If it was Simon I’d just caught out in a lie, he’d laugh, bluff and bluster a little.
Erin, sweetheart, why would you think that?
It wasn’tquitelike that. Let me explain …
But Gil does none of this. He meets my gaze. ‘Yes. It was me.’
I back away from him, reach for the railing for support. A few short months ago, it felt as if everything I knew about myself, about my world, was shaken up like a snow globe, and the pieces haven’t even all come back down to land yet. Now it feels as if it’s happened all over again.
‘It wasyou?’ I whisper hoarsely. I heard the words coming out of his mouth, but it doesn’t seem possible for it to be the truth.
Gil’s expression is closed, serious. He nods, just once.
‘Why? Why would you do that?’ Suddenly, I need to move. I turn and run down the stairs, aware that I’m moving faster than is safe, but I don’t care. I have to get away.
‘Erin!’ I hear his feet banging on the metal stairs behind me, but I don’t stop. I yank the door to the living room open and run inside. Gil is only half a second behind me.
I spin around to face him. ‘Give me your car keys. Now!’
‘Will you just let me expl—’
‘No! Just give me the car keys!’
‘No!’
We’re staring at each other, fire in our eyes, and it feels as if we’ve rewound seven months, as if we’re back in the hotel garden.
‘I can’t let you drive my car. You know I can’t.’
I put my hands on my hips and glare at him, breath coming fast. I hate that I have absolutely no comeback because he is 100 per cent right. ‘I’m leaving.’
This news doesn’t shock Gil, but he doesn’t look happy. Good. I don’t care.
‘I’m calling an Uber.’
He shakes his head.
‘You can’t stop me!’
‘No, I can’t. But I think you’ll find they don’t cover the wilds of Devon.’
All the swear words I want to yell at him jumble together in the front of my brain, making it impossible to pick one, so I just end up letting out a frustrated grunt and stride off towards my bedroom. I lock the door before he can follow me inside, secure the French windows, and then I pull my suitcase out of the wardrobe and begin throwing things inside.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Five years ago
He goes out for a run, and afterwards he doesn’t go back to the house. How can he? How can he stand seeing them, especially after what might have been their first night together? And what the feck is Simon playing at? This was not the plan. This was not the plan at all.
But then he can hardly blame anyone but himself. It was his own stupid fault for not being honest from the get-go. As they say … the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and he’s created his own private purgatory. He has no idea how long it will last, how long they will stay an item, especially when Erin returns to yachting. When it comes to romantic entanglements, Simon prefers variety rather than longevity.
After his run he sits in a café for a couple of hours, and then he goes to the library, even though he hasn’t got a pen or a notebook. He spends longer than he could have thought possible browsing the section on computers and technology, especially as many of the books are hopelessly out of date.
When he can put it off no longer, he returns home, sliding his key gently into the lock and opening it slowly,hoping no one will hear him. He hides in his bedroom but eventually he has to use the bathroom, which is on the ground floor beyond the kitchen. As he passes through, he finds Simon whistling, one hand on the open fridge door as he stares inside.
When Si hears him, he turns and grins at him. ‘Morning.’
He and Simon have had their share of disagreements, but they’ve never actually fought about anything, not properly. However, at this very moment, Gil wants to punch his friend so hard he’ll be feeling it until Christmas. ‘So I take last night didn’t exactly go as planned,’ he says, and he’s surprised how even his tone is, how normal.
