The words come out like a torrent. ‘I told you because you’re finally here. Because I don’t want to lie or cover up. Because I’d hate the truth to come out in a way that was hurtful.’ I try to sum up. ‘Most of all, I wanted to be honest.’
Lando looks like he’s about to roar. ‘It’s a bit late to talk about honesty and saving people from pain.’
I’ve never seen him look this angry. ‘Maybe I didn’t say before because I knew it would be like this.’
I watch another shrug and it hits me: I wasn’t asking for joy or warmth, but his cold dissociation is like a sword in my heart.
‘For the record, that night we shared was the worst one-night stand of my life.’ I’m lashing out, desperate to make him show some emotion other than anger.
The flash of hurt in his eyes shows me I’ve done the job, and it gives me a stab of remorse, but now I’ve pressed the self-destruct button I can’t turn it off.
‘I wasn’t aware we were giving scores.’ He shoos Martha off the sofa and I’m on my feet and he’s showing me into the hall. ‘Get back to me when you’re feeling adult enough for a civil conversation.’
I’m trying not to shout. ‘I’ve had nine years taking full responsibility for Nemmie. You’ve known about her for two days and you’re already implying I’ve made bad choices.’ It’s important that I make it clear. ‘For Nemmie’s sake, I refuse to let our life become a battleground.’
He gives a snort. ‘Yet you’re the one firing the shots!’
I’m talking through gritted teeth. ‘I came here because of a living, breathing person, who I love so much I’d fight to the death for her. If you talk about her like a commodity, we have nothing more to say.’
Seconds later I’m out on the harbourside, seagulls circling overhead.
I’m strong enough to defend myself now; but if he’d come on the attack like this when I had proved myself less and my confidence was shaky, he’d have run rings around me. If he’d come when I was falling apart, there’s no knowing where it might have ended. I hate how he acted here, but his actions in the last ten minutes have validated all my long-held fears, and proved my decisions were justified.
Telling him a second earlier than I did would have been too soon.
I know I can’t ever come back from this, but our life as we knew it was turned upside down the day Lando sailed into St Aidan. However impossible this is, I have to find the strength to face it.
I dodge the last of the day trippers lingering by the lobster pots, and as I make my way home there’s a dull ache in my chest and a profound sadness that Lando is taking this so badly. It’s only when I arrive at Climbing Rose Cottage that I look behind me and see Martha has followed me.
21
Climbing Rose Cottage, St Aidan, Cornwall
Swiping right and doggy gymnastics
Thursday
‘How come Martha’s at yours?’
Ten minutes later I’m opening the French windows to Lando’s curt question, with another sigh. ‘At a guess, I smell of dog treats, and you didn’t close your door properly after you pushed me out onto the harbour.’
He agonises. ‘I didn’t mean to eject you.’ He’s whiter than ever. ‘There must be common ground without starting world war three?’
I’m more of a realist. ‘There isn’t any, Lando. You could literally buy and sell Cornwall and I would struggle to afford a map of the place. It’s not just your trust fund; it’s your entire privileged, cosseted, elite, advantaged life. Sav would swap you in a heartbeat, but I’m not a fan. And worst of all, despite your ringside view of our lesser world as a teenager, you still have no clue what it’s like to be me.’
Lando frowns. ‘I didn’t come here to argue, but you’re very much talking through your butt, Maevey.’
‘That’s a highly inappropriate thing to say to anyone this decade, Lando.’
He sniffs. ‘In the interest of transparency, the trust fund went away over a decade ago.’
I see him opening his mouth and pre-empt him. ‘If this is where you assure me all your investments are ethical, save your breath.’
He pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘Don’t knock ethical. Insisting the funding for our projects is fair and appropriately sourced is saving the planet. And I was never a consumer; you know I hate shopping.’
I notice his well-cut denims and wrench my gaze away from his fly. ‘In that case where do all your designer jeans come from?’
His lips twist. ‘They’re mostly cast offs from Sav.’
