Between us, a silence developed, interrupted only by the beating wings of insects and the gentle lap of water against stone. It became a battle of wills, who would break first. Inevitably, it was me. ‘I understand if you’d rather just be friends.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you after the way I behaved.’
‘Right.’
‘And of course, being in a relationship could be complicated given we’re now neighbours.’
‘Yes.’
‘And then there’s Bertie to think about. Although he’s taken to Nicola amazingly well, and at least we know he already likes you.’
‘Liv?’
‘Yes?’
‘Stop talking.’ Seb got up from his chair, took my wine glass from me, and placed it on the table. He took my hands, pulling me up from my chair. He moved my hands around his neck and placed his own around my waist. ‘Dance with me.’
‘What?’
‘Dance with me.’
‘But there’s no music.’
‘There is. Listen.’ He rocked me back and forth to the rhythm of the lapping waves, the call of a fox, the song of an owl deep in the forest. The rowing boat played out a slow, soft bass line as it brushed against the jetty.
‘Mum!’
I stepped back from Seb and turned my attention to the cabin. ‘Bertie? Are you OK?’
‘It’s so dark in here. Can you turn the light on?’
‘You’d better go,’ said Seb. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. ‘In answer to your question about us. Of course there’s an us, there’s always been an us. But let’s take things slow. You’ve been through some massive upheavals in the past few months and probably need time to process it all. But for now, go and see to your son. You know where I am if you ever need me.’ Seb kissed me again, then climbed down from the deck and disappeared into the night.
‘Coming, Bertie,’ I said, blowing a kiss in Seb’s direction before closing the cabin door.
Chapter Fifty-Six
It was an extraordinary morning: the sun warming the ground in misty clouds, the water of the lake turquoise, above it a rainbow of pink, purple, yellow and electric blue courtesy of the butterflies and dragonflies who danced through the air.
‘There’s a treat for you in the kitchen,’ I said, as a bleary-eyed Bertie walked in to the living room. I hugged my cup of coffee, as transfixed by the view outside as I had been every morning for the past month.
‘Wow, coco-pops! Thanks, Mum!’
‘It’s a special day today, so I thought you deserved a treat. How are you feeling about the concert?’
‘Good. Did you hear me practising last night?’
Funnily enough, it was hard to avoid the sound of a blasting cornet in a small log cabin. I pitied the poor woodland creatures whose peace had been shattered since Pat moved out and we moved in. ‘Yes, it’s sounding great.’
‘Did you know Michael’s a drummer? He’s going to play drums for the band today.’
‘No, I didn’t know, but that sounds wonderful.’
‘Is Dad still coming today?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ Bertie had settled quickly into the shared custody arrangements, enjoying his weekends in the city, but equally happy to come home to our oasis in the woods. My relationship with Rob remained cordial, checking in regularly about Bertie, but keeping some distance when it came to our personal lives.
