Zenya smiled and tucked the tin back under her arm. ‘You don’t have to be brave all at once. Just honest. With yourself, first.’
With a lighter heart, Rita walked slowly back to the farmhouse. She so appreciated Zenya and what they had, a blossoming true friendship built on trust, support, and the quiet knowing that love, in its purest form, can take many shapes.
FORTY-SIX
Rita had spent the entire day tryingnotto think about the angel card. Which, of course, meant she’d thought of little else.
By six o’clock, the sky had started to blush with the promise of sunset, and she could no longer sit still. She waxed, bathed, and styled her hair the way Kelly had shown her. Dressing like she might be heading to something casual-but-significant: not full glam, but enough to say ‘I like you’. High-waisted jeans that did good things for her arse. A tucked-in white linen blouse. Diamond ear studs and coral lipstick. Smart white pumps to finish.
By the time she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dabbing perfume onto her wrists, her stomach was doing cartwheels.
‘Clarity,’ she whispered to her reflection. ‘Peace, not chaos.’
Outside, the old Suzuki Jimny sat waiting, blue and battered, not quite matching her smartened-up appearance.
As she set off down the drive, Rita drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and let the windows down. She needed air. Air and answers, that was all. And now she was going to ask. Now she was going toknow.
Rounding the bend, she caught sight of Hawthorn Acre and nearly turned around. But she didn’t. She took a deep breath,flicked the indicator, and turned in slowly, tyres crunching over gravel.
Jago was feeding his goats. Cedric, father to Billy and Vince, was bleating theatrically before Rita had even stepped out of the car.
Jago looked up. His eyes narrowed, the crease between his brows flickering as if unsure how to read her arrival. He straightened, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like a wary animal himself.
‘You came,’ he said.
Rita nodded, taking a steadying breath. ‘I did.’ She smiled, despite the somersaults inside her.
‘Do you come in peace?’ he questioned with a lopsided dimpled smile.
‘I do.’ Rita felt her breath quicken slightly
Jago looked right at her. ‘You look good.’
‘Thank you.’
They weren’t aware they were speaking in staccato, but both knew that the big fat Jenken–Jory elephant of a will was about to stomp into the room and start the slow, inevitable legato song of truth.
Jago’s gaze flicked toward the farmhouse, then back to her. ‘Shall we talk?’
He led her down the garden to a wooden bench tucked beside a sprawling buddleia bush, its long purple spires swaying gently, butterflies hovering in the warm air. The view unfolded in quiet splendour, revealing the same vast, shimmering stretch of ocean she could see from the High Meadow.
‘Not a bad spot for a chat,’ Jago said, lowering himself onto the bench.
‘Nearlyas good as my view,’ Rita replied dryly.
She settled beside him, eyes scanning the distant horizon. Seabirds wheeled and cried overhead, their calls catching the breeze.
‘Noisy buggers,’ she muttered.
Jago nodded, still facing forward. ‘There’s been a lot of noise lately.’
‘There has.’ Rita half smiled. ‘Funny, though. All that noise… and it’s the silence that’s been driving everything.’
Jago didn’t speak for a second and then put his hand on her knee. ‘I’m so sorry I ran out on you the other night, after the birth, you know.’
‘I didn’t understand what was going on.’ Rita sighed deeply.
‘I… I… panicked,’ Jago groaned. ‘Are they doing OK, the kids, I mean?’
