Oliver. He was kind, steady, loyal. He would never betray her. But love didn’t bend to logic, and she knew she could never give him what he deserved. Not because she couldn’t love him back. She knew now she could, she did. She always had.
But Jack would always be there between them. Oliver would never believe her now, even if she told him that in her heart she knew he was the one she loved.
‘What is it?’ Oliver asked, searching her face.
Tell him. Tell him how you feel before it’s too late, and you lose him forever.
‘Oliver … I—’
‘Not again!’ Oliver snapped suddenly.
The lights plunged them into darkness for the third time that evening. A groan rippled through the cast.
‘That’s it,’ Oliver said, already moving. ‘I’m going down there. If I catch him—’
‘Don’t,’ Bridie snapped, stomping her foot like a petulant child realising this was a case in point – Jack coming between them yet again ‘He wants a reaction. He’ll get bored when he realises it’s not working.’
Everyone had been told the truth now – there was no ghostly presence there, just Jack sabotaging the play.
‘I’ve still got to go down to the bloody fuse box again!’ Oliver said in the darkness as he got out his phone to light the way.
‘Oliver, turn the electricity back on, and if he’s there, just ignore him.’
‘No!’
‘Yes!’ Bridie stamped her foot again. Exhausted, raw with emotion, the wine going to her head, she said, ‘I can’t bear another argument.’ She turned and ran out of the theatre, into the night.
The mist on the promenade hit her like a wall. Thick, cold, rolling in from the sea, swallowing sound and distance. She ran blindly, momentum carrying her forward—
Too far.
A hand caught her arm.
She gasped as she was pulled back from the sea wall, heart hammering. For a split second, she saw her – a woman, pale and indistinct, eyes full of something like sorrow.
Then she was gone.
Oliver burst through the door moments later. ‘Bridie!’
She clutched his arm. ‘Did you see her?’
‘See who?’ He squinted into the fog. ‘I can barely see you. Who are you talking about?’
‘I … I think it was the ghost of Isobel Raine,’ Bridie whispered. ‘She saved me.’
Oliver shook his head gently, wrapping his coat around her shoulders. ‘That’s the wine talking.’
Bridie wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 51
Bridie returned to the foyer, Oliver’s coat still draped around her shoulders. She was shivering, not from the freezing fog but from what she thought she’d seen – or rather who she thought she’d seen.
She turned to Oliver. ‘I think we should call it a day. Everyone has worked really hard, and I’m worried that the weather isn’t great for people getting home.’
Oliver agreed. ‘That fog has rolled in so quickly.’ He added, ‘Do you want me to announce that we’re calling it a day on the last rehearsal?’
‘Yes, please.’ Bridie rubbed her forehead.
