Jenna wasn’t ready to talk about kids. She wasn’t ready for Nathan to turn her neighbours out, bulldoze her home and theirs for some unspecified offspring they might one day have. She didn’t want kids who had benefited from her – her and Nathan’s – thoughtlessness.
‘It’s all a bit – lord of the manor.’
‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’
She fired up. ‘It’s controlling, Nathan. That’s what it is. It’s like you’re trying to control my life, our lives.’
‘I call it protecting us, our legacy. Helping us. I call it love.’ Nathan jumped off the sofa. ‘Jenna, for God’s sake, what more can I do to make you happy?’
Jenna felt like she might cry or scream. ‘I don’t want you to do more. Less would be good.’
‘I take care of my own. You should understand that by now. If you don’t like it then – you need to decide what you really want.’ He snatched up his jacket. ‘You’ll find me in the pub.’
She heard the door slam behind him, curled up on the sofa and buried her face in her hands.
Chapter Twelve
Cameron
98 miles to go
So, Cam, today’s the day. Final stage of the Kilt Challenge?’
The radio presenter thrust a mic in Cameron’s face. The wind on the moors of the Devon border was gusting almost as hard as it did in John O’Groats.
‘Bit of a day for it, eh?’ The presenter beamed. ‘Who’d think it was summer?’
‘I feel at home, actually. This is tropical where I come from.’
The presenter laughed. ‘I bet. And the people of Devon have turned out to support you as you head off on the final stretch?’
Cameron looked around. As well as his support team, there must have been a hundred people gathered outside the pub where they’d stayed the night.
‘Looks like the whole village turned out,’ he said, a lump in his throat that these complete strangers had come out at 6 a.m. to see him off. A family with kids about Lachlan’s ageheld up a handmade sign saying: ‘Go, Cam!’ with drawings of a man on a bike in what he assumed was a kilt.
‘So, how’s it going, riding in the kilt?’ the presenter asked gleefully. ‘Draughty, I’ll bet?’
‘That’s the only upside,’ Cam said, not revealing that he’d had to resort to two pairs of cycling shorts and that his legs were greased with a ton of heavy-duty lube to try to reduce the chafing. If he thought his butt muscles and thighs had ached when he left Scotland, it was nothing on now. His back was killing him and he had blisters on his hands despite the best cycling gloves money could buy. He’d been bitten by midges and horseflies, stung by wasps, and was so exhausted he sometimes couldn’t remember the day of the week, let alone where he was.
The presenter laughed. ‘You’re doing an amazing job. Would you like to know how much you’ve raised for HeartBeat so far?’
‘Erm. Yes, please,’ Cam said. He’d last been given a total the morning before and it had now become a daily ritual.
‘A truly incredible three hundred and fifteen thousand, six hundred and twenty-three pounds!’
Cheers and applause went up and the family with the poster whooped.
‘That is incredible.’ Cam was blown away. ‘I can’t thank people enough for their generosity. It will mean so much to Sholto and all the families affected. It’ll enable HeartBeat to extend their screening and advice service to more people across the UK.’
‘Well, we have a special message from someone who knows exactly what you mean.’
The presenter pulled out headphones for Cam and played a message from a local family whose daughter had been tested for the gene and, as a result, was being monitored and treated.Hearing how their child had every chance of living a long and healthy life made Cam’s eyes sting with tears. He mustn’t lose it on live radio: Jenna might be listening. Hehopedshe was listening because he hadn’t heard from her since the previous afternoon and normally she called or messaged every evening.
The interview ended and cheers followed Cam up the country lane towards the moors. He wondered what Nate thought of Jenna messaging him so often – or if Nate even knew.
Freewheeling down a hill into the Tamar Valley, which formed the border between Devon and Cornwall, he checked his bike computer – just over ninety miles to go, a long day but the final one.
Cam whizzed round a bend and over a stone bridge, and reached a sign. He stopped to read the words he’d imagined for the past two weeks – and dreamed about seeing for the best part of a year:
