‘It’s okay,’ he whispers, cradling my head against him as I take several ragged breaths, twisting his T-shirt in my hands.
But it’s not okay. The following week, Beca comes back to Wales.
Ash calls me on Monday to cancel our dinner plans because she’s invited him over. He’s determined to make amends where she’s concerned, but it’s hard to take a step back.
I decide that rather than risk letting him see how insecure I feel, I’ll stay down at the cottage for a few days. I need to prove to myself that I’m still capable of standing on my own two feet, so I suggest giving him some space to catch up with Beca. I don’t like how easily he agrees that it’s a good idea.
The weather is unbearable and the heat and airless nights make it even harder to switch off my mind. My colleagues and I have taken to waking at five and finishing earlier, but it’s too hot for most of our volunteers and we have to find jobs out of the sun for those who do come.
We’ve been strimming edges, deadheading, weeding, chopping back herbaceous plants and planting annuals, plugging the gaps from earlier flowering bulbs like alliums, tulips and daffodils. Everyone’s cranky and sluggish and it’s an effort to stay hydrated.
Ash asks me to sleep up at the cabin on Thursday night and I spend the whole day looking forward to it, but that afternoon, he texts to cancel.
I’m so sorry, I can’t see you tonight after all. My mother has invited Beca and her parents over for dinner. I really have to be here.
I’m taken aback by the force of my disappointment. I don’t know how to reply, so I don’t.
He calls me early that evening. I’m still feeling on edge as I answer the phone.
‘Hi.’
‘Hey, are you okay?’ he asks, sounding wary.
‘I’m all right,’ I reply.
‘I’m sorry about tonight. Can we do something tomorrow instead?’
‘Sure.’ A moment passes when neither of us says anything. ‘Where are you?’ I ask at last.
‘At the house, just waiting for the Bramptons to arrive.’
‘Do I have anything to worry about?’
I could kick myself for letting the question burst from my mouth.
‘Of course not!’ he exclaims. ‘They’re old family friends. I’m just trying to smooth things over.’
I’m so angry at myself. Ihatefeeling this needy. It’s like I’m a teenager again, wracked with insecurities.
‘Ellie?’
‘Honestly, it’s fine. I hope you have fun.’ My voice sounds stronger, if a little cool.
‘I’ll text you later.’
‘Okay, bye.’
I get off the phone and force myself to take several deep breaths, then I reach forA Court of Mist and Fury, the sequel toA Court of Thorns and Roses, which I finished rereading last week, finally making it through the last chapter.
Although it pained me to know that Stella’s handwriting was missing from the front of the book, Ash was right, it did make me feel closer to her. Plus, it’s been a good distraction while I’ve been here at the cottage.
I still feel an uncomfortable degree of separation from Siân, who hasn’t suggested anotherGleemarathon sinceshe found out about Ash. Things aren’t right with Bethan either, and Evan and Harri are both still giving me a wide berth.
I haven’t tried hard enough to repair any of these friendships. The thought of attempting to reconcile and getting rejected is just too much for my current fragile state. There’s no doubt that what happened with my parents has had an impact on me. I suspect it will for the rest of my life.
I’ve considered continuing with the counselling sessions I had in the wake of Stella’s death, but there’s something about the notion of exploring my feelings and digging into my childhood that makes me feel unsettled.
Thumbing through the book until I find where I last was, I begin to read.
