‘Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry.’
‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘It’s not as though I’ve been pining.’I have though, she thought. Broken hearts take time to heal and you go through so many stages waiting to heal, and you’re never the same again.
‘The hotel is beautiful,’ he went on. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job. Last time I was here, it was a lot…’ He tried to find the right word, obviously not wanting to annoy her again.
‘Shabbier?’
He laughed. ‘A bit. But now it’s really lovely. You must be pleased?’
She nodded. ‘It doesn’t end, though. There’s always something more to be done.’ She paused. ‘You must be pleased too? With everything in Boston? Life has worked out for you too?’
‘Oh yes. The bar is going well.’ He nodded. ‘And life… well, you know. Busy and all that.’
‘Patrick, it’s all a long time ago. Don’t worry about what happened at the airport. I’m long over it all.’ She couldn’t let him know that she was only barely over it, she didn’t want him to know how much she’d suffered, not when he seemed to have agonised over it so little.
He smiled at her. ‘I always thought about writing and saying sorry. But I just didn’t know what to say. And it’s only the last few years, I’ve understood myself more. But I was cruel and thoughtless. We could have talked it out.’
Rosie shrugged. ‘Well, we didn’t.’
‘No.’
‘Let’s just forget it now. Thank you for apologising. As you can see, I didn’t wither away or make voodoo dolls of you or put curses on your head…’
‘You might have done. It might explain that persistent cold I have every winter.’
She laughed. ‘If only I was that powerful.’
He had stretched out his legs, as though he was about to get going.
Don’t go, she thought.Stay and talk to me. But he was standing up.
‘Time for a run. Think I’ll head down the coast. Best to go early before it gets too hot.’ He smiled at her. ‘Good to see you, Rosie.’
‘And you, Patrick.’
‘Sorry about your cup.’
‘I’ll fix it.’
‘Will you? Or I can? I could buy some superglue today?’
‘Don’t worry. You’ve got a wedding to think about. And the barbecue.’
‘You sure?’ He hesitated, either because he didn’t want to leave or because he felt bad about leaving her with her broken cup, but then he turned and was gone, along the path, back towards the hotel.
Rosie was alone, her broken cup in her hand, her heart stretching away after his retreating form. She wished they were at least friends, but they’d never be friends. He’d be gone in a few days and there was little time for conversation – and even if there was, it would be polite, restrained, so much to say and so much unsaid. And there was nothing she could do about it.
She lingered a while longer, listening to the birds but thinking only of Patrick.
18
PATRICK
The mercury had been rising steadily on the outdoor thermometer which was nailed to the wall of one of the outhouses. After coming back from his run and showering, Patrick began exploring the gardens, wandering around, half-hoping to see Rosie again. He walked through a gap in a hedge, just past the hives where bees floated in the haze above, and towards a greenhouse. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers and Patrick ducked under the rose arch, pushing open a small gate and heading into the kitchen garden. A man was standing at the edge of one of the raised beds.
‘Morning,’ he called. He was wearing long, faded cargo shorts, old trainers, socks pulled up and a hoodie which had seen better days. ‘Out for a wander?’
Patrick walked towards him. ‘I hope that’s okay?’
