Seb had come downstairs to see them, and he’d ushered them into the seat in front of the bay window and treated them to lemonade and crisps, then sat patiently, nodding and listening as they’d raved about Boris and Jigsaw. It had reminded her of the times she’d sat in that very spot, chatting to her lovely dad, and she’d felt the familiar pang of grief that her dad had never got to meet his granddaughters. He would, she knew, have loved them so much.
They certainly had a rejuvenating effect on Seb, who seemed to come alive in their presence. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’d managed to persuade him to take riding lessons with them. Sam, too, if it came to that.
Remembering that moment in the pub, Jenna sighed and sipped her coffee. Her thoughts always returned to Sam and The North Star in the end.
When her phone beeped, she didn’t take much notice at first, blissfully enjoying the peace and quiet in the kitchen, cradling her mug of coffee, and nibbling on a shortbread biscuit. She was just thinking that her mum had probably got her wish, because she was pretty sure she’d put at least a stone back on this summer, when her phone beeped again.
She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and frowned. Unknown number. Who would be texting her if she didn’t have their number?
Hi Jenna, this is Annette. I was wondering if you’d be good enough to meet me for a chat later today? I really think we need to talk. There’s something I have to say to you. Would you be able to meet me at the cafe in East Park? About 1p.m.? Hope to hear from you soon. A x
Jenna stared at the message on the screen for what felt like forever, only dragging her gaze away when the kitchen door flew open and her mum, daughters and Mac burst in, laughing and chatting, Carne dancing round them in his usual excited manner.
As Mac hurried to wash his hands, the twins fell on the biscuits with cries of glee, but Mum’s smile dropped and she sat next to Jenna.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, unclipping Carne’s lead from his collar.
Without a word, Jenna slid the phone a little along the table so her mum could read the message.
‘Bloody cheek! And leaving you a kiss, too! What are you going to do?’
‘Meet her,’ Jenna murmured. She hadn’t been sure until that moment, but suddenly it seemed perfectly obvious that of course she was going to meet her – her nemesis. What else could she do?
‘I wonder what she wants to tell you?’ Mum whispered, clearly puzzled.
Jenna shrugged, but deep down she was pretty sure she knew. Annette was pregnant, wasn’t she? And it would have to be her who told Jenna the news, because Joel would never have the guts.
‘I’ll see to the twins,’ Mum said, patting her hand. ‘Don’t worry about a thing.’
Jenna nodded. She was finally going to meet the tall, willowy blonde in the photographs. The two of them, face to face at last. What on earth could she possibly have to worry about?
Whatever Jenna had been expecting, it wasn’t this. As she’d sat nursing a cup of tea in the cafe, her eyes had scanned the room for the blonde, and every time the door opened to admit another customer her heart had thudded with anticipation, only to steady itself again as someone who couldn’t possibly be Annette entered.
She’d begun to wonder if it had been a cruel joke, because it was ten past one now and there was no sign of the woman’s arrival.
Then suddenly there came a slight cough, and a voice with a strong local accent had asked, ‘Are you Jenna?’
Startled, she looked up to see a woman standing by the table, a cup of tea in her hand.
‘Annette?’ It couldn’t be. Could it?
This woman wasn’t tall, blondeorwillowy. Around Jenna’s age, she had dark hair cut in a very short bob, and could only be a couple of inches taller than Jenna, if that. She was wearing jeans and a cream T-shirt with a tan leather jacket, and she looked – well – ordinary. Nothing remotely glamorous about her at all.
‘Is it okay if I…?’
The woman glanced at the empty chair opposite Jenna and Jenna nodded. ‘Of course.’
There was a scraping of a chair, the clatter of a cup and saucer landing heavily on the table, then the woman was facing her, her eyes full of curiosity.
‘So,’ she said at last, ‘you’re the famous Jenna.’
‘And you’re the infamous Nettie,’ Jenna replied cautiously.
Annette wrinkled her nose. ‘I hate that bloody name,’ she said. ‘No one else has ever called me that.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Ha, that’s ironic if you like. You saying sorry to me, I mean. If anyone should be apologising it’s me, don’t you think?’
