He inhales. Sweet. Melted sugar. Candy floss? ‘It made me uncomfortable. She sounded so frustrated. Guess that’s normal when you’re a single parent, but…’
‘All parents get cross with their kids, but if it’s enough for you to mention, perhaps we should be worried. You’re hardly the sentimental type.’
‘Agreed.’ He flicks a quick glance at her. The spring sunshine highlights her smooth neck and sets her red hair on fire. Jesus, he sounds like a bad poet. Hmm, not sentimental? ‘You talked to Vanessa much?’
‘Only a little on moving-in day, but I’ll drop by with cake and see if I can help. She probably just needs friends, and a break.’
‘Thanks.’ He’s relieved to get rid of the problem, not good at this sort of stuff. What did his ex-wife call him? Emotionally stunted. Following the satnav and indicating to take the next junction. ‘You know, you’re a good person.’
Kirsten falls against the seat, clutching her chest. ‘Oh my god, I’m having a heart attack. Two compliments in one morning. Are you feeling feverish?’ Reaching over, she places a cool hand on his forehead. He flinches, the van swerving. ‘Oops, sorry.’ She laughs, sitting back. ‘Shouldn’t have distracted you.’
He says nothing, jaw clenching, both at her unexpected touch – firing up every nerve-ending in his body – and the subject matter. The silence draws out as he takes the slip road off the motorway, hands clenched on the steering wheel.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks.
‘Nothing.’ Braking as they drive up the hill to the roundabout, they roll to a stop at the traffic lights.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Maybe pretending to have a heart attack’s in poor taste.’ He stares at the red light, voice bitter. ‘They write songs about it and it’s a common term, but when it happens to you? Not funny. Though, technically mine was heart failure not a heart attack. Caused by genetic cardiomyopathy.’
‘I’m sorry, I totally forgot. You’re just so fit—’ Her face flushes bright pink. ‘I mean, you look so healthy it’s hard to believe you were ill. The press said you had piggyback heart surgery, but we were saying the other day that?—’
‘What?’he grits out. ‘Who’s we?’
‘Argh, I’m making this worse.’ She winces as the light turns green, and he stomps on the accelerator. ‘I’m not trying to upset you.’
‘The others know who I am?’
‘I didn’t tell them! You’re just recognisable, even with a beard and longer hair, and youareusing your actual name…’
The anger leeches away as they come off the roundabout. ‘You’re right. Sorry.Shit.’ Does he need to leave the manor? Regret swirls in his stomach. He’s settled in and feels more at peace than he ever did in London. Plus, he can’t afford to move so soon, both for financial and health reasons. There are also people he’s… starting to care for? He’s lost all the pieces of his previous existence, but maybe he’s found something far more precious.
‘Don’t worry, no one will say anything, your secret’s safe,’ Kirsten murmurs. ‘It’s interesting though. You have an extra heart.’ She peers over at him, expression curious.
He nods, shifting gears as the satnav announces they’re nearly at their destination. ‘Yep.’
‘Do you know who it belonged to?’
‘No,’ he admits, as they trundle along a narrowing road, ‘ashamed to say I never used to care.’
‘But now?’
He mulls it over. ‘Since moving here, I’ve started to wonder. Also, this is going to sound… Never mind.’
‘No, what?’
He rubs his chest, on the precipice of taking a leap and telling her his crazy suspicions. But he’s not ready yet, and is saved by the sign forUpston House. ‘We’re here.’ Turning left, they follow the lane to an imposing white stately home.Stopping outside the main doors, he jumps from the van and unloads the boxes, avoiding Kirsten’s eye. He’s shared more of himself than he planned to.
You can trust her,the voice whispers, as one of his hearts skip a beat.
I know,he replies grimly,but maybe she shouldn’t trust me. All I do is hurt people.
She doesn’t seem to have a response to that.
Handing over the cakes, they’re thanked profusely by a glamorous silver-haired OAP withCloveron a badge pinned to her purple silk dress. The woman has keen eyes and catches him staring at Kirsten as she’s fussing over the boxes. Feeling seen, and leaving them talking, a gossip magazine on a side table grabs his attention. Little wonder, since it’s his face plastered acrossthe front cover. Snatching it up, he bolts from the building and clambers into the van.
‘Phew, you ran out of there like there was a fire,’ Kirsten exclaims as she joins him and slams the door, sealing them in together. ‘What happened?’
