“He did?” Red’s eyes were wide. “What does he think is going on? He must be so confused. But he’s so young, Charlie—he’s nineteen. He still lives with his mum! I can’t tell him he’s going to be a father.” The last word was said in a whisper.
“He only lives with his mum because rentals are really limited on this island,” I said, pointing a finger at her. “And you’re young, too!”
“I’m twenty-three.”
Said with gravity, as though announcing that she was in fact middle-aged.
“He’s a kind, sensible guy, Red, and he loves you. I think you should tell him soon, especially if you’re sure you want to have the baby.”
“I am sure,” she said solemnly, and she pressed one hand to her stomach, which made mine turn over.
“Good.” Took a little moment to collect myself, then plowed on. “And you love him, don’t you? Don’t you want him to be part of all of this?”
“Right now, it’s…mine,” she said, so quietly I almost couldn’t hear her. “Like a little precious secret. Once I tell him, it’ll be a problem, won’t it?” Her eyes filled with tears. “We’ll have to work out what to do, how to manage, I mean, we have no money, neither of us have a place to live that’s ours…”
“Could you live with Toby’s mum?” I suggested.
“I don’t know! I don’t know, and I just…don’t want to think about it all right now.” She looked down at her hand, pressed to her belly. “For now, I just want it to be my precious secret. Does that make any sense?”
I sighed. Because yes. It made total sense to me.
Left her with a (fresh and clean) plate of biscuits from the pantry downstairs, a large bottle of water and firm instructions to stay hydrated. On my way down the corridor, couldn’t help stopping outside Puffin room. The door was clicked shut now—Jones said it was ajar when he came by. But I’m not as scrupulous a person as him, let’s be honest, so I peeked inside. Then stepped inside, and closed the door behind me, because if you’re going to snoop, you might as well actually do it properly.
Why was that room empty? Whose had it been, or who was it waiting for? And did that person have something to do with the mix-up that brought me and Jones here together?
I moseyed around, doing the sort of random low-key “searching” that someone might do for approximately five seconds on the telly before zoning in on the spot in the room where all the secrets were hidden (Look, a book sticking out on a bookcase!). Didn’t work,unfortunately. Everything was very nondescript. The room was decorated pretty neutrally compared to the B&B as a whole, as though it was waiting for someone to bring their character to it.
Headed for the little stack of books on the shelf by the bed. They were all about Ormer—hardly surprising for a guest room on the island. Tugged outThe History of Ormerand flicked through it, and finally got my TV-detective “bingo” moment.
There were a few sheets of paper folded in the center of the book. I opened them up. The pages were typed, with photographs dotting each one.
It was a list of people, each with a picture beside them. And every single person on the list was called Charlie Jones.
Got home to find Jones fast asleep on the sofa, in front of the crackling log burner. Was slightly shocked by how impossible it was to hold back a smile at the sight of him, especially given pounding anxiety after B&B discovery. With his hair messy and his checked shirt unbuttoned enough to show the hair on his chest, the firelight caught the sweetest side to him.
“You’re home late,” he said, cracking an eye open.
“And you’re not even using the bed. If you were willing to take the sofa, why did we have that argument about sleeping arrangements when we first arrived here?”
“You stole half my new life. I was irritable.” He yawned, stretching. “Where were you?”
Dropped my bag on the floor by the sofa (have decided that, since Jones leaves everything on the floor and cannot be trained out of this, I will just start doing the same. If you can’t beat ’em, etc.).
“Youstole half ofmynew life, thank you,” I said, but I was thinking of the list, the other Charlies. Seemed like the two of us ending up with half a new life wasn’t a coincidence at all. “Budge up,” I said.
Jones shuffled along the sofa, swinging his legs around so there was room for me. He smiled as I sat down beside him, then frowned.
“You’re feeling anxious?” he said. It was only half a question—he already knew the answer. He laid one steadying hand on my arm. “What can I do?”
God, I could have wept at the loveliness of that question. It was impossible to resist the urge to lean onto his shoulder, so I let myself rest my head there and closed my eyes.
“I went to the room,” I said.
“At the farmhouse?”
“Mm. And look.” I shifted to pull out my phone. I’d taken a photo of each page of the list before putting it back where I’d found it.
Charlie Jones from Wisconsin, Charlie Jones from Paris, Charlie Jones from Llandrindod Wells…all with their little profile pictures beside them. Some had more information beneath their name:
