It was David. David bloody de Winter, standing here. Invadingmylife: the little life that I’d carved out for myself amid the treachery and the fear. Leaning louchely against a sapling as though it were I who was the invader in this domestic stand-off.
My brain shut down. I had fought so hard –so hard– for my freedom and for independence for Tilly and me. I’d thought I could do it, that I could escape the de Winter clutches but I should have known better. David had got to my mother and now his tentacles were reaching out to grab me again. How could I ever have thought I could fight it?
‘All right,’ I said, turning to Ross. ‘In the house.’
Even Tilly had gone quiet. She had put her thumb in her mouth and her hand had found Brass where he’d been thrust inside her coat for safety. She’d felt my new acquiescence, and it had spread to her too.
We trooped into the cottage, through the half-stuck front door, down the hallway of missing tiles and into Isobel’s room at the back, where the streak marked by water getting in was more noticeable than ever. I was reassuring myself that Ross and Isobel were here, that even David wouldn’t try anything dramatic with other people here, however much my mother might be under his influence. He couldn’t dispose ofallof us, could he? He might have been able to makemedisappear to gain full custody of his daughter, but he couldn’t vanish two other people, one of whom was about to make a TV show.
No. This wasn’t about a quick snatch of Tilly and away. My heart steadied a little from its erratic samba. This was about something else. A showdown, a final demand. If he took Tilly now I had witnesses and Ross – Ross would help me, wouldn’t he? I looked over at Ross, who was chewing his thumbnail and looking out of his depth, staring at the floor to avoid catching David’s eye. No. I’d rejected his help so far and I didn’t need it now. I would do what I’d done before and get Tilly and me out of this myself.
Isobel was standing near the window, the injured bird cradled in her arms. ‘Is it all right?’ I asked, completely ignoring everything else that was going on. ‘I hit it with my car and we couldn’t just leave him.’ I wasn’t afraid of the bird, I noted with a dispassionate part of my mind. It couldn’t fly up at me, therefore it wasn’t scary any more – that was interesting. I must only be afraid of the unpredictability of birds, of their flapping and the likelihood of their getting in my face.
My brain clearly wanted to dwell on anything apart from what was happening here.
Isobel looked up at me, then back to the shiny feathers and panting beak. One gentle hand rearranged the trailing wing, tucking it back into place. Then she glanced at me again, put the bird very carefully onto the sofa, where it sat complacently as though this had been its objective all along, and wrote on her notepad.
Things will heal. Any damage can be repaired with a little attention. There is no cause to be afraid.
Then she looked over my shoulder at David and my mother standing together near the wall, and back to my face again, then nodded. It seemed as though the words were meant to apply to my situation as well as the bird.
‘Good,’ I said weakly, but very definitely only meaning the bird.
‘Tilly,’ David said at last, and Tilly stirred, turning to look at him. ‘She’s so big now.’ This was uttered almost wonderingly.
‘Well, they don’t tend to shrink much.’ I was pleased with my withering tone. If I could muster sarcasm then I could fight back. I could do this. ‘Odd, that.’
‘But she’s…’ His eyes were fixed on his daughter. ‘Sogrown up. Not a baby any more.’
‘She’s two, David.’ Still sarky. ‘I wouldn’t buy her driving lessons just yet.’
‘No… no, it’s just… Tilly. Matilda.’ He was almost disbelieving now.
Tilly looked at him and then at me. ‘Man, Mummy,’ she said.
‘I’m your daddy,’ David breathed.
‘Man.’
Tilly had never really had cause to say the wordDaddywith intent and it was clearly not coming naturally to her. I was slightly smug about that.
‘We do have to talk, though,’ my mother said, perching herself on the edge of one of the companion chairs that sat complacently at the side of the room. ‘It really is important, Libby.’
‘I’m not going back,’ I said quickly, and David gave a small laugh.
‘That is not really an option now, is it, Libby? All bridges are burned and you well and truly scorched the earth behind you.’
I didn’t understand any of that and I wasn’t sure that I liked the slightly bitter tone of his acknowledgement.
‘How about…’ Ross broke in now, rubbing his hand over his head, leaving his hair leaning all over at crazy angles, ‘we start somewhere and work our way through? I mean, if you didn’t come to fetch Libby, why are you here?’
‘I want to see my daughter.’ David’s voice was tight. ‘And, by the way, who the hell are you?’
‘I’m Ross Ventriss,’ Ross said, which didn’t really answer the question.
‘The architect?’ David gave him his full attention now and Ross stopped, looking astonished. I felt my heart drop in a sickening bungee jump of realisation. David was an expert. He knew how to get people on his side and now he’d got Ross.
‘You’ve heard of me?’
