‘No,’ said Ava quickly.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Foster brightly. ‘To my boy, Jem. Oh, they’re a good match, these two. Known each other since they were ever so small.’
When Ava straightened, Damien was watching her – his green eyes unreadable. ‘Then I suppose congratulations are in order,’ he said. There was no warmth in his voice. Only a slow, dragging ache.
‘No,’ said Ava, her voice low. ‘Truly, I—’
The wind chimes rattled again.
‘I’m back, Ma.’
Jem’s voice from behind her made Ava’s heart sink even lower. Damien stepped back from her a little, and now when she looked at him she realized she couldn’t see him anymore – the Damien she knew was now hidden beneath the mask of another man entirely – one wearing a wide, easy smile.
‘And this must be the man himself,’ said Damien. Only his voice belied him – for it was stiff, and stilted – though nowhere near as jittering as the startled look that flashed across Jem’s face.
‘Excuse me?’
‘We were just discussing yourengagement, dear,’ said Mrs Foster, rolling her eyes. ‘What else?’
Ava cast a furtive glance at Jem, whose expression was a mirror for her own squirming discomfort.
‘We spoke of this, Mother,’ Jem said, removing his damp coat quickly. ‘Remember?’
Mrs Foster’s forehead creased gently, and then she shook her head. ‘I can’t remember dates very well, dear, you know that. Numbers have always been a weakness of mine.’
‘There is to be no wedding,’ said Ava, not looking at any of them but instead at the door to the storage room, wishing she were already there, already hidden amongst the other unwanted things. ‘We broke off the engagement. Do you remember, Mrs Foster?’
Mrs Foster blinked rapidly, her mouth slackening. ‘Ah,’ she said, turning to her son. ‘I suppose … I suppose when you say it like that I must remember.’
She gave Ava a much smaller smile this time, one with a lot more questions behind it.
‘Still,’ continued Mrs Foster. ‘That’s no reason to be a stranger. You should come for tea. Wouldn’t that be nice, Jeremy? If Ava came for tea?’
Jem’s expression flickered. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘What do you say, Ava?’
Ava nodded. ‘Of course. You know how much I enjoy your cooking, Mrs Foster.’
‘Why don’t you go and rest for a while, Mother?’ Jem offered. ‘I’m back now. I can mind the shop for a few hours.’
Mrs Foster looked between the three of them. ‘Don’t forget to come up for lunch,’ she said, pressing a quick kiss to Jem’s cheek.
‘I won’t.’
Together they listened to her creak up the stairs, and it was only when they heard footsteps on the ceiling above them that Jem turned back to Ava.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea that she was coming back today, or else I would’ve—’
Ava shook her head. ‘I understand,’ she said, trying to force herself to hold his gaze, and finding she could not. ‘Just let me know when you want to set tea for, and I shall be there.’
Jem’s expression twitched, his gaze sliding to Damien, and back again. ‘Oh, well. There’s really no need—’ He reached to rub at the back of his neck, his red-blond hair spiking from the drizzle outside. ‘I just said that to keep her happy. Chances are she won’t remember inviting you after her nap.’
Ava felt his words like a cold ache in the pit of her stomach, and it took everything she had to give him a brisk smile. ‘Well, perhaps she’d like to come with you to the tombola then,’ she said, as cheerily as she could. ‘With the Widows’ and Widowers’ Club. I know Mrs Moss would be glad to see you both. Oliver, too.’ She could feel how strained her voice was becoming, and she turned to Damien, grateful not to have to look at Jem for a moment. ‘You could come too, if you’d like? A tombola is always fun, isn’t it?’
Damien didn’t reply, he merely nodded, his focus on Jem.
‘Now, if you’ll both just excuse me for a moment,’ Ava said, the wind chimes tinkling together as she left.
