She turned off the crowded main street and onto a narrow lane which was home to a row of whitewashed fisherman’s cottages. They were well tended, the doors painted in soft pastel shades. Colourful plants spilled out of pots and tubs that lined the cobbled street.
A few tourists were sneaking photos, apparently indifferent to the privacy of the people who lived there.
Alexandra turned away from them, wondering at people’s obsession with seeing the world through a camera lens. She preferred to store images in her head, where she could access them anytime she wanted to.
Like now, for example. She had clear memories of standing outside this same door.
She hadn’t planned to do this, but now it felt like the right thing to do. And if it turned out to be a mistake, then she’d live with it.
That’s what she told herself as she knocked on the door and waited, her heart hammering against her chest. She felt nervous, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt nervous about anything.
The door opened and he stood there, familiar and yet unfamiliar.
She hadn’t had time to focus on him properly when she’d seen him earlier, but she focused on him now. His hair was still dark, although now there were faint hints of silver. His eyeswere the same washed green that had always made her think of the ocean. Outwardly he didn’t seem to have changed much, but she knew he had. They both had.
“Ms Strong.”
“Really?” She tilted her head, raised an eyebrow and saw him smile.
“Alex.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”
She hesitated. She was always sure of herself, but not right at this moment. Not with this man. “I probably should have called. I wasn’t sure you’d want me here.” And that was why she hadn’t called, of course. She’d wanted to see him, and she’d been afraid he might refuse to see her if she’d given him the option.
“I was hoping you’d come.”
Her heart lifted and she followed him inside. The house was exactly as she remembered it, only back then it had been crammed with baby paraphernalia. Her place had been the same and she’d been relieved to be able to pass some of Abby’s things on to him for Evie.
Sounds of the sea wafted through the open windows, along with a welcome cool breeze.
“Have you eaten?”
“No, but I’m not hungry. It has been a long day.”
“You always went off food when you were stressed, and after today you must be stressed. You need to eat. You always get shaky if you don’t eat.” He walked to the kitchen and she followed him.
“You remember that about me?”
“I remember all of it.” He took eggs from the fridge and picked herbs from pots that flourished on the windowsill. “There’s wine in the fridge. Why don’t you pour us both a glass.”
“The glasses—”
“They’re in the same place.”
She found them, and the wine. It was like travelling back in time.
“You were always a good cook.”
“I had a child and I didn’t want her raised on chicken nuggets.” He whisked the eggs to a froth and tipped them into a hot pan. Then he grated cheese and chopped baby spinach leaves. “If I’d known you were coming, I could have made something special.”
“I’m not here for the food, although you’re probably right that I should eat. And I didn’t know I was coming.”
“When did you make the decision?” He added the cheese and wilted the spinach. “Just as a matter of interest?”
“A few hours ago. I tried to rest, but I couldn’t.”
“Not surprising, after what happened with your father. I assume you didn’t know?”
“I had no idea he was going to turn up today, but he has been emailing me.” She took a sip of wine. “The first email came a couple of months ago.” She watched as he slid a perfect omelette onto a plate.
