He smiles, but his eyes are serious. ‘We’ve only known each other for two months.’
‘So? Life’s for the taking, right?’ My heart squeezes as I saythis and he can’t have missed the flicker of pain that I’m certain crossed my face just now, but I try to cover it up with a breezy smile.
I’ve been doing this for the last three weeks. You’d think I’d be better at it by now.
‘I love you,’ he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips to let me know that he appreciates my bravado.
The last thing he wants is a hysterical woman in his life reminding him that he could –Oh God!– literally drop dead at any second.
My blood runs hot and cold as this fact hits me once again. The stress of trying to hide my fears from him may well be the end ofme.
I pull back from his lips and look at him. ‘So let’s go get your stuff and bring it back to mine.’
He smiles and dips his head, saying into the hollow at the base of my neck, ‘I’ve got other things I want to do first.’ His hands cut a slow path up my thighs, causing goosebumps to race down my arms.
I decide to let him have his way with me. He could get away with pretty much anything these days.
I struggled to leave Tom’s side once he told me the whole truth about why he’s here in Cornwall. He came for peace and quiet, but he’s staying because he’s fallen in love with the place.
And he’s fallen in love with me.
It fills me in a way I didn’t know I needed, that he wants his fresh starthere, that he’s chosen St Agnes, out of all the villages, towns and cities he could have chosen.
It hurt so much every time Finn turned his back on Cornwall, on me.
I’d mostly been managing to put him out of my mind, but for some reason he’s often in my thoughts recently. It isn’t from a place of heartache, although it still hurts to know that he’s moved on, but I have become more analytical about our relationship.
Finn helped me through the darkest, bleakest stage of my life. He was strong for me when I was at my lowest ebb, returning year after year and helping me to stand tall. He was the Italian cypress to my withering apple tree, and I will always love him for it.
I’m so proud of his achievements. He’s doing so well and he deserves to be happy. And he deserves to be with someone else who’s happy too.
It does strike me as slightly ironic that I’m doing the best I’ve ever done, both mentally and in my career, just as he’s no longer around to witness it. He helped me to fly, only for another man to see me soar.
Part of what I love about my relationship with Tom is that it started from a place of strength. I’m no longer a shadow of myself, crippled by pain and grief, and we’re not pulling in different directions. I like that I’m strong enough to support him if he needs me to.
I hope that Finn knows how much I appreciate the love and supporthe’sshowered on me over the years. I hope he knows that I will always be grateful.
One day I’ll tell him, although I’m not sure when. He’s finally RSVP’d to Amy and Dan’s wedding to say that hecan’t make it – he’s currently in the studio with another artist and he’s unable to get away.
I feel such conflicting emotions about this. On the one hand, I don’t want to be anywhere near him – I’m still hurt and I’d hate things to be awkward at the wedding, especially with Tom being there.
On the other, I can’t imagine going a whole summer without seeing his face.
I’m still thinking a lot about Finn when I attend the unveiling of my public art.
It was Finn who gave me the idea for my subject, that day at Chapel Porth. His words rang around my head for weeks:I haven’t seen you sculpt a single thing that comes from a place of joy.
And then one day, it hit me.
It was a nightmare to get him to sit for me for hours a day, months on end, and afterwards he swore that he never wanted to see my face again, but now, as I stand beside my brother with his life-size bronze effigy on my other side, I can say that every second of it was worth it.
At least on my part. Michael is looking thoroughly nonplussed.
A Down’s syndrome charity commissioned the public artwork, after I’d had the idea to approach them. They agreed with my argument that we needed more memorials to represent minority groups and gave me the go-ahead to start fundraising. Arabella helped and Lord and Lady Stockley made a generous donation. Now Michael’s statue has beenerected in a green space right outside the charity’s headquarters. And because ‘joy’ was a word that I kept returning to, I decided to sculpt him at his happiest, with a great big smile on his face.
Which is funny because he’s currently tutting with disgust and shaking his head at the official press photographer.
‘Say cheese, Michael!’ I prompt chirpily.
