“Why don’t you join us down at Mum and Dad’s for a few days?” Emma said. “You know they’d love to have you. Maybe Sebastian could look after the hens?”
“I’ll think about it, thank you.” But Helen wanted to spend every minute with Sebastian before he returned to Canada. They’d talked about day trips to Stonehenge and Glastonbury, even the Exmoor coast. Sebastian had been kept so unexpectedly busy on the campaign filling in for Michael Adams, that he hadn’t yet seen half of the sights he’d once planned to visit.
After waving Tom, Emma and the kids off, Helen sat back at her laptop and lost herself in her work. When the postman arrived with another parcel from Alexa, Helen was surprised to see that it was already two o’clock. Ottawa was five hours behind, so she texted Sebastian knowing that the memorial would soon start.
I hope it goes OK today. Thinking of you. X
Was that too much of a coupley thing to say for his liking? Should she have gone for banter and sarcasm?
She’d soon know when he returned. When he would hopefully have sorted through his feelings for her. Placing her phone next to her laptop, Helen picked up Alexa’s parcel.
Which wasn’t from Alexa after all.
Turning the brown padded envelope over in her hands, Helen frowned at the uneven handwriting on the address label.
Definitely not Alexa.
She pulled out the contents, a mobile phone, an inch-thick wad of twenty pound notes, and a postcard of Bristol city center.
All fine here, keeping busy. The weather is getting hotter, but thankfully rain is coming. And I mean, LOTS of rain. Are you interested in joining us? We’ll make it worth your while—big time. Call me. We miss you.
She lowered the postcard, her breath catching in her throat.
Jaxon!
Helen reread his note.
Rain.
Was this the big payoff he’d always been hanging out for?
Lots of rain …
How muchexactly?
And would it be enough to save her cottage?
Accompanied by the closing strains of “Amazing Grace,” Seb escorted his mother out of the small church, one hundred percent the dutiful son as he nodded solemnly to the guests—most of whom were complete strangers to him.
Uncle David flanked Celeste on the other side, keeping a respectful distance. Unlike Helen and Tom, David and Celeste weren’t close siblings so Seb didn’t know what to make of the concerned looks his uncle kept casting over at his mother.
They all made their way to the small lake at the back of the church. A few more words from the minister and Terrence Clarke’s ashes were cast out onto the water.
When Celeste pressed a tissue to the corner of her eye, Seb looked skyward. She was playing her part perfectly. But then, so was he.
For the next hour, Seb talked to the remaining guests about the long list of Terrence Clarke’s accolades—from his graduating from Toronto University to his role as chief operating officer of the RF Energy Corp—while skillfully avoiding the topics of Sucroz or Vegas or anything else that had caused Celeste and her political party embarrassment.
When guests began to leave, Seb took a time out in the parking lot and checked his phone.
It was 4 p.m. in England and Helen had texted to say she was thinking of him.
He was thinking of her too. Always. Their last night together running constantly through his mind. He’d revealed so much. It had felt right at the time, comforting even, but now—after seeing his mom, hearing about his dad—Seb’s heart-to-heart with Helen had somehow placed him on a shaky platform, up high in the wind with no safety barriers to hang on to.
Seb texted Helen back, telling her the memorial went well and that he’d call later. He pocketed his phone and footsteps sounded behind him.
It was Uncle David.
“Mind if I have a word with you?”
