There was an icon next to her name, a lifeless little grey silhouette of a woman’s head on a paler background. It seemed too bland, so he pulled up the library of pictures that were preloaded onto the phone and chose one: an arching stalk of lily of the valley. For some reason, it seemed the most fitting.
She’d sounded young, more than a little fragile. Lost.
Brody knew what it was like to feel lost. He knew it very well.Maybe that was why he’d kept listening instead of hanging up.
He stuffed his phone in his jeans pocket, then went and fetched Lewis, let him out of the back door of the cottage one last time before they both settled down for the night – Lewis in his bed in the kitchen near the oil-fired Aga, and Brody upstairs in one of the low-ceilinged, black-beamed bedrooms. He lay in his bed and stared at the misty, moon-soaked clouds through the open curtains, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Anna.
She was still in the awful, early stages, when everything was raw and all-consuming, when you got stuck in an endless, grinding loop of hurt and sorrow. And regret.Don’t forget about the regret, he reminded himself. It might seem the most benign item on the list, but Brody knew it was the heavyweight. Regret would knock you to the floor with a single punch if you let it.
Did I lie to her?he wondered as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. Would it have made a difference if he’d had someone to talk to, some faceless person who hadn’t known him, who hadn’t been tainted by the knowledge of what had happened? Logically, it seemed possible, but he doubted it. He doubted it very much.
There was a faint scratching at the door, then it was nosed open by a naughty but rather hopeful terrier. Emboldened by the lack of a reprimand, the animal trotted over to the edge of the bed. A second later, the mattress dipped, and Brody felt the damp touch of a nose on his hand. Lewis collapsed on top of the duvet beside him and let out a long doggy sigh of contentment.
Brody usually kept his phone in his study, but it lay on the dark wood of the old and rickety bedside table. He drifted off to sleep, half-wondering if it would make another sound that night, but when he woke again the next morning, only four calls remained in the log. He shooed Lewis off the bed and dragged himself up.
He caught sight of his distorted reflection in the wardrobe mirror that was cloudy and dappled with age. When had he last had a shave? Last week? The one before? Whenever it was, he looked a state. Maybe he’d do it when he came back from his run. Although he didn’t know why he was thinking of bothering with shaving. There was no one here to impress. Only Lewis, and being a shaggy kind of dog, he’d probably prefer Brody the way he was.
He looked more like his father now he was getting older. There were a few specks of grey at his temple, which was expected, he supposed, given that on his last birthday he’d become officially middle-aged. Forty hadn’t been a shock, though. He’d felt older than that for years now. Much older.
The lanes that criss-crossed this part of the moor were still sleepy with mist when he set out. The nearest village was five miles away, and the nearest town more like thirty, which was exactly why he’d chosen this spot for his home. Most likely, the only living things he’d see on his route were some cows and a few rooks.
He checked his watch as he began to run. The grocery delivery was due at eight, so he’d make sure he was back at least ten minutes before that. He turned and vaulted over a farm gate, which was no problem, thanks to his long legs, and powered up the edge of a muddy field towards the top of a steep hill.
When he returned to the cottage, dripping with sweat, the pleasant sting of lactic acid in his muscles, Lewis came bounding into the yard to greet him. However, something else was also in his yard – a van withHexworthy Organicsemblazoned on its side in large green letters, its engine idling.
Crap. It was early.
Lewis, the traitor, went running off, tail wagging, to greet the driver, but Brody cut around the back of the outbuildings that were part of his property. Talking to the man wasn’t necessary: he always left a note with his order for the driver to leave everything in the small and very ancient conservatory that served as a mudroom. He wouldn’t quibble about substitutions. He’d take whatever they brought.
He entered his garden and slipped back into the house through the French doors that led from the patio into his living room and then entered the study next door. This guy must be new, because he was pounding on the front door, yelling: ‘Hello?’ Lewis was barking along, just for the sheer joy of joining in. Stupid dog.
Read your clipboard, mate, Brody thought.All the relevant information is on there, and then you can sling your hook and leave me alone.
What Brody could really do with was a shower, but the stairs could be seen through the glazed portion of the front door, so he sat down in his desk chair and waited, staring at a patch of chipped paint on the windowsill until the knocking stopped and he heard the rumble of an engine pulling out of the yard and disappearing down the lane.
Chapter Fourteen
EXACTLY A WEEK later, Brody’s phone rang again. He was sitting in his small study, a fire tickling the logs in the grate. The room was crammed with shelves of books of all shapes and sizes. In the corner was a rather ancient high-backed armchair, left behind by the previous owners – as was much of the furniture in the house. At the time, it had seemed the easiest option. In front of the window was an old wooden desk, the kind with a green leather top. There wasn’t much on it but a fine layer of dust and his mobile phone.
Its usually blank and lifeless screen lit up just after ten that evening, vibrating softly on the leather surface of the desk. Lewis raised his head from his paws as Brody stood up to fetch it and replaced it when his master was once again seated in the armchair next to the fire.
‘Brody?’ she said, sounding for all the world as if she expected to be talking to herself, or an empty room.
‘I’m here.’
He heard Anna’s sigh of relief. ‘I hoped you would be.’
He smiled, surprised at how pleased he was to hear her voice again.
She inhaled, held her breath for a second, then said, ‘I have a question I’d like to ask you.I’ve tried asking other people, but I suspect they’re telling me what they think I want to hear, rather than giving me an honest answer.’
He settled into his chair, staring at the windows of his study, the night so dark it seemed as if someone had painted them black from the outside. ‘Fire away.’
‘Do you believe in soul mates? You know, one person for life… forever?’
He pondered her question for a moment. ‘Not really.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I needed to hear you say that before I could be really sure about what I thought. Everyone has given me tips on how to wrap my head around grief, told me how I should be feeling, but it’s made it difficult to pin down what I really think about things. Important things.’
