Turmoil flushed through her body. She had an uneasy feeling that they’d been arguing about her.
‘Wallace.’ The name left Verity’s mouth. ‘Joe isn’t “W”, is he?’ The look between Betty and Pete said it all. Neither needed to answer her question.
Verity glanced towards the letters in her hand. She swallowed. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? You sent the postcard from Puffin Island?’
Caught up in some romantic idea, she’d convinced herself the postcard was from Joe, but was that because it gave her a connection to Sam, gave them something in common? Had she been so determined to believe it simply because she was hoping for that connection to flourish?
Pete hesitated then nodded slowly. ‘And you’re Henrietta’s granddaughter.’ His voice broke.
Verity nodded. ‘I am.’
Betty touched Pete’s arm. ‘I’ll leave you both alone.’
‘Stay.’ Pete had lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘It’s time you knew the truth – or my version of events, at least, and I think it’s time you tell me yours.’
Betty hesitated but then nodded.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Verity.
Pete gestured to her to take a seat. She had no idea what she was about to discover, but judging by the looks on their faces, whatever Pete and Betty were about to say wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.
ChapterEighteen
Once inside the cottage, Verity could see that the interior reflected the exterior. Minimal furniture, no warmth, threadbare curtains and worn carpets. Pete disappeared through the door. The clatter of china could be heard, followed by the whistle of a kettle. Verity’s eyes were drawn to an old dresser in the corner of the room that was full of books and framed photographs. The majority were photos of the band but Verity’s eyes were firmly fixed on one photograph, showing a very young woman whom she immediately recognised. Betty was watching her closely.
Verity rose and picked up the photograph. ‘My granny looks so young.’
‘And beautiful,’ added Betty.
She felt the reassuring touch of Betty’s hand on her arm. She sat back down as Pete reappeared and placed a tray on the table with three china cups and a pot of tea.
Verity had no idea what she was about to hear but her heart was beating so fast that she pressed a hand to her chest to calm it. Pete dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief and sat down in the armchair. He moved the cushion and let out a shuddering breath. Verity could see he was shaking and distraught.
‘How is Hetty?’
A bolt of fear shot through Verity as his question registered with her and she realised Pete didn’t know her granny had passed.
‘My grandmother passed away twelve years ago.’ Verity’s voice was soft, knowing the news would likely be devastating.
Pete gave a sharp intake of breath and wiped his eyes again with his handkerchief. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
The room fell silent and in that moment Verity could see Pete’s heart had snapped in two, possibly for the second time in his lifetime.
‘I can see you’re hurting, but believe me, my granny never forgot you. I grew up hearing stories about Puffin Island and its wonderful people. She loved this place.’
‘I know, and then things all got messed up and when she didn’t get in touch after the postcard?—’
‘My granny never received the postcard,’ Verity interrupted.
‘She didn’t receive it? But then how did you get hold of it?’
‘It had been trapped in an old postbox at the side of her house that had been sealed up for years. I removed the postbox as I was prepping the house before I left, and had a look to see if anything was inside. That’s when I found your postcard.’
Pete’s face crumpled. ‘Day after day I waited for her to walk back up that cliff path. I put my whole life on hold…’ He paused for a moment as he tried to gather himself. ‘I thought the postcard would prompt her to get in touch as I told her I couldn’t imagine my life without her. And that was the truth, I couldn’t. What we had was real, and now I know she never knew how I really felt, and it’s too late to tell her.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ soothed Verity.
‘Her silence left me wondering what had I done wrong. The rejection was too much to bear and left me questioning whether she had ever truly cared.’
