“Leonie,” I gasp, unable to breathe. “Please don’t tell me more. Please.”
“Sorry.” Her own voice is thick with tears.
“Please be nice to him.” I breathe out. “He needs friends.”
“And you? Don’t you deserve support?”
“Sure, but you don’t have to take sides. No one has to.”
Leonie means well, and she’s very loving. But this phone call destroys what little peace of mind I had managed to find here in Suffolk. It takes me two weeks to restore my calm again. To stop obsessing about what might be going on at Kendric Park.
And just when I manage to find a little peace, I get an email from Osian.
Chapter Forty-seven
It’s the middle of July and raining buckets. Typical. I’m on my way to a local farm to buy some rosemary. I miss my garden and even if the one in front of my cottage is little more than a doorstep, I’d like to create a hedge of rosemary. By next year it’ll be two feet high and the little blue flowers will attract bees.
First though, I need to pop home and change out of my ballerina flats because they’re saturated and every step squeezes water out of the lining.
When I’m finally in dry clothes and dry shoes, I rummage one-handed in my handbag for my car keys while typing the address into my phone with the other. Without even realising it, my thumb scrolls down to my email app. An automatic activity. I’m just about to close the window when his name jumps out at me.
My keys drop from my hand.
I always thought it was a made-up thing. You know, like in films, someone gets a shock and drops a tray full of tea things. I thought it was just dramatic effect. It isn’t. My fingers disappear from my awareness, as if they’ve melted into nothing, and the keys jangle to the floor.
I stare at the name, unable to believe it. And, still unbelieving, my thumb taps the name to open the email.
Hi Evie,
I’m sure you don’t want to hear from me. I’ve wrestled with myself for a while before deciding to write. It’s not right that you should give up Hope Gardens just when they’re coming into season and showing the results of all your planning. If I’m the reason you can’t be here, then I am prepared to leave. My lastPerllangroup has just completed, so I need just under a fortnight to close-up shop and move. You can even take over my orchards; I’m sure you can do something spectacular with them. Far better than my carrots and cabbages.
I hope you’re well and happy, wherever you are.
Osian
Needless to say, I never make it to the farm or buy any herbs. I stay indoors and watch the rain splash on the street outside my window.
I don’t know what I expected, if I expected him to write at all. But not this.
He was right. I didn’t want to hear from him because this email reminds me once more of why I fell in love with him. A generous offer to give up his investment for me; how like him to want to help me no matter the cost to himself.
GOD!!!!
WHY? Why? Why?
Why does this amazing person always have to be out of my reach? It’s not fair.
Then I realise I’m shouting at the fridge in my tiny kitchen. The neighbours might hear me above the drumming of rain. Instead, I express my anger by drinking several cups of tea and scoffing a whole twin packet of custard creams.
Having consumed thousands of calories, I settle down to email him back.
Dear Osian,
Thank you for your
No. That sounds cold.Delete.
Hey Osian,
