As soon as he spoke, she felt foolish for even considering hiding from him. Because James already knew about Ivan; of course he did. Burley Bridge was the kind of place where everyone knew pretty much everything – and anyway, they had Rikke in common. ‘Sorry I never got in touch,’ she said as they strolled through the village together. ‘Last year, when I ran into you at the hospital … well, I wasn’t in a good state, you know. I wasn’t really thinking straight. It had only been a few months.’
‘Of course, I understand,’ he said quickly. ‘So … how are things now?’
She hesitated, wondering how best to explain it. ‘We’re getting there, I suppose. Me and the kids, I mean. Starting up the B&B again has helped, in a weird way. Some people – well, my mother, mainly – thought it was completely mad, but it’s been good for me. There are people around and always tons to do. And time helps, of course.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’ James glanced at her. He had barely changed since childhood, Lucy decided. Yes, life was etched on his face; there were fine lines around his brown eyes and his short dark hair was flecked with grey around the temples. But those eyes were still bright, his build still rangy and slim. ‘I’m so sorry, Lucy,’ he added. ‘I can’t imagine how you got through it, with the children being so young too.’
‘You just have to,’ she murmured, gripping her basket, which was filled with loaves and the children’s favourite chocolate and almond pastries from the artisan bakery. They fell into silence for a few moments. ‘You texted me, remember?’ she added. ‘And I didn’t reply.’
‘Oh, I just assumed you had a lot on your plate,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
She glanced at him. ‘How are things with your dad these days?’
‘Not too bad at the moment – thanks to Rikke, mainly. Things are ticking along.’
‘She’s amazing,’ Lucy remarked, and James nodded. ‘She started helping out when Ivan was still here and took a job back in Manchester, so it was just me running the B&B during the week. I don’t know how I’d have managed without her.’
‘It must’ve been a lot to take on with a young family,’ James said.
‘Yes, but in some ways it was easier than the grind of working nine-to-five. I used to work for a fashion retailer in Manchester – an underwear brand. That used to be my joke: “I work in lingerie”.’
James laughed. ‘And you gave up that line to move here? You must have fallen hard for that house.’
‘Yes, I did.’ Lucy paused and smiled. How easy he was to chat to, she decided, wondering again what had possessed her to consider avoiding him. ‘Are you busy right now? Would you like a coffee? I’d love you to see the cottage.’
‘That’d be lovely,’ James said, ‘if you’re not too busy …’
Lucy shook her head. ‘I have an hour or so before I have to pick up the kids from school. C’mon – you can see what we did to the place.’
Sometimes, it took an enthusiastic visitor to remind Lucy how much they – and, latterly, she – had done to Rosemary Cottage. The garden was enchanting now, the herbaceous borders abundant with colour, the oak tree’s boughs spread wide over the expanse of lush green lawn. ‘This takes me back,’ James said with a smile as they made their way to the front door. ‘It really is picture-perfect.’
‘As long as you don’t look too closely,’ she joked.
‘No, it really is lovely.’ She led him in and made coffee, indicating for him to take a seat at the worn old kitchen table.
Although she hadn’t planned to talk about the night Ivan died, it all came out as they sat together. He listened as she talked, commenting occasionally but never interrupting. Lucy wasn’t sure how much he’d known already, and it didn’t seem important to ask. She felt the sun on her face through the kitchen window as she sipped her coffee and described how life had been since that night.
It was so easy to tell him, and she didn’t cry. She just talked and talked, encouraged by his gentle, considered responses. She wondered if this was what therapy was like; in fact, several friends, including Carys and Andrew, had suggested she might consider ‘talking to someone’.
I don’t need that, Lucy had said firmly, meaning: Obviously, I’m going to take the far more sensible approach of bottling it all up and pretending to be fine. But now, she wasn’t pretending anything at all. She described the searing grief in the aftermath of the accident, and how she had wondered, sometimes, if she was going quite mad. Although she didn’t mention Ivan’s mysterious route home, or the flowers in the car, she somehow knew she would probably tell him about that too, one day. It felt as if, now she had started to talk properly about Ivan, she couldn’t stop.
‘That’s a hell of a thing to have gone through,’ James said finally, when she paused for breath.
Lucy nodded and pushed her dark hair from her face. ‘Before it happened, Ivan had been working away during the week. He was only here at weekends.’
‘But it’s entirely different, not having someone at all,’ he said gently, ‘and I guess you really looked forward to the weekends.’
‘Yes, I did.’ She inhaled slowly at the recollection. ‘There were all the rituals, you know – planning a special supper, making sure there was wine in the fridge. It was a kind of date night thing.’ She hesitated. ‘That sounds terribly corny, doesn’t it?’
‘It sounds great,’ he said.
‘It’s the kind of thing they always tell you to do in the magazines.’
‘Maybe my ex and I should’ve tried that,’ James said with a wry smile.
‘I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked about your life,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m really going on about Ivan today. I don’t normally—’
‘Please don’t apologise,’ he said.
‘It’s just …’ She broke off, remembering now how she would put fresh sheets on the bed for those Friday nights, and have her lingerie ready to slip into – usually one of her favourite fripperies, in black or cream silk, from Claudine. Ivan loved that stuff – well, he was a heterosexual man, wasn’t he? – and so did Lucy. It made her feel womanly, alluring and, well, gorgeous, actually, cut as it was to flatter and enhance. She’d pile up her hair messily and apply a little of her favourite body oil, the stuff that made her skin so glowy and soft, and she’d light a scented candle on the bedside table and – oh God, now she was remembering being in Ivan’s arms, and it was so vivid and real she could actually feel the warmth of his skin against hers …
Startlingly, her eyes had flooded with tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, rubbing at them with the sleeve of her cotton shirt.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ James said, looking alarmed. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned that thing, about the weekends.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she blurted out as, mortifyingly, hot tears began to fall and, worse still, her nose began to run. ‘Most of the time I’m fine,’ she said quickly, furious at herself now as she rubbed at her face, ‘but occasionally it takes me by surprise. It just hits me. I miss him so much and I can’t help it.’
She looked at James across the table: this kind, patient man who had been such a good friend to her all those years ago. She hadn’t seen him since she was thirteen years old and now she was a mess of tears and snot, using her sleeve as a hankie. She hadn’t even asked about his son, his work or anything, and no doubt he thought she was completely self-obsessed. Lucy could sense him staring at her – perhaps in horror – as she leapt up from her chair and grabbed a tea towel patterned with the top ten British garden birds, and blotted her wet face with it. A choking sob came out.
James leapt up too. ‘Lucy,’ he started, touching her arm as he hovered beside her now, ‘is there anything I can do, anything at all? I’m so sorry if I said something …’
‘No, it wasn’t you.’ She shook her head and turned her back to him, willing the tears to stop and for James to get the message that he should go now and just leave her alone.