Sitting next to me now, Fergus gives me a quizzical look. ‘What was she thanking you for?’
‘We just had a bit of a chat,’ I say lightly.
A bemused smile flickers. ‘That’s nice. It’s quite unusual. She can be a bit of a closed book, can Liv...’ And then – it’s barely detectable but I catch it – he looks at me in a way that says,And so can you.But the moment passes, and we settle into chatting about what’s left to do at Osprey House.
‘And you don’t know where you’ll be working next?’ Fergus asks.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I do know that I’m not going back, though. Back to Vince, I mean.’
Until I said it, I wasn’t 100 per cent sure. But I know now. Ican’tgo back to all that. ‘Right,’ Fergus says carefully. ‘Does he know you’re in Scotland?’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘So...’ He frowns, looking thoughtful. ‘You don’twanthim to know where you are? I mean, did you have to escape—’
‘Oh no, it wasn’t like that,’ I say quickly. ‘I wasn’t in danger. It wasn’t a scary, got-to-leave-this-house-type situation.’ I catch his steady look. It’s as if he knows that I was part of that kind of situation once, and know the difference.
‘Vince hasn’t actually asked where I am,’ I explain. ‘He’s just assumed I’m at Tash’s – that’s my oldest friend – because in his eyes, that’s where I’d go.’ As I tell him this, I wonder if Vince ever really knew me at all.
We finish our drinks and find Liv to say goodbye. Then slowly we stroll into town. ‘I’d better let Peter know I’m ready to go home,’ I say, even though I’m not really. I could talk to Fergus all night.
‘You’re calling it home already,’ Fergus observes with a smile.
‘I am, yes. It sort of feels that way.’ I catch his eye and have to look away because I’m not sure what’s happening here. Two weeks ago, I left Vince. I can’t have these kinds of feelings for someone else.
Quickly, I text Peter, as arranged, and a few minutes later we see his taxi approaching along the main street. ‘Thanks for a lovely day,’ Fergus says, touching my arm.
‘Thankyou,’ I say, realising that, now I know about Liv’s true feelings, I’m keepingtwosecrets from him. But none of that matters as his arms wrap around me, and he envelops me in a hug.
As we pull apart my heart seems to soar high into the inky night sky. ‘Night, Fergus,’ I say, still tingling with the feeling of him so close to me.
‘Night, Kate,’ he says. I climb into the taxi and wave as we pull away.
‘Have a good day?’ Peter asks, catching my eye in a rear-view mirror.
‘The best,’ I say truthfully. ‘It’s been thebestday.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Vince
At just gone midnight Vince lets himself into his house, clips on Jarvis’s lead and slopes out into the night. He might as well take him to the park and back, he decides. Filled with self-loathing, and that hefty tagine he can barely remember eating, he hopes it’ll make him feel better.
As Jarvis insists on stopping for what seems like around sixty tiny pees, instead of emptying his bladder in one time-effective motion, progress is extremely slow. And weirdly, Vince is shimmeringly sober, despite having knocked back a vat of wine at Deborah’s.
Finishing his book. Getting drunk. These are just two of the things he seems incapable of, as he adjusts to life without Kate. He doesn’t seem to be able to behave properly in company either. What made him tell everyone about her leaving him? It’s out there now, no doubt being transmitted throughout The Glade and beyond, to Shugbury Old Town and probably all the way to Milton Keynes at this very minute.
As Jarvis sniffs around the park in the cold light of the sole streetlamp, Vince replays the terrible evening before making his way back to his empty house. That stuff he said to Colin – about his wife leaving him. How mean of him. It was bullying, really. And after all that humping-the-horse stuff he endured at school, Vince has always despised bullies.
Next day, scared of seeing any of the neighbours, he skulks around his house feeling like someone in solitary confinement. Really, he wants to call or text Kate, but he no longer knows what to say to her. He’s getting desperate now. He needs to know what her plans are, and if he’s somehow blown things forever. He can’t even call Harry because his old friend will be busy on a Sunday doing fun family things. And Vince can’t be that suddenly needy friend, who’s started calling his old mate just because his life’s turned to shit. He willnotbe that person.
Vince is aware of an ache inside him and wonders if his heart is actually breaking. And then first thing on Monday morning his phone rings, and he levitates out of bed, as if stabbed with a cattle prod, in his hurry to answer it.
‘Hey, Vince. How’s things?’ It’s Zoe, his editor at the publishing house. Zoe to whom he was meant to submit his finished book two weeks ago.
‘Great!’ It comes out all ragged and hoarse, the result of not having spoken to another human since Saturday night. ‘How’re you?’ he manages.
‘Really good,’ she enthuses. ‘Amazing weather this weekend. Hope you’ve been enjoying it?’
