She had spent the last few months wondering what her role might be, indeed who she was, but this, this isolation, now madeher question whether she was even in the right place. It felt as if she were in freefall, as wary of the landing as she was fearful of the fall itself. But one thing was for sure. She was not going to be made to feel like a scapegoat, was not going to allow herself to be coated with the judgement of others, especially in her own bloody home!
Pickle sauntered in from the hallway, stretched and arched her back, front legs out, shoulders practically grazing the floor and her back legs almost on tiptoe, posing her back in an elegant slope that looked to be blissful. The cat closed her eyes as if to confirm this.
Right now, however, Enya’s foremost concern was for Holly. It had been a careless slip-up, her words blurted softly without malicious intention, yet she knew they had landed sharply, injuriously. That was the trouble with lies and lying by omission: it was hard to keep tabs on who knew what and who was to be kept in the dark, and what it was okay to say and what it was not. It required greater brain function than she had to spare right now. The idea that she had caused the girl more than a second of heartache was more punishment than she could stand. Another example of the bloody chaos that Aiden had set in motion. The question now was what to do about it; she was unsure whether making contact and raising the topic with Holly might make things better or worse. But it was far from comfortable knowing she’d waved the girl goodbye yesterday without mentioning she was off to engage in wedding activities. It felt duplicitous, wily, and sly.An Arctic fox.
Jill Mansell provided the escape she craved for half an hour, and to lose herself in the beautifully crafted story saw her pulse settle, her limbs relax, and her thoughts unfurl. Her eyelids grew heavy, and it was one of those days when all alone and to nap for a while felt like the best thing. As the book tumbled to her lap from wrists gone weak with sleep, she heard a car door closing and opened her eyes wide.
A key in the front door told her this could only be Aiden. Jumping up, she raced to meet him in the hall. ‘Hello, you!’
She gratefully received the graze of a kiss on her cheek, understanding in that moment that peaceful Sundays spent alone were not actually something to look forward to, but rather held a mirror up to the quietness of her life when he wasn’t around.
‘Well, this is a lovely surprise! How did you get here?’
‘Took a cab from the station.’ He sounded low and she guessed he had come clean about Holly’s pregnancy, trying not to second-guess what had happened next, wondering whether he and Iris had leapt over this first hurdle hand in hand or whether the news had helped them apply the brakes. She hoped it was the latter, still worried that this first flush of infatuation and sex would quickly fade.
‘I’d have picked you up, always call, you know I don’t mind.’
‘I know.’ He made his way into the kitchen and she noted his lack of holdall, meaning it might only be a flying visit. ‘Can I have some breakfast?’
‘What do you fancy, scrambled eggs on toast?’
It had always been his favourite. There was the unmistakeable flare of love in her veins at no more than the prospect of cooking for him. A task she had bemoaned over the years, coming in from work to hear him and Jonathan duet, ‘What’s for tea?’ It used to drive her crackers.
‘Yes, great.’
He grabbed the juice from the fridge, gave the carton a rattle and, deducing there was less than a glass full, drank it straight from the spout. She’d been berating him for years about this but found it hard to fault his logic about saving on washing-up.
‘It was smashing yesterday, that view!’
‘Yeah.’
His rather succinct summary indicated there was much more to say, but she’d wait until he’d eaten, not wanting to disrupt his appetite, nor the lovely atmosphere, as she relished his presence.
She cracked three eggs into a ceramic bowl, discarded the shells and added the milk, which she measured by eye, next a generous pinch of salt, before she whisked it together. A knob of butter melted in the ceramic pan on the hob. Two slices of sourdough were duly popped in the toaster, as she turned down the heat of the melting butter and doled the mixture into the pan, agitating it with her favoured wooden spoon, watching as it began to solidify and started to form the soft creamy curds that her son would wolf down.
With the thick toast buttered, the glossy yellow eggs sitting in a mound on top and finished with a generous grind of black pepper, she set the plate on the table and sat down opposite, nursing a mug of fresh coffee – all the sustenance she needed.
‘Don’t know where Pickle’s disappeared to, she was here a minute ago, she’ll soon come back if she knows you’re here.’
He nodded as he chewed his mouthful, crumbs in his stubble as he ate quickly and without consideration, not having to monitor his manners as there was no one else around. She wondered, again, despite the obvious display yesterday, if he felt sufficiently at home at The Mount to dive into the fridge or go ferreting for crisps late at night? His obvious hunger suggested maybe not.
How she wished Jonathan were here, he’d know what to do, one hand on that tiller and her, confidently beside him, keeping watch ahead. It was time, she knew, to grab the skipper’s hat and do both. It was bloody time! She was not going to allow herself to sit meekly in her own home while her neighbours ran down her son, not going tobegwhen a heartfelt letter was rejected out of hand, and certainly was not going to allow Phil or anyone else make her feel afraid.
Aiden pushed the empty plate away from him. ‘That was lush.’
‘You’re welcome. I wasn’t expecting you today, not that it isn’t lovely to see you, it is, always!’
‘I just wanted to come home.’
‘Ah, Aiden, that’s lovely!’ The warmth she felt at his words was just perfect; she decided to enjoy them, guessing the news that came next might not be so glorious.
‘I wanted the journey too, sometimes it’s good to just travel, isn’t it? Sit on a train, sit in a cab, but almost submit to it, nothing you can do but go with the flow and think.’
Enya sipped her coffee and trod carefully. ‘And what is it you’re thinking about, love?’
He looked out of the window and sat back in the chair. ‘The wedding, the details.’
‘I think you’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone, less than three weeks ahead of their wedding, who isn’t going through the same thing. It feels like a pressure, but I can honestly say that every wedding I’ve ever been to, it doesn’t really matter if there are cock-ups. In fact, some of the best weddings are the ones where things do go wrong.’
