There’s haunting silence in the room.
‘Go and be with her. It’s where you should be.’ I scrub my tears away. If he says anything else I’ll give in, so I turn and walk into my bedroom, shutting the door smartly behind me. I climbunder the duvet and pull it up to my nose, burying my head into the pillow. Every nerve is at breaking point. If he comes into the room, I’ll give in because I’d do anything to feel his arms around me right now. I hear his chair move as he stands and hold my breath. And then his footsteps walk across the kitchen and my front door opens and closes.
I feel like I’m suffocating in silence and pull the duvet over my face and sob into it until my chest is pleading for air and I have no tears left to cry.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Ice sceem,’ squeaks Olly from his car seat when I open the door of Reeni’s car. He’s waving both hands at me and kicking his legs excitedly.
‘Hi,’ says Reeni, reaching for the clothLittle Red Riding Hoodbook on the passenger seat so I can sit down. It crinkles as she picks it up.
‘Do you think I look OK?’ I swivel towards her so she can see me. I’m wearing a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans. I’m a bundle of nerves and I can’t pinpoint exactly why.
It’s been four weeks since I nearly drowned in the sea. In some ways it’s flown and in others it feels like that nightmare was an eternity ago. I got the job I went for at the bookie’s in the village. Five days a week, including Saturday with Wednesday and Sunday off. I hated it at first, but needs must, and I’ve settled in now. Getting to know the regulars helped and it mademe realise how much I’d missed the regular banter from my customers when The Beach House was thriving.
My wages aren’t going to set the world alight, but it’s regular money and it’s keeping the wolf from the door. And I’m organising another photography evening and hoping to make them a regular thing, which will make things easier, financially. My parents haven’t reached out at all and neither, thank goodness, has Greg.
I’ve bumped into Milo a couple of times. The first time was a quick wave when he was driving past me in the VW, Dillon in the passenger seat, and the second when I was walking home from work. We chatted briefly, but it felt awkward so I made my excuses and said goodbye as quickly as I could without seeming rude. I’ve not seen Jackson at all since that morning and neither one of us has texted or rung. For the first few weeks I used to keep an eye on everyone who walked past the open door of the bookie’s, but I never saw him. And gradually that habit has faded.
I’ve played his words on repeat through my head about losing the baby not being my fault. I finally opened up to Reeni. She was shocked that for all these years I’d blamed myself. We even asked Aaron for his medical view, which he couldn’t give for certain seeing as he didn’t know the facts, just our hazy recollections of those days. His conclusion was that it was highly probable it wasn’t my drinking the day before the scan that had caused the miscarriage. Even though everyone is of the opinion I am innocent, I still can’t fully let go of my guilt, but I’m trying.
‘You look great. Are you OK with going?’ asks Reeni.
I settle back in the seat and click my seat-belt closed. ‘Milo promised Jackson wouldn’t be there. I’ll be fine.’
Out of the blue on Monday, Milo had dropped into the bookie’s.
‘I didn’t know you were a gambler,’ I’d teased when I saw himuncomfortably looking up at the array of TV screens lined up across the walls.
‘I’m not,’ he’d confessed. ‘I’ve come to see you. Have you spoken to him yet?’
I shook my head and Milo muttered something under his breath which I couldn’t quite catch.
‘It’s fine. It’s water under the bridge,’ I’d tried to reassure him even though I wasn’t sure it was true.
‘That’s not why I’m here. Mum’s moved into the Lilypad. She’s all settled. She was wondering if you’d go and visit her.’
I’d looked at him, puzzled, and for a flash thought he might be setting me up to bump into his brother.
‘I’ll make sure I keep Jackson away if you don’t want to see him. Mum would really love to see you though.’
So that’s what I’m doing on my day off. Going to the Lilypad to see Sophie. I’ve a little bar of lavender soap from the local artisan shop run by Lottie, all wrapped up in bright floral wrapping paper, to give her as an icebreaker.
‘We’re off to Bert’s Bakery to get ice cream, aren’t we, Olly?’ says Reeni, as she pulls into the hospice car park.
‘Pink ice sceem,’ shouts Olly from his car seat.
‘We can wait until you’re finished and all go together if you want?’
‘I’ll be good. I’ll go for a walk along the beach to go home. Thanks though.’
As I’m reaching for the door handle, Reeni stops me by touching my arm. ‘It’ll be OK. But if it’s not and you need me, I’m only a phone call away.’
I smile at her gratefully.
I clutch my little present to my tummy as I walk in through the sliding glass front doors of the Lilypad. There’s a reception desk where I sign in and they direct me in the direction I need to go. I’ve never been in a hospice before. It has wide vinylfloored hallways with handrails and there’s a harsh disinfectant smell lingering in the air. They’ve made the effort to make it homely with flowers at reception and breaks in the long corridor which have seating and huge windows which look out on green spaces, and there’s art on the walls. But you can’t escape the institutional, medical overtones. Maybe that’s why Aaron was so keen on revamping their outside space. Being out in the open and able to see and hear the sea would be a welcome interlude.
‘Can I help you?’ asks a lady in a pale purple-and-white uniform coming towards me in the opposite direction.
