I frown with bemusement. “Me?”
“You probably won’t remember this, but... a few years back, I sent you a WhatsApp.”
“Oh, right.” Of course I remember: standing in Jools’s kitchen in Tooting nearly three years ago, trying to decide if I should respond. Panicking when I realized Caleb might have overheard. I never did reply. “Sorry I didn’t—”
“No, I mean, it worked out for the best, right? I have to admit, when I sent you that message, I was kind of hoping we might... I don’t know. Hook up again.” He laughs. “I was a bit crazy about it. I kept checking my phone, but you didn’t reply, and I was feeling a bit glum. So I went out for a few beers to cheer myself up and... that was actually the night I met Camille.”
I smile. “And now you’re about to become a dad.”
He looks at me for a couple of moments. “I know. Mad, isn’t it?” And with that, any lingering fragments of wistfulness evaporate from his eyes.
Max’s name is called then, and he collects his coffee. We hug good-bye. It’s a strange feeling, holding him in my arms again after so many years. His body feels broader and firmer—more adult, I guess. Like he’s found his place in life.
As I watch him walk away, I realize there was a time when I might have called after him, when I might have thought meeting him here was a sign of some sort. And maybe it is—but only as a friendly reminder from fate that I made the right choice, not moving to London three years ago. Perhaps, finally, it’s the closure I was looking for all those years before, when he broke my heart.
As he’s about to round the corner and disappear from sight, Max turns. Our eyes meet, and just for a moment, a universe of possibilities andwhat-ifs unravels and waltzes through the space between us. And it makes me smile.
He raises a hand, and I do the same. And then he is gone.
—
Much later, back in Shoreley, I slip into bed next to Caleb. It’s the early hours of the morning now, and I’ve just driven home from the hospital, where I’ve left Jools and Nigel falling in love with their new daughter Florence.
The bedroom window is open, the sound of the slumbering sea drifting through it like a symphony. The bedroom feels almost unnervingly cool and peaceful after the heat and racket of the postnatal ward—though Jools, of course, high on oxytocin, seemed oblivious to the surround-sound wailing and sobbing. Instead, she looked completely serene, as though the midwives had wheeled her straight from the labor ward into a five-star health spa.
Caleb stirs as I slip my arms around him. He smells of soap and toothpaste, his skin warmed and softened by sleep.
“Hey,” he mumbles, turning over to face me.
“Hey.”
We kiss and he strokes the hair from my face. “How’s Jools? How’s the baby?”
“Both completely perfect. Jools is a total warrior.” I was with her right up until the final moments, when Nigel suddenly appeared, stricken with panic that he might have missed his baby being born. I’d always known Jools was tough, but until I saw her in labor, I had no idea what that actually meant. But within minutes of her contractions kicking in, she became so primally driven, so fiercely focused, that I knew Florence would never have to worry about a thing.
“So, how did it feel,” Caleb says, “being surrounded by all those newborns?”
I smile. “Amazing, obviously. I was fawning over all of them. Probably a good job I left when I did.”
He grins. “You’re ready for some hard-core godmothering then.”
“No other godmother’s going to come close.”
“Lucky Florence.”
“No, lucky me.”
He moves forward to kiss me again, releasing a slow breath that becomes a question against my skin. “So, does this mean we might be ready to...?”
We’ve talked about our future, and the family we both want, a lot since we got married. But we’ve not actually started trying yet, because I’ve been so caught up with Jools and writing lately, and Caleb’s had a hectic few weeks at work.
A few months ago, Naomi and I decided, after much back-and-forth, that my book wasn’t quite ready for submission to publishers. We agreed something was still missing; that what it needed was a present-day element, so I’m undertaking a hefty rewrite to incorporate a second timeline of a young couple striving to uncover the secrets of a love affair begun in Margate before the war. I’ve been working on it between shifts at Pebbles & Paper, where the people who drift through the door every morning have provided a surprisingly rich source of inspiration for my characters.
But now, at last, I’m over the hump with the rewrite: the end seems to be within touching distance, finally. And Caleb’s workload is easing off slightly, too. The timing feels as though it might actually be right.
“Yes,” I whisper, with a shiver of excitement. “I want to make a baby with you.” I press my mouth to his, feeling elation spread through me as we start to embark upon the next chapter of our lives. And all I canthink about is how happy I am to be creating a future with this spectacular, brilliant man; that the choice I made on a warm spring day three years ago brought me together with my soulmate.
And if I hadn’t made that choice? Well, I still feel sure Caleb and I would have found our way into each other’s lives eventually. But as it is, I’m spilling over with gratitude that I don’t have to wait another second to love this man with every last particle of my heart.
