily?’
‘Sure,’ I lie, considering that I was about to reverse out and keep looking.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Come, come. Orson is waiting for you guys. He can’t wait to see you.’
‘Shall I leave the car here?’ I ask. ‘In case someone else has to get past?’
‘No, no, you can bring it in. The kids and I will walk – it’s not far.’
‘Okay,’ I say, getting back into the car. Not far for you, maybe, but in these heels, I am not going through this jungle.
So, I sigh in relief. He doesn’t live in the manor. He is not filthy rich and suddenly springing this on me. I need to know who I’m dealing with at all times, and as successful as Henry’s business is, I’m glad it’s not enough to own a place like this one. Gabe and his money was enough to deal with as it is.
I follow Henry’s gestures and pass them to park at another set of gates – finally – where there are some manicured trees, nothing like the manor vegetation where even a field mouse would have had a hard time squeezing through.
I get out of the car and follow them up the path to a huge orangery. It is the back of what looks like a coach house, completely separate from the main house on the road, thank God.
Inside, it is very bright and modern, with furniture that is sparse but large and comfortable. The rugs are new and bright and the pictures hanging on the wall are mostly of Orson and Henry on vacation.
‘Very nice,’ I say, handing him the container with the crème brûlées. ‘I promised you dessert, but in all honesty, Hope made it.’
‘Thank you both, then.’
I shrug. ‘You have good taste. Your home is beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, slightly reddening. ‘Said by an interior designer, that’s one huge compliment. Please, make yourselves at home while I get Orson.’
I exhale in relief, knowing that he’s going to completely pretend nothing happened between us – not even a waggle of the eyebrows or a knowing look. Good, we’re on the same page, then.
I look around as the kids flop themselves down onto one of the cream-coloured sofas.
‘Please be careful,’ I whisper to them.
‘Wow,’ Verity says. ‘It’s so beautiful, Auntie Fi. Almost as beautiful as yours.’
And by ‘yours’, she certainly doesn’t mean my own dump. But yes, if this place had a sea view, it would be far superior to the beach house, as it simply reeks of excellent taste.
Another look around shows me that the far side of the house is completely made of glass to let the sunshine in all day long. I love houses that are one with nature.
‘Hi, guys!’ Orson calls from the door. ‘Want to see my room? I’ve got lots of games!’
‘Sure!’ Jowen and Verity cry in unison, their cheeks red with excitement as they chase after him.
‘I feel exactly the same way,’ I confess to Henry. ‘Your home is absolutely gorgeous.’
‘It’s actually quite small, as I said. But I decided to gut one side and take advantage of the light and views.’
‘Absolutely genius,’ I say.
‘Thanks. Orson and I don’t need much. Just a place for us to spend some time together when he’s here, his own bedroom, a kitchen. And my office, of course.’
And your bedroom, I almost add, but refrain from it, as I really don’t want my thoughts to take that turn.
‘What about a bathroom,’ I quip.
He grins. ‘Oh, there’s an outhouse of course.’
We end up in the kitchen, which is the largest part of the house. It is an eclectic mix of old and new, with an Aga and a real wood burner at the other end. The table is solid oak, and the furniture is a mixture between mid-century and modern, with clean, no-nonsense lines and I recognise Henry’s touch in the simple but stunning furniture he has built himself.
‘This is not how I envisaged it in the least,’ I confess as we stop to look out at the verdant garden with tall trees and a hammock on the right.
‘No?’ he says. ‘What did you envisage?’
‘Well, based on the fact that you’re a joiner… much more wood.’
He laughs. ‘Yes, you’re right. But I am actually building some furniture now, out in the back shed.’
‘Ooh, can I see?’
‘Not until it’s finished,’ he says. ‘And properly sanded.’
‘Oh,’ I say, slightly miffed. Does this man forget nothing?
‘It won’t be long now,’ he assures me. ‘Come, take a look at my favourite spot.’
I follow him across the open space to the area on the left where there is another glass wall, and I nearly keel over.
Beyond a lovely, colourful table laid for dinner, I see that we are high on a promontory facing the sea, like the fore of a ship, and down below, is… St Ives, in all its turquoise glory.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper as my breath is literally sucked out of me.
I look at him, then back at the view. ‘I had no idea where we were. I thought we were in the middle of nowhere. How did you even find this hidden gem?’ I ask.
He grins shyly, and I understand that Henry may have done very well for himself, but he has remained warm and genuine on the inside – a quality that many people have lost. Even with Gabe I used to have to yank on his reality chain when he got too big-headed. But Henry, I have a strong feeling, is solid and sturdy and rarely loses his cool. And that, I think, is part of what makes him a great, loving father and a dependable friend.
‘Well,’ he says, scratching his stubble. ‘After my split from Linda I thought, right: brand-new start for Orson and me. I did the work slowly, on weekends. Fortunately most of it was done over an exceptionally warm summer and Orson likes to live simply, so he didn’t suffer at all.’ He grins. ‘We had lots of barbecues and outdoor activities.’
Orson. Such a lovely boy. Like his father, he too, has that melancholy side of him, which only endears him to me even more. He is so sweet, so kind and so modest.
‘Are you okay?’ he says softly. ‘You’ve suddenly gone… misty.’
I sniff and smile, wiping the moistness from my eyes. ‘No, I’m fine. It’s just so lovely to see how much you two love each other. He adores you.’
‘And I him. But you have that too – Jowen and Verity cherish the ground you walk on.’
‘Nah,’ I quickly say.
‘Of course they do,’ he insists. ‘And when you have your own kids one day, they too will love you to bits. You will make a fantastic mother, Faith.’
‘That’s so kind of you to say, Henry…’
He puts his glass down and takes my elbow gently. ‘I really think so, Faith. Never doubt yourself. You are truly great. And you are an amazing designer. I love your work.’
I tear my eyes away from the view to look up at Henry’s face again. It is solemn and deadly serious, but also honest and kind. His winged eyebrows that sometimes make him look so scowly are now raised in an almost plea for me to believe him. He certainly can turn on the charm.
‘Tell me more about the manor,’ I urge him.
‘The manor? Oh, well, it belongs to an ancient family. They travel a lot.’
‘I wonder what it looks like on the inside? If it’s still in its original state. Do you know if it’s open to the public?’
He laughs. ‘Now that’s an idea.’
‘Have you ever been inside? What’s it like?’
He grins. ‘The exact opposite of this, actually. Would you like to see it?’
‘Is that even possible?’
‘Of course. I have the keys somewhere around here. I’m their In Case of an Emergency person, you see.’
‘Are we going to leave the kids?’ I ask.
‘Oh, yes, we’d better. There are lots of valuables in there and they would kill me if anything broke. But not to worry. I have my house on video camera.’
‘You are one surprise after another.’
He grins as I follow him to Orson’s room where the kids are putting an interactive puzzle together.
‘Orson? We’re going next door for a minute. Can you promise me you’ll stay in here until we get back?’
‘Sure, Daddy,’ Orson calls over his shoulder, too absorbed by company his own age to even look at us. I smile. Happy children just make me tingly all over.
‘This way,’ Henry says, reaching the end of a short lane and opening a door onto the jungle, and it’s like stepping into a parallel world. ‘They like their privacy. I personally think it’s a bit OTT but who am I to say?’
‘Each to their own,’ I agree. ‘If I had a house like this, it would constantly be full of friends.’
He leads the way down the side path to the back door of the manor’s orangery. Here, everything is the opposite of Henry’s place, where white-rendered walls give way to ancient, massive stone walls and clinging vines that curl over the cast iron of the Victorian orangery that is a late addition to the medieval property. It positively reeks of history. I follow as he leads me through the rear entrance into a huge professional Georgian kitchen.
‘Oh my God, Henry! It’s gorgeous!’
‘Is it?’ he asks. ‘Perhaps. A bit too stuffy for me, though. You’ve seen what I like. Would you like to see the rest?’ he asks.
‘Yes, please!’
He leads me from room to room, stopping at the major ones. ‘This is the drawing room.’
There is also an enormous library with the oldest books I’ve ever seen, a sitting room strewn with antique armchairs and occasional tables, and a music room with a harpsichord.
‘This part is early Georgian for sure,’ I observe, my eyes floating over the tell-tale signs.
‘Shall we check on the kids?’
‘Please.’
‘Orson?’ he calls into his mobile.
‘Yes, Big Brother?’ the child calls back and I can’t help but laugh.
‘We won’t be long,’ he says.
‘Take your time, Daddy – I’m beating Jowen.’
Henry rolls his eyes. ‘Cheeky little bugger.’
I follow him down the lane back to the converted coach house, babbling on enthusiastically about the architectural value of the manor.
‘I guess it has its historical value,’ he admits stopping in front of Orson’s open door through which we can see the kids still playing. ‘Come on in.’
Verity, Jowen and Orson barely acknowledge us as we enter his room.
‘Okay, you guys, Orson will take you to the bathroom to wash your hands. Wait for us on the terrace, we’ll be right there.’
‘I’m starving!’ Jowen cries as they race out of the room as if you’d just told them there was a bouncy castle outside waiting for them.
‘Come and have a look,’ Henry beckons me.
‘Oh, wow, it’s a great bedroom—’ and I stop just inside the door to stare at a large array of familiar, house-shaped cushions dominating the place. ‘Those…’
Henry smiles. ‘Yes, Faith. Those are your very own Home Hugs. We have the Cottage Home Hug and the Beach Hut Home Hug.’
‘That’s… that’s…’ I croak as a huge knot forms in my throat and I instantly see myself as a child again, huddled on the floor, my back against my bedroom door while Hope and our foster parents are bringing down the house once again.
‘When Orson is with his mum, I take them into the living room and scatter them all over the sofas,’ Henry says. ‘They comfort me.’
‘Thank you, that is a huge compliment. But Home Hugs aside, it is a beautiful room,’ I say as my eyes fall on some pictures on the wall opposite the bed.
They are pictures of a beautiful brunette with a dazzling smile holding a baby Orson. The ex-wife Linda. Finally. I was starting to wonder what she looked like. There are other photos throughout the years as Orson is growing, but she only seems to become more and more beautiful. Some women have that innate class. I square my shoulders and look over at Henry.
‘She is a stunner.’
He shrugs. ‘Yes, well, I didn’t want Orson to miss her while he’s here, so I blew them up so he could see them from his bed.’
‘You are a very loving father, Henry. Why did you split—’ I bite my lip. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
He waves his hand in a dismissive manner. ‘Water under the bridge. She and I had practically nothing in common outside the physical sphere, and when I realised it a few months in, she was already pregnant. So I did the right thing.’
Like Gabe. ‘But it gave you Orson.’
‘Yes. You see, eventually, things fall into place. Linda is still trying to cope with the divorce. Luckily her parents are fit and able and help her out a lot when Orson is with her. It’s made everything easier for me, knowing that Linda is not alone.’
‘That’s a good arrangement,’ I agree.
‘And… how are you?’
‘Me? Oh.’ He wants to know if I’m still smarting from my break-up. Despite our kiss I’m dying to repeat, while he seems particularly indifferent. Now isn’t that ironic? ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
‘And you’re growing… stronger?’
Meaning am I over Gabe? Good one.
‘Yes,’ I assure him.
‘Good.’
I nod, glad that the Spanish Inquisition is over. And then my stomach growls.
He laughs. ‘Hungry much?’
‘Starved,’ I answer.
‘I’m a terrible host. Let’s go.’
Outside, the enclosed patio seems stolen from a Mediterranean designer magazine, with a white linen tablecloth, silver cutlery with duck egg earthenware plates that must be at least two hundred years old. Apart from three plastic cups for the kids, there is an array of crystal glasses for us. There is also an understated but very refined centrepiece with multi-coloured flowers. Around the table there are six turquoise L’Eau chairs by Calligaris, famous for mimicking a water ripple on the seat. And all this of course is complete with a bird’s eye view of St Ives and its turquoise sea in the background.
‘Oh my word, Henry, this is – what’s a word better than beautiful? It’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you.’
‘It’s nothing, Faith. Just some old plates and a little love. I hope you’ll like the food, because it would be embarrassing if you don’t.’
‘I’ll love it,’ I say, looking out to the bay as Henry begins to serve Verity, then Jowen and finally Orson.
He’s prepared a huge cous-cous dish and at least three different kinds of colourful salads, plus a dish of mixed grilled vegetables and a selection of grilled chicken, little sausages and tiny burgers for the kids. My mouth is watering just looking at it. Great food, a great view and a home full of love. I must have booked an afternoon in Nirvana and forgotten all about it.
‘Daddy’s cooking is delicious!’ Orson exclaims and the kids nod in agreement.
I take a forkful of cous-cous, close my eyes and swoon. ‘Oh my God, Henry, this is so delicious! It’s like being in Morocco…’
He chuckles. ‘Here, have some meat. We need to put some real food into you.’
‘Auntie Fi only eats when she comes to our house,’ Verity explains to Henry. ‘Our mum’s been trying to teach her to cook for years now.’
My eyes swing to Henry. ‘True. I just don’t have the time right now.’
‘Your aunt is busy with work. One day she’ll have more time to do everything she wants.’
‘Like going to Italy.’
Henry’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Really? Where in particular?’
‘Oh… Sicily, I suppose. I had a friend whose nana was from Ragusa – that’s south-east – and her cooking was… I’ve never tasted anything like it in my life – real focacce, not the kind you buy in the stores, but genuine Sicilian focacce. They are like our own pasties, only the dough is thinner and there is a variety of fillings, from tomato sauce and cheese, onions, or parsley and ricotta cheese, aubergines, spinach – anything that grows locally. And the fish dishes! They have this special swordfish and aubergines with a mint and chocolate sauce, and the arancini? Have you ever tasted arancini? And get this – they have a red pepper chocolate ice cream dating back to the Mayans.’
Henry laughs, his eyes twinkling. ‘You do love your food.’
‘Oh, I do,’ I assure him as I pop a piece of chicken into my mouth and enjoy the sensation as it literally melts on my tongue.
‘And where did you learn to cook, Henry? This would even give Hope a run for her money, and she’s good. But don’t tell Mummy,’ I turn to warn Jowen and Verity but they are now so absorbed in their food and their own conversations with Orson that I suspect I’m safe for now.
Henry shrugs. ‘I don’t know, I just use ingredients I like. Simple stuff.’
I put a forkful of yellow pepper and zucchini into my mouth, trying to guess the seasoning. ‘Balsamic vinegar?’
‘And garlic olive oil,’ he replies. ‘And sometimes capers. Orson loves capers. Which is really strange for a lad, isn’t it?’
I laugh in agreement, take a sip of sparkling water and sit back to enjoy the view, as a sigh of contentment escapes me. ‘This,’ I say, ‘is possibly one of the best times I’ve had in a long time, Henry. Thank you.’
He puts his glass down and smiles at me. ‘Thank you. It’s great to have you here. Orson’s developed quite a crush on you,’ he whispers.
‘So have I,’ I confess. On both of you.
We exchange a glance that lasts a little too long for comfort and Henry scratches his chin as I’ve seen him do when he is undecided about something. I hope he’s not undecided about me.
‘Right,’ he suddenly says, rising. ‘Orson, come and help me get dessert?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ he says, jumping up and disappearing through the patio doors behind Henry into the kitchen.
‘Are you all right, guys? Are you having a good time with Orson?’
‘I don’t want to leave,’ Verity says in earnest.
Oh, how I hear her. Henry and Orson’s company is so… refreshing without all the Look at Me, I’m successful codswallop. He’s actually quite modest and I love his understated manners. Gabe should take a leaf out of his book.
‘And here we have Hope’s Crème Brûlée, plus our own Sticky Cornish Fudge Pudding with clotted cream ice cream,’ Henry tells us as he carries out four plates, Orson behind him carrying one. ‘The fudge is made with sea salt. I hope you like it.’
Oh, God, I’m already salivating as if I hadn’t eaten in years. ‘You made this?’
He dips his head with a grin. ‘Well, Orson and I both did. He mixed the ingredients and pushed the fudge squares into the sponge. And dribbled the sauce on the top.’
I scoop up a small spoonful, still trying to be dainty, and dear me, I’m going to have to marry the man. Or at least show up on his doorstep at mealtimes.
‘Do you like it, Faith?’ Orson asks eagerly, his face lighting up with hope.
I don’t want the poor little fellow to wait for an answer, so I cover my mouth in a semblance of dignity. ‘Issgorgeous…’ I swoon. ‘Issreallyreallygood!’
Henry and Orson turn and high-five each other.
‘Can we go play again, Auntie Faith?’ Jowen wants to know after they’ve downed both their desserts.
‘Only if Orson wants to,’ I reply, and the three of them are off.
‘Thank you, Henry, for this. The kids and I are enjoying your company immensely. Who knew?’
At that, he laughs and rolls his eyes. Henry is a breath of fresh air. And it’s so easy to chat with someone who’s never hurt you. He’s a good bloke. The fact that he is devastatingly handsome and that my skin tingles whenever I set eyes on him is a completely different story.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asks me, and I snap out of it, just in time to catch myself staring up adoringly into his face.
I am thinking that this is not a date, but just a great evening, in a gorgeous home with a divine meal. With the best company I’ve had in a very long time.
After coffee, we sit and lounge around despite my many attempts to relieve him of our presence. Henry asks me to stay a little longer, at least until we can admire the lights of St Ives twinkling and shimmering down on the coast.
Up here, it feels like nothing can harm me. But I can’t stay here all night as much as I’d love to. (See? That’s where the niece and nephew come in handy, keeping me on the straight and narrow.) Particularly because I am scolding myself. What did I expect, for Henry to wipe everything off the table in one swoosh of his arms and make mad love to me while the kids are playing less than ten feet away? It had only been a kiss. An amazing, knee-melting kiss, granted. But it had stopped there. Perhaps he had even regretted it.
So I reluctantly get to my feet. ‘It’s time for us to go. Thanks once again, Henry. The kids loved it and so did I.’
He rises with me, stuffing his hands into his pockets. ‘Okay. It was lovely having you. So… I guess I’ll see you Monday then.’
Monday? That’s the entire weekend to wait. ‘Or not,’ I blurt out.
‘You don’t want me in on Monday?’
‘Oh, of course! I meant, well…’
He is looking down into my eyes. He can feel it, too. I am going to make a fool out of myself and screw up all over again, I just know it.
‘What did you mean, Faith?’ he asks softly, as I back up against the doorjamb, suddenly at a loss for words. Gosh, I’ve gone completely blank now. All I can think of is how the mere sight of him cheers me up.
‘That maybe,’ he says, ‘we could go for lunch and possibly a stroll if you like? I promise to behave at all times.’
‘I like,’ I say before I can stop myself.
He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Brilliant. I’ll go fetch the kids for you, then,’ he says.
But he doesn’t move. Nor can I. It’s like we are in a magnetic force field and there’s no way out. His face is solemn, slightly heated, and his expression is one I’ve never seen before.
Oh God, please kiss me again. Or better, don’t. Because if you do, it’s all out in the open and I’ll be officially screwed for good, if you’ll pardon the pun.
And then, out of the blue, a clock starts chiming, scaring the bejesus out of me. I jump, and he steps away.
‘Oh! I, uhm… kids…’ I manage.
He runs a hand through his thick mane. ‘Right. Of course. I’ll go fetch the kids.’
‘Thank you.’ I gather their things and move to the door, as far away from the scene of attraction as possible. When he returns with them, they are all a sad lot, Henry included, and we all shuffle to the side door from where we came.
‘Can’t we stay a little longer, Auntie Fi?’ Jowen pleads.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s really late and I have to get you home to your mum who misses you.’
He hangs his head in resignation as Orson hovers. ‘Can they come back again, Daddy?’ Orson asks.
‘Of course, son,’ Henry answers, ruffling his hair, then turns to me. ‘Do you know your way back from here?’
‘I’ve got satnav,’ I say as I fetch my own bag from the madia against the wall.
‘Goodbye, Orson. I’ll see you soon!’
‘Can I come and visit you again?’ he asks.
‘Of course you can – anytime you want! I’ll have your favourite chocolate sprinkled doughnuts waiting.’
‘Yay!’ he cries, jumping up and down, throwing his arms around my neck.
‘Easy, Orson, you’re choking her,’ Henry says with a soft chuckle.
But he doesn’t let go. If anything, he holds me even tighter. I hug him back, feeling all of his affection as he gives me a quick peck on the cheek.
‘Bye, Faith!’ he chimes, waving. ‘Bye, Jowen; bye, Verity!’
‘Byeee!’ they chime, waving as if we were on a cruise ship about to depart from the port.
In a way, this home is like a secure port in the storm. A safe haven for Orson and Henry to return to after a long day.
‘Bye, Orson,’ I manage as a huge knot forms in my throat and with a feeling of distinct loss, we get into the car and it takes me a huge effort to not sob.
What’s the matter with me? We’ve had a great time, right? The kids love him, and they apparently love Henry, too. But the fact is that Orson and I have somehow created a bond.
*
At Hope’s place, the kids rush through the front door, excited to see their mummy.
‘Hey…!’ Hope calls, as she jumps off the sofa to hug them. ‘I’ve missed you lot!’
‘Mum, we saw the most beautiful house in the world!’ Verity cries as she throws her arms around her.
‘It was full of games!’ Jowen echoes.
‘Really?’ Hope enthuses.
‘Yuh,’ Verity says as she yawns and rubs eyes. ‘Can we watch TV, Mummy, please?’
‘Aren’t you tired enough, love?’ Hope asks, ruffling her daughter’s hair.
‘No,’ she lies and Hope laughs. ‘Tell you what. You go and watch some TV in my bed, just for a bit, all right?’
‘Okay. Goodnight, Auntie Faith,’ they chime, two sets of arms around my waist.
‘Night, you two. Glad you had fun.’
‘Remember we’re going again soon,’ Jowen reminds me.
Hope looks at me. ‘Oh?’
‘Yeah,’ I say casually as I drop into one of her armchairs. ‘They have become great friends with Orson.’
‘And what about you and Henry?’ Hope asks, passing me the bowl of potato chips on the coffee table. For being a chef, Hope still likes her junk food.
‘No thanks, I’m still stuffed.’
‘And love-struck,’ she says.
‘What? I am not,’ I deny.
‘Oh come on, Faith. He’s a great guy! I can’t imagine anyone else with you.’
Nor could I. But… ‘We, uhm, kissed the other day.’
‘What? Congratulations!’ she cries, hugging me.
‘No, it’s not – I told him I wasn’t, er, looking for a relationship.’
‘Oh, Faith, you didn’t!’
‘I did. And now it’s like he’s switched off the interest, just like I asked him too, and I’m smarting but I haven’t got the guts to say Yes, let’s do this. Oh, Hope, what the hell is wrong with me? I’m such a loser.’
‘You’re not,’ she says loyally. ‘Don’t forget that he’s recently divorced. Maybe he’s just realised that he needs time, too. Don’t rush yourselves.’
‘I hope so. You know how important it is for me to have stability. I guess we both need our mourning time. I don’t want any blurred lines.’
‘Blurred lines?’ Hope echoes. ‘Listen, sweetie – I’ve been telling you for years that Gabe was not the right bloke for you. It took you longer than expected, but you’re finally at the point in your life where you don’t love him anymore. Correct?’
‘Oh, absolutely.’
There’s no denying that I have finally got over my sorrow for losing Gabe. Twice. I finally understand that my obsession with him was more about the fear of losing someone all over again – and in that very house, which represented the culmination of the journey I’d been through, from foster child to someone who had not only found love, but also a stable life and home. Of someone who had finally managed to tick all the boxes in life. But now I understand that I was the only one ticking those boxes, while Gabe had wanted more than I could ever give him or even be remotely interested in. I wasn’t interested in a jet-set, out-of-the-norm fancy life. I was still craving a normal life.
There is now only anger and bitterness where he is concerned. The mere thought of seeing him makes me want to hurl.
‘I know you don’t want to jump into anything new. But Henry seems truly smitten with you, the way he looks at you with those spaniel eyes.’
‘He does not have spaniel eyes,’ I defend.
‘Only for you,’ Hope says. ‘You could see it from the moon that he’s more than keen on you.’
I bite my lip. ‘I want to. I really do. But it’s just too soon for the both of us. He’s still smarting from his divorce, and I don’t want to vent to my next boyfriend about Gabe. I want to be able to start a new relationship completely happy, and I’m just not there yet.’
‘I’m not asking you to jump the poor sod’s bones, but at least don’t discourage him. If he is as interested as I think he is, he’s not going anywhere.’
‘But what would he think of me, flitting straight from Gabe to him? What kind of girl bounces from one relationship to another?’
‘You mean, what kind of woman bounces back from Mr Wrong straight into the arms of Mr Right? A clever one.’
‘But don’t you think it’s too soon to—?’
‘To love again? Faith – look around you. Look at all the horrible things that happen out of the blue. Break-ups. Accidents. Diseases. Life is short. What the bloody hell are you waiting for – to turn ninety and suddenly realise that you’ve only half-lived your life because of some silly rules made up by miserable, lonely prudes?’
Well, if you put it that way. ‘Then what do you think I should do?’
She takes a sip of her drink. ‘Invite him over to your place for dinner, just you and him. He’ll get the idea, and if he cares, you won’t have to do anything. It’ll all happen spontaneously.’
I bite my lip. ‘I’ll give it a thought,’ I promise, but I already know I’ll never have the courage to do something so liberating.
*
The next day, Saturday, sees me on the job as if I didn’t have a life (you got me!). I’m debating between oak or cedar for the doors, my mobile rings. It’s Gabe, his angelic face filling my screen. I am technically still working to Gabe’s specifications and so cannot yet erase his number from my contact list. With a sigh, I slide the green button to the side.
‘I told you to liaise with Thea.’
‘Can I come over?’ he asks. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘About the job?’ I ask defensively. There’s no way I’m going to even remotely entertain the idea of speaking to him about anything else.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Right.’
‘See you in a mo.’
‘You mean now?’ My insides do a triple back somersault.
‘If you don’t mind.’
I glance at the samples sitting next to my laptop, trying to decide.
‘Fine. But you can’t stay long. I’ve got stuff to do,’ I warn him.
‘Be there in a flash,’ he says, and rings off.
But here in a flash, he is not. As a matter of fact, he’s thirty-five minutes late and I’ve a mind to go out just to teach him a lesson. And just as I am debating on what to do, my doorbell rings.
I huff and buzz him in, thinking of a way to keep his stay very short.
‘Hey,’ he says as he climbs the stairs. ‘I went to the beach house and Thea told me you had moved out.’
I move aside to let him by and then follow him inside and close the door.
‘Why would I stay there?’ I ask, already resenting him. ‘It’s not my home anymore.’
He takes a look around and sits down on the settee. ‘Nice digs.’
‘Why are you here, Gabe?’
He looks at me as if I’d slapped him. ‘Faith, come on, when are you going to forgive me? You know I’d never do anything to hurt you deliberately.’
I snort. ‘As if that was enough.’
‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ he says, sitting up. ‘I can’t stand the thought of you hating me. I hate myself enough for two.’
‘Good.’ I was always the mature one in our relationship: the one to hold the reins, to apologise first, et cetera, simply because Gabe has always been an extremist in everything he does. There were never any half measures with him. Either he was all in or all out. Either elated or depressed. Optimistic or pessimistic.
To the point, it was always me to pick him up whenever he was down. Or yank him back down to reality when he got too big-headed. I guess I was a bit like the string attached to a kite, anchoring him to earth, while Gabe soared on his various thermals of optimism, ambition and grandeur. And on his bad days I would have to hide the second bottle of wine because he would actually start complaining to me about everything and anything, me included, and then – finally – fall into a drunken sleep.
And I’d have to wait a full twenty-four hours for him not only to sober up, but to get back to functioning fully. That had always bothered me about him, but because I loved him, I accepted the bad with the good. Like you do with family. Not that I’d really know. But Gabe wasn’t my family, and because of him, I’d never have one now.
‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’
He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Have you got a beer?’
‘No, I don’t drink,’ I remind him. That’s another thing – his forgetting even such monumental things about me, when instead I remembered all his likes and dislikes. I once heard someone say that when in a couple one person loves more, that love can’t last. I wish I’d heeded it at the time, but I’d been so infatuated with Gabe’s endearing youthful attitude. Now, it only reminds me of how gullible and naïve I have been. ‘There’s water, if you’re thirsty.’ The last thing I need is a drunk, bawling Gabe in my home.
He sighs. ‘No thanks. Water doesn’t wash away my sorrows.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Gabe—’
‘Yes, sorry, I’ll get to the point. Is it okay if I move back into the beach house? I’ll stay out of your way.’
‘Why?’ I say, but then I realise I’ve broken my own rule. This is supposed to be a strictly business meeting.
‘We’ve split up.’ He looks up at me with those huge, imploring baby blue eyes. ‘I’ll sleep in my studio. You won’t even know I’m there.’
‘I’m sorry, Gabe, but due to insurance, health and safety, we can’t have you there.’
‘I understand. But Jesus, Faith, how else am I to see you?’
I blink. I’m certain I haven’t heard that properly, what with all the banging and drilling and sawing on-site, I must have lost a few decibels of my hearing somewhere along the way.
‘If only you could find it in your heart to forgive me. It would make everything so much less complicated,’ he whispers.
No, I still don’t think I’ve heard that properly. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He comes to stand right before me. ‘It hurts to think how much you hate me, when all I did was leave her for you, because I love you.’
You have to admit, there is method in his madness. ‘You mean after you left me for her, Gabe.’
‘But then I left her for you because I realised what a huge mistake I’d made. It’s not my fault if she got pregnant.’
‘Ah, that’s really rich!’ I snort, turning away, but he catches my hand.
‘Please, Faith. I didn’t mean it that way. I wanted to start all over again with you. And then Vanessa told me she was pregnant. What was I supposed to do, abandon her because she was up the duff?’
The opposite of what he did to me, i.e. leave me because I simply wanted a baby. Although he’ll never admit it. Kids wouldn’t exactly look good on his bio.
‘I’m hurt too, you know?’ he whines.
‘Oh, are you really?’
‘Of course. When I told you about the baby, you could have accepted it. We had just got back together again, but you refused to stay with me. Lots of women choose to stay with their partners even if their ex-girlfriends are pregnant. Won’t you reconsider, Babes? I miss you. Life is just absolute shite without you.’
I tear away from him, and his hand drops to his side. ‘You were supposed to be honest, Gabe! You flew back to England, in the middle of the night, and crawled into my bed. Sofa. Whatever. And you knew Vanessa was already pregnant. You lied to me and cheated on me again and again! You took advantage of my idiocy and the fact that I still loved you!’
‘Babes—’
‘I’m not your Babes!’
‘But you still love me, I can see it in your eyes…’
‘No, Gabe. What you see is horror of the person you have become. Or perhaps always were, and the horror you see is for how I let you get away with it for so long. You, you—’ I clench my fists as my ears begin to burn. Just one swing. One swing is all I need and I’d feel better. ‘You’d expect me to just slot myself into your new life, while you traipse around the globe, sleep with both of us, coming in and going out of my life while I help you raise your child on your days and become Vanessa’s best buddy? Well I’m sick and tired of you jerking me around as if I was your rag doll! You’ve made your bed, so now you can sleep in it. You make me sick!’
His eyes drop to the floor, and for a moment I can almost swear they are shiny. He always did that, just to see how far he could push me into doing something I didn’t want to. I watch him in silence. Back then, I’d always crack and he would have his way. But not this time. I didn’t almost go over the edge and become an alcoholic for nothing. I step to the front door and hold it wide open for him.
He can’t believe I’m doing this, and frankly, I never thought I would have had to, but yay me!
I’m not taking it anymore, and he’s just got it.
In the end, he nods and whispers a broken goodbye as he slowly walks past me and out of my flat – once and for all. I close the door behind him and sink onto the settee, swiping at a stupid, stray tear.
*
On Monday morning I drive up to the beach house, park alongside the cars of my crew, my body limp with the emotional stress, and my brain a mess. As I’m closing the front door, Henry’s Jeep pulls up.
I linger on the threshold, relieved it isn’t Gabe again. But then, Gabe was never an early bird. He’s probably still in bed, snoring for England.
‘Hey,’ Henry says as he makes his way towards me with a huge smile and an equally huge paper bag in his arms. He’s brought breakfast again. He doesn’t have to, of course, but just to know that he is thinking of everyone warms my cockles – and gets my stomach grumbling.
‘Hey back,’ I say, and I can’t help smiling. His good mood is so contagious I’m already feeling better. Perhaps today won’t be a crappy day after all.
‘Newsflash – Gabe and Vanessa have split up,’ I inform him as I move aside to let him in.
At that, Henry halts, his eyes checking mine. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Absolutely.’
He puts his bag down on a bale of bubble wrap, clearing his throat. ‘Does that mean that you and he… uhm…?’
‘God, no,’ I hasten to answer him.
‘And he called you to tell you that? The cheek. The bloody cheek,’ he mutters, and for a moment I let myself go to the belief that he is jealous. But he is only being protective of me, like the rest of my crew. Still, it’s a nice, warm feeling.
‘He actually came over to my flat.’
At that, he rests his hands on his hips, shaking his head. ‘I hope he didn’t upset you too much?’
‘Oh, I know how to handle him by now,’ I reassure him. ‘But I’ll be happy to finish this job and put all this behind me,’ I confess. ‘Coffee?’
‘Sure, thanks,’ he says, closing the door behind him and picking up his bag of cakes again.
‘I’ll give you an extra huge cup of coffee if there’s a blueberry scone for me in there,’ I offer over my shoulder as we head for the kitchen.
He grins. ‘Yeah? What makes you think that there is?’
‘Because you always get me one.’
‘How would you know that?’
‘A little birdie told me.’
‘Maybe the little birdie was wrong,’ he suggests.
Wrong? Oh, crap. The fact hadn’t even occurred to me.
‘Your face!’ he says with a laugh. ‘Of course it’s for you – who else could it possibly be for?’
I look up into his eyes. I like the way they crinkle at the corners when he smiles, which is a lot more, lately, I’ve noticed.
‘Oh! Thank you, Henry. I – er, if you’re sure…?’
‘Silly,’ he says, reaching into the bag. ‘I’m just teasing you. Here it is. For you. And only you.’
We stand in silence in the kitchen for a few moments as I’m desperately scrabbling for an idea for small talk. Luckily, Henry saves the moment.
‘By the way, Orson sends his love,’ he says. ‘It’s official – he’s absolutely smitten with you.’
‘Really? I think he’s adorable, too!’
He pauses again, and the silence is calling for an And I think you are adorable, too, Henry. But that would only lead me deeper into the maze that are my feelings at the moment.
‘So,’ I finally say, clapping my hands. ‘Would you like to take a look around after breakfast? I could use your advice on a couple of things, if that’s okay?’
His eyes widen in surprise. ‘You want my opinion?’
I blush. ‘Well, you are a joiner, after all. The best. And after seeing what good taste you have, I’d be grateful for your opinion.’
‘Sure, if you like,’ he says, and he looks around the kitchen. ‘I’m going to put an extra rush on this so you can move on to a different job.’
‘That would be great, Henry, thank you.’ But how am I going to manage to see him – and Orson – after that? I only hope that my next clients will need a kitchen.
‘So, Faith? Why do you think Vanessa and Gabe have split up? Do you think he wants you back?’
I snort. ‘He might think so, but I think that he just needs some time away from Vanessa.’
‘And more time close to you?’ he says softly.
‘Oh, that’s not happening,’ I hasten to reassure him.
‘I hope not,’ Henry whispers, his eyes sweeping over my face, down to my mouth, then back to look deep into my eyes in that caressing way he has. ‘It would be a travesty.’
‘A travesty…’ I echo, a second away from melting into his arms. I can already feel my knees buckling, for goodness’ sake.
‘Faith! Henry! Come upstairs! We’re ready to tackle this bitch!’ Thea’s voice rings loud throughout the house, jolting me – and him, I think – out of la-la land.
‘That’s, uhm, us,’ I manage, licking my lips that have gone desert dry all of a sudden. ‘I think they’re in the master bedroom.’
Henry’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. ‘Bedroom – right.’
He follows me upstairs, and for a moment I can’t help but imagine that we are alone and moving into a bedroom to be together and—
‘Where the hell have you two been? We’ve been looking all over for you,’ Thea says, looking over her shoulder as we make our way into the blood-red slaughterhouse full of members of my crew armed with crowbars and hammers.
‘We need all the hands we can get to move this monster,’ Mike says. The monster being the huge mirror clinging to the ceiling like a cloud of bats.
I shudder at the thought of its purpose and Henry, who is standing shoulder to shoulder with me in the crowded room, turns to look at me, touching my fingers with his. It is a gesture that goes unnoticed by all but me.
‘Right, let’s give this bastard all we’ve got!’ Henry says, and I can’t help thinking he means Gabe.
*
‘Are you actually telling me that the two of you were practically nose to nose again and you didn’t kiss?’ Hope hisses when I tell her. ‘What the hell is wrong with you, Faith? Have I taught you absolutely nothing? Honestly, I don’t understand you sometimes.’
‘Join the club,’ I quip.
‘So what are you going to do now?’
What can I do? Make a fool out of myself by jumping from one long-term relationship into a new one with a man I work with, and who, incidentally, I’m professionally in awe of? ‘Aaaabsolutely nothing.’
‘Faith…’
‘Let it go, Hope,’ I warn her. ‘I’m not ruining his renewed opinion of me by falling at his feet. Plus, I’ve been kicked around enough lately. It’s time to stand up for myself.’
‘Now you find your backbone?’ she wails.
‘Now I find my backbone. And you know what? It feels great. I’m my own woman now.’
‘Great, just great,’ she groans. ‘At this rate you’ll be on your own forever.’
‘Being on your own isn’t so bad. Look at you.’
‘Sweetie – I’m on my own because my husband dumped me. And now I’m glad he did. But you? You deserve to be with someone like Henry. I’m sick and tired of seeing you so lonely.’
‘I’m not lonely. I have you and Verity and Jowen and the girls down the coast. And my team.’
Hope groans. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You need to belong, Faith.’
My eyes are suddenly burning. ‘I belong to you, don’t I? Aren’t we a family?’
‘Of course we are, you silly sausage. You are my and Jowen and Verity’s world – you know that. But you need a man of your own with whom—’
‘To have my own kids,’ I say hotly. ‘Got it.’
‘Oh come on, Faith – don’t be like that. You know I want only what’s best for you.’
‘But maybe I’m not ready for what is best for me,’ I argue. ‘Maybe I need to be alone until I am no longer angry with Gabe.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Hope shoots back. ‘You will always be angry with Gabe, and you know what? You have the right to be. But you can’t let your past with him keep you from a future with Henry.’
She’s right about the past bit, I know she is. But regarding my future, Henry might be attracted to me and even enjoy my company, but is he, with the state his own life is in, even ready for a mess like me?