The writing on the letter was Gulliver’s and, with trepidation, she opened it. Inside was a card with a picture of a cartoon frog doing a facepalm with its front leg. Inside he had written:
Please forgive me. I’m an insensitive fool. I’m sitting on your doorstep with a bottle of wine and would like to explain myself. I understand if you’d rather not though.
Love, Gulliver.
PS. I’m prepared to sleep here if you don’t let me in.
Despite herself, Tabitha giggled. She squatted down and opened the letterbox. Gulliver was sitting with his back to the door in the same position she had found him all those weeks ago with his hands covered in blood.
‘Red or white?’ she asked and he jumped.
He turned around so their eyes were level.
‘Red, but I can fetch white if you’d prefer.’
‘Red is the correct answer,’ she said and stood up. She slid back the lock and opened the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said and he looked so forlorn, Tabitha resisted the urge to hug him.
‘Come in,’ she said, stepping aside to let him pass. ‘I was making tea, but it’s past four o’clock and it’s a Saturday, so wine is acceptable. I’ll fetch the glasses and corkscrew.’
Gulliver was about to speak, but she turned away. Only in the living room, with a table firmly between them, would she allow herself to listen. She needed a barrier. He was a tactile man and her defences were low; one glass of wine might be all it took for her to yield to the fierce pull she fought to suppress whenever he was near.
She placed the glasses and corkscrew on the coffee table and sat on one of the armchairs, leaving Gulliver on the sofa.
With a grin, he twisted off the screw top. ‘I’m not classy enough for a cork,’ he said as he poured the wine, pushing the glass towards her.
She raised it to him, then sipped. It was heady, delicious, thick with spices and rich fruit: it was an expensive bottle, despite its screw top.
‘Please forgive me,’ he said. ‘I should never have kissed you, but you looked so wretched, I wanted to take away your pain.’
Tabitha felt herself melt a little, then she shook her head, reminding herself Gulliver remained married, even though his behaviour suggested otherwise and he was planning a divorce.
‘No more apologies,’ she said. ‘There’s never a good way to explain how Blake died. It’s why I leave people to draw their own conclusions, but I wanted you to know. Even if I was rather emotional…’ Her voice faded away.
‘Don’t apologise, please,’ he exclaimed. ‘You had every right to shout at me, I behaved appallingly.’
‘You didn’t know,’ she said, ‘and how could you possibly have guessed? And you didn’t behave appallingly, I…’ she hesitated. ‘I enjoyed our kiss.’
Gulliver had been savouring a mouthful of wine, but at her words, he choked, spluttering.
‘So did I,’ he said.
For a moment, they gazed at each other, then Tabitha broke their eye contact.
‘Shall we move on?’ she suggested, her voice gentle.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ he said. ‘For now.’
And Tabitha felt a burning, anticipatory glow, which she hastily quashed.
‘How’s Edith?’ she asked, sipping her wine.
‘Better, but the doctor wants to do more tests,’ he replied. ‘Her symptoms are unusual and he’s concerned there might be an underlying problem we haven’t yet discovered.’
Her conversation with Tamar whispered around her head and she wondered whether to share her sister’s suspicions, but Gulliver was speaking again.
‘Auntie’s agreed to the tests, but she said at her age, if they do discover another illness, she wouldn’t want extensive or intrusive treatment. Auntie Edie also said there were to be no tears, she’s in her nineties and has lived an extraordinary life.’
