‘She usually goes down like clockwork. Mum reckons she must be teething again.’
‘A clockwork baby? I didn’t think they existed,’ I jest, hoping he can take it.
‘Neither did I,’ he replies wryly. ‘Nicki’s sister, Kate, got her into a routine a few months ago. Wrote out a timetable for me, told me to stick to it. Mum thought it was rubbish, but it worked.’ He tuts and looks away. ‘Well, it does work, usually.’
‘Where does Nicki’s sister live?’
‘Essex, where Nicki’s mum lives, too.’
‘That’s a long way away,’ I say unnecessarily.
‘Funnily enough, when Nicki moved back here, she didn’t think it was far enough.’ Pain darkens his features, killing off his momentary amusement. ‘Have you got everything you need?’ he asks brusquely, and I adapt my expression accordingly. He doesn’t want my sympathy.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Well, I’m going to get on with some work while she sleeps. I’ll be outside if you need me.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
A short while later, a scratching sound comes from outside the window. I curiously peer over the computer screen to see Charlie, in a white vest and frayed khaki green shorts, sanding a large tree branch in the back garden. I wonder what he’s doing with it. I watch him for a moment, noticing the taut muscles on his tanned arms.
And there I was, lamenting the absence of a sea view from this side of the house.
I told Elliot all about Charlie the same day that I met him. He called me when I was at the B&B in Padstow, about to go to bed. He wanted to know what Charlie was like and I knew he meant both in manner and in appearance, so I told him honestly, a goofy grin plastered all over my face. He chuckled and told me to go and take a cold shower.
I love that he doesn’t get jealous. He trusts me and I trust him, and neither of us has issues over the other admiring some eye candy if it crosses our paths.
I think of Vince and shudder. He’s one of my ex-boyfriends whom I’m really not looking forward to meeting up with again. He used to get insanely jealous. I try to put him out of my mind.
I’m completely caught up in Kit’s world again as I read the early pages. I know the words will come to an abrupt end, but it’s still a shock when it happens.
The Secret Life of Usconcluded on a cliff hanger, butConfessionsstops right in the middle of the story, right in the middle of aconversation...
It’s staggering to think that Nicki died at this point in the book. Where was she when it happened? Was she working, sitting here at the desk where I’m sitting now? A chill trickles down my spine at the thought.
How did Charlie and April cope, losing her so suddenly? April was only five weeks old, a tiny baby, needing her mother. I can’t even begin to imagine how Charlie managed to pick himself up and be a father to her. His grief must’ve been utterly debilitating. It doesn’t bear thinking about.
I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. I think it might be time for a coffee break— No way! Is that the time? It’s twenty past one! The morning’s flown by. Maybe I’ll take a wander into Padstow for lunch.
I stand up and stretch, looking out of the window. I’ve been so lost in the story that I didn’t even notice Charlie had stopped sanding.
The house is quiet as I wander downstairs. I poke my head around the door to the living room, but it’s deserted. There’s no one in the kitchen, either.
‘Charlie?’ I call out in case he’s lurking somewhere. No answer.
I frown. I didn’t hear him come upstairs, not that I was paying attention. I look around, but there’s no note to say where he’s gone. He hasn’t given me a key, so I won’t be able to get back in if he’s out for the day.
I’d better check upstairs.
‘Charlie?’ I call out quietly as I walk back up. I don’t want to wake April if she’s still asleep. How long do babies nap for? Surely she’d be awake by now.
Aside from Nicki’s office, there are three other doors on the first floor and they’re all open. The first is the bathroom – empty.
I go to the second and knock on the door. ‘Charlie?’ No answer. I peek in and find April’s bedroom. Her cot and furniture are wooden and painted white, and her curtains and blanket are pale pink. There’s a large seahorse on the wall, made out of sticks, and the small table beside the cot is crammed with higgledy-piggledy, white, wooden photo frames. I can see from here that some of the photos are of Nicki, and, although I’d like to study them, I already feel that I’m snooping. I call out Charlie’s name once more before knocking on the last open door along the corridor. When there’s no answer, I cautiously peer inside. The large double bed dominating the space is unmade, and there are more photo frames on the side table, but that’s all I take in of Charlie’s bedroom before backing out.
The house is empty. I am alone. And I am ravenous.
When will Charlie be back? When can I go for lunch? I really don’t want to risk getting locked out.
