‘You don’thaveto do everything Sara tells you to do.’
‘Well, it’s done now. I’ve said yes,’ I reply in a slightly snappy fashion.
We fall into an awkward silence. I notice his toolbox is on the kitchen table.
‘Did you find a drill bit that worked?’ I’m relieved to land on another topic of conversation.
‘Yeah, I did.’ He’s still not quite back to his affable self.
I go over to the kitchen table and after a moment he joins me.
‘Shattered a couple of pieces,’ he reveals, picking up a piece of yellow glass with a perfect, tiny hole in it. ‘Might have to go back to the beach. I’ll do what I can for Sunday,’ he says. ‘I can always add more glass.’
‘Don’t forget my offer to help paint the driftwood. Unless you want to do it all yourself...’
‘Not at all. I was thinking about starting on that tonight.’
‘Want some company?’
‘Yeah?’ he checks.
‘Yeah.’ I nod.
We smile at each other for a long moment.
‘Right, better crack on, I say at last.’
‘See you later,’ he replies quietly as I walk out of the room.
On Wednesday, Charlie looks harassed when I remind him of April’s music group, so I offer to take her again. He feels guilty about it, but I assure him I’m happy to go, and encourage him to crack on with his work.
When we get back, he greets us affectionately.
‘Thank you,’ he says to me, in such a sincere way that it prompts a bubble ofjoy to pop inside me.
‘It was my pleasure,’ I reply.
And then, to my surprise, he pulls me into his arms. The air in my lungs escapes in a rush of breath as he squeezes me against his hard chest.
‘Aw,’ I say after a moment, extracting myself when my pulse shows no sign of stabilising. ‘Are you going to miss me tomorrow?’
‘I will, actually.’ He looks down at me quite seriously, even though his lips are tilting up at the corners.
‘You’re used to having me around now. What are you going to be like when I leave?’ I clap my hands onto my cheeks and widen my eyes at him in horror.
‘I’m dreading it, actually,’ he admits, laughing lightly as he gets April out of her pram.
My insides are practically fizzing now.
‘Drive carefully this afternoon,’ he says, placing his daughter on the floor. She sets off at a crawl towards the living room. Charlie frowns at me suddenly. ‘Actually, don’t you think you should leave soon? You’ll get caught in traffic.’
‘Nowhe can’t wait to get rid of me!’ I exclaim, mock-affronted.
‘Why are you driving at all?’ He ignores my attempt at humour. ‘Wouldn’t the train be easier?’
‘Probably. I couldn’t be bothered with the bus and the hassle of getting to Bodmin. Just thought it’d be easier to drive the whole way there.’
His frown deepens. ‘I would’ve taken you to the train station.’
