Logic, though, has little to do with the way I feel. I am devastated for him, I am desperate to reach him and support him, and I am scared. I want to cling to him, to keep him close. To break down this wall between us.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask quietly. ‘You could just come back with me and I could ignore you. Or I could come and sit with you in the tent and you could pretend I’m not there. I’m just not sure that being alone is actually the right thing for you right now, Guy.’
He manages a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I’ve never seen him so sad, and it is breaking my heart.
‘Thank you, but no. I’m going to go for a walk on the beach and try and sort myself out. This is… this is big. I was never under the illusion that my ex and I had the perfect relationship, or even a halfway decent one, but I also never imagined this. That she felt the need to lie. I still don’t know why she’d do such a thing.’
I have a few ideas about why, but now is not the time to say. She was so young, she’d had a difficult life, she’d found herselfin a position she didn’t know how to handle. Maybe she felt like Guy was slipping away and wanted to keep him close. Maybe she felt like he was better father material than the actual dad. Maybe it was nothing that cynical, and she didn’t even know – she could have made a simple mistake, spent the night with somebody else but still thought the baby was Guy’s. Lord knows I’m the last person to comment on an accidental pregnancy.
The truth is that we do not know why she lied, or even if she did. We may never find out. That’s a conundrum that cannot be solved tonight, no matter how long a walk he takes, or how much he tries to clear his head.
‘Let me come with you,’ I say. ‘We can go to the caves and sit together. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but please, let me come with you.’
A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, and I get it. I know how I would feel if the roles were reversed; if I said I wanted to be alone and he refused to accept that. When we first met, we bonded over a shared understanding of a need for independence, and now I am one of the people intruding. I am on the outside looking in, and I feel myself crumble at the hurt of it.
‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ I add quickly. ‘Now I’m being a dick.’
‘Not really. I think it might still be me. Look, just let me go, all right? It’ll be fine. Go home, get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
I nod and do as he asks. I let him go.
TWENTY
The next morning I wake up alone in my bed, which is not that unusual an occurrence as Guy often spends the night in his tent. This time, though, I actuallyfeelalone, because the way we left things between us did not sit well with me.
I’d been tortured by dreams all night, some starting innocuously but eventually always riddled with anxiety. Those dreams where you’re trying to fit a key in a door to escape a serial killer, but the key keeps snapping. Or you’re trying to get money out of the cash machine so you can pay a ransom, but you constantly put the wrong PIN in and your card gets swallowed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why I’m stressed, and in some ways it’s a relief when it’s actually time to get up.
My dad is already awake, pottering around the kitchen, as smartly dressed as ever in a plaid shirt and a woollen tie. Bear spent the night with us as Zack is away in London and Connie was up early opening the café, and the chunky black Lab ambles over for a stroke. I do it automatically, enjoying the sensation of his velvety ears despite my exhaustion.
‘Goedemorgen!’ my father says brightly, putting the kettle on. ‘That’s Dutch for good morning, in case you hadn’t figured it out!’
His smile never fades, but he takes in my messy hair and tired eyes. ‘Or is not such a goedemorgen after all? Are you feeling all right, dear? Is the baby okay?’
I take the tea that he offers and blow away the steam. It’s much colder in the mornings now, well and truly autumn. It seemed to happen all at once, the sudden change in the season.
‘We’re both fine, Dad,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks for asking. Just a rough night.’
I can’t tell him why I had such a rough night, because that is Guy and Miranda’s business, not my father’s. He would keep it to himself, I know, but it would still feel like betraying Guy’s trust. Assuming that Dan didn’t go back into the pub and announce it on the karaoke microphone after a few more drinks.
‘Are you sure? You know you can talk to me, don’t you, Suzie?’
He loves me, and he is worried about me, and he wants me to know he cares. I know that, but I still feel a touch of impatience. The decades drop away, and I’m ready to roll my eyes, slam a door, maybe run off to climb a tree and sulk. Except my tree climbing days are very much on hold for the time being, and I need to fight this silly annoyance. I am lucky to have my father, and I am lucky that he is such a good man. I am lucky that my DNA matches were pinging all over that app last night, instead of showing up as solitary and alone.
‘I do, Dad,’ I say calmly. ‘I really do and thank you. I’m just tired after a bad night’s sleep, that’s all. I’ll feel better as the day wears on, I’m sure.’
He doesn’t look a hundred per cent convinced, but he gives in graciously. I guess we’ve both learned to fight our urges in our quest to keep things on an even keel. ‘Any plans for today?’ he asks instead.
Fear, fatigue, worrying myself sick about my unofficial Viking warrior fiancé. Worrying myself sick about him and howhefeels, and worrying myself sick about how being apart from him makesmefeel. Predictably enough, I say none of this.
‘Not much, Dad. I think I’ll take it easy. You?’
‘A trip to Shaftesbury with Ella for my annual check-up.’
I smile and nod. He’s told me about this – his regular pilgrimage to the pretty Dorset town made famous by the old Hovis advert, the one from the seventies where a boy on a bike delivers bread, then freewheels down the cobbles of Golden Hill. It’s a pretty steep incline, and my dad tackles it every year to prove he’s still fit and well. I’m glad he’ll be busy today, because I’m not sure how much fun I’m going to be, that’s for sure.
I’m physically okay, but I’m definitely noticing the rigours of pregnancy more with every day. My body feels so much bigger and more unwieldy, and I have a touch of sciatica that no amount of yoga seems to be shifting. My boobs feel enormous, I have intermittent heartburn, and my ribs are sore. The baby is apparently now the size of a mango, assuming it is a mango that has grown arms and legs and likes kicking.
I don’t care about any of that. That is all normal and healthy and temporary, it will all pass and none of it is especially troubling. My emotional state, though, is something else entirely. I just have such a sense of dread hanging over my head, a grey mental cloud that I simply can’t chase away.
