‘Hope, tell me what it says,’ Charles said, taking the seat beside her and reaching for her hand.
Without looking at her uncle, she passed him the letter, her hand trembling as he took it. She couldn’t read it out loud, couldn’t tell him what it said, because she couldn’t comprehend it.
Gus wasn’t coming. The realisation hit her like a weight of bricks on her chest, pressing down so hard that she could barely breathe.
Not once had she imagined that Gus wouldn’t come for her. She hadn’t known when, hadn’t known how long she might be alone, but she’d never considered the possibility that she might be alone forever. It had always been a matter of when, not if.
He promised me. He promised me that nothing would stop us from being together.
Hope pressed her fist to her mouth, the tears coming in big, violent sobs. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that, of course she knew that, but it didn’t stop the pain and anger as it washed through her body, leaving her gasping for air.
The only thing that stopped her from slipping from her chair and crumpling on the floor was her baby. Her baby, who could surely feel her pain; could surely sense the anguish racking everyinch of her as she considered a life without Gus. Who moved inside her even now as if he or she knew something was wrong.
‘Hope, I’m so sorry,’ Charles said, his face falling as she turned to him.
‘He’s gone,’ she whispered. ‘He’s gone and he’s never coming back.’
Her uncle opened his arms and she tumbled into them, crying as he held her. In the arms of a man she’d barely even known existed, but who’d shown her such kindness despite it all. She didn’t know how long they sat like that, and Charles only left her to rise and turn off the dinner he’d been cooking. But he returned to her immediately, folding the letter and slipping it back into the envelope, before taking her hand again and holding it tight.
When his eyes met hers, she saw only kindness.
‘What am I going to do without him?’ she asked, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.
‘You’re going to stay here with me, and you’re going to take your time deciding what to do,’ Charles said, passing her his handkerchief. ‘I’m not going to turn you out into the street just because your Gus isn’t coming for you. We’re family, Hope, and I would never let anything bad happen to you, not if I could help it.’
She swallowed, barely able to comprehend how kind he was being. Her own father would have turned her out; her mother would have been so ashamed she wouldn’t have been able to look at her. And Gus’s family had made their feelings abundantly clear. But her uncle was looking at her as if he expected nothing of her.
‘I don’t want to be a burden on you,’ she whispered.
‘Hope, you’re far from being a burden,’ he said, watching her as she wiped her tears. ‘I’ve been alone for longer than I can remember. You’re a blessing, not a burden.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘You’ll always be welcome here, Hope. Always.’
She took a deep breath and slowly let it go. ‘Thank you.’
‘You, my darling girl, are most welcome,’ he said, rising again and going back to whatever he’d been cooking. But before he did, he turned and looked back at her. ‘I know what it feels like to lose someone you love, Hope, and I’m not going to lie to you. The pain never goes away, but it does eventually fade to something more manageable.’
She nodded, trying to catch her breath as emotion threatened to overwhelm her.
‘I just can’t believe I’m never going to see him again,’ she whispered.
Charles’s eyes welled with tears before he turned back to his cooker, and she found herself with both hands on her stomach, trying to stay strong for the child growing inside her.
Other than Charles, and the little bottle of absinthe that she’d smuggled to London with her, her baby was all she had left.
32
PRESENT DAY
Mia sat in bed, the covers pooled around her waist and her laptop balanced on her legs. Joe had gone out for an early run, and she’d stayed back to edit the photographs she’d taken over the past few days. Sunshine streamed into the room and she’d thrown the window wide open to breathe in the fresh village air.
Her inbox pinged just as she heard a noise at the door, and she clicked to look, hoping it might be one of the seven women she’d emailed the night before. But as Joe walked through the door with her order of a latte and pastry, her jaw dropped.
It was an email from a Beatrice Du Pont, the woman from the other day.
‘What’s wrong?’ Joe asked, dropping down to sit on the bed beside her and passing her a coffee. ‘You usually act like it’s Christmas morning when you smell coffee.’
