‘That’s fantastic, Dad. Will you go to the tea shop at the top of the hill?’
‘Absolutely. You’re more than welcome to join us for a scone or six, if you like?’
I can tell he is worried about me but trying not to show it. I pat his hand, appreciating his concern. ‘That’s very kind of you, Dad, but I think I’ll give it a miss. I wouldn’t mind a day just chilling out, and besides, I’m not sure I’d even keep up with you!’
I put as much sincerity into my voice as I can, and he seems to accept it. It’s a relief when he finally leaves, though, off withBear to meet Ella for their day out. I can stop pretending as soon as I hear the front door shut behind him.
I’ve already checked my phone this morning and found zero messages from Guy, but I told myself that wasn’t anything to be too upset about. The signal here is temperamental, and even if he had tried to contact me, there’s no guarantee it would have landed.
That, of course, does not apply to the more old-fashioned approach – he could have called by in person, because a knock on the door does not rely on phone masts and technology. It is after nine, and when he stays in the tent he usually wakes up much earlier than this. His usual routine is to pop round to see me for toast and tea and a shower, and if my father isn’t in, that often develops into something a lot more fun.
Today, there is none of that. No knock on the door, and certainly no amazing post-shower sexy shenanigans either. I try calling his number, but it goes straight to voicemail. I send him a text, but it shows as undelivered. I’m so worried about him. I keep remembering the look on his face last night, the bitter tone of his voice. He sounded broken, devastated. He asked me to let him go, and I didn’t feel like I had any choice in the matter – but now, I am wondering if I did the right thing. If maybe I should have insisted on staying with him, or even stalked him down to the beach to keep an eye on him?
What if his conversation with Miranda didn’t go well? They’ve only so recently built this fragile but fierce relationship, both of them carving out space in their hearts for each other. He’s worked so hard to prove himself to her, to gain her trust, to convince her that he deserves a place in her and Evan’s life. It seems so cruel to discover that it was all built on a lie, and it’s understandable that he reacted like he did. What if it was all too much for him? We’ve joked about us both being flight risks,about our tendency to run. What if this has pushed him over the edge?
I feel panic rising inside me, and I am not proud of it. The panic is for my own sake as much as his, because imagining my life without Guy is terror-inducing.
‘No,’ I tell myself out loud. ‘Stop right there! Find out what the hell is going on before you freak out.’
This is very sensible advice, and I decide to follow it. I finish my tea and head out into the village, forcing myself to have the inevitable conversations, say the necessary good mornings, return the obligatory waves. I am exchanging pleasantries with Trevor outside the Emporium when Miranda herself emerges. She looks as tired as I feel, and Evan is showing her no mercy.
He spots me and runs over, colliding with my legs like a small blonde bowling ball. I catch hold of him, lean down and blow raspberries on his chubby cheeks. This makes him laugh, an infectious sound that does lift my spirits a little. At least it does until I see the miserable look on Miranda’s face.
Trevor luckily heads back inside the shop, and Evan toddles after him. He gets lifted onto the counter to ‘help’ while Trevor serves a customer, in what is obviously a pretty rehearsed move. Miranda gazes after him, checking he’s settled, then turns back to me.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask her. I’m guessing that she’s seen the DNA results, and talked to Guy about them, but I can’t be totally sure. She might just look like crap because she has a lively two-year-old who likes to smash things.
‘Not really,’ she says quietly, folding her arms over her chest. Miranda is short and plumpish, with brown hair and eyes. I’d always just assumed that she must take after her mother in the looks department, but now I realise that there is a much more obvious reason why she doesn’t resemble Guy at all. ‘I saw the thing on the app. I was connected to nobody, and neither washe. He called round last night and we talked it over. I’m sure you know that already.’
I didn’t, but I’m not surprised. ‘How did that go for you?’ I ask gently. She looks exhausted, and so sad.
‘Not brilliant. We were both upset I suppose. I’d… I’d just got used to having him here. I’d just got used to having a dad around, and started to think he’d always be around, for me, and for Evan. And now I feel like the rug’s been pulled from beneath my feet. I probably need to talk to my mum, but I haven’t done that for years. I don’t especially want to invite her chaos back into my life, but I do have questions.’
‘Of course you do,’ I tell her, patting her arm. She’s not an especially tactile person, but she smiles gratefully at the contact.
‘How is he this morning?’ she asks. ‘How’s my d— How’s Guy?’
It’s terrible to hear her course correct like that, and to see how off-balance she is. It’s also worrying that she thinks I know how he is, when in reality she’s seen him more recently than I have.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply honestly. ‘He said he needed some time alone. Like you, he was really shocked. How did you leave it with him?’
‘Umm… Not as well as I’d have liked. I was pretty angry, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault at all. And when I get angry, I get kind of sulky and basically turn into a giant bitch. So yeah. That’s how we left it. I assumed he’d come round to yours after. So now I’m worried in case he’s left, and I’ll never see him again, and it’s all my fault…’
Tears are shining in her eyes, and her lips are trembling with the sheer complicated, confusing emotion of it all. I have every sympathy with her, this young woman who has worked so hard to build a good life for her and her son. Life has not been fair to her.
‘I’m sure it’ll all be fine, and nothing is your fault,’ I assure her, keeping my voice even and calm, although that’s the last thing I feel. I feel like she does, but times ten – what if he has left? What if I never see him again? It’s crazy, but it’s where my mind goes anyway.
I tell her I’ll check in with her later, and head off behind the little row of buildings, taking the familiar route to the field at the back of Archie’s greenhouse. There’s a real chill in the air, and the sun is weakly poking around ominous-looking grey clouds. The sunflowers are long gone now, and I mourn their passing.
My feet automatically take me where I need to go, my Converse knowing the way even when my mind is too distracted to concentrate. I follow their lead, battling against my lurking sense of anxiety as I walk.
I reach the point where I can normally look ahead and see Guy’s little base camp. Tent, chair, the tiny gas stove he uses to boil water for his coffee. All the signs of him and his life here.
This time, though, I see nothing. There is no tent. There is no chair. There is no tiny stove. I carry on walking, my breath coming in panicked gusts, staring around the empty space ahead of me as though I could have been mistaken. As though I might be in the wrong place, that I will turn around or look slightly to the east and there he will be, waving me over with his book, ready with a little metal mug of tea.
I do a full circle just in case, my eyes scanning the horizon in all directions as I slowly spin. No. Nothing. He is not here. I find indications of his presence – the flattened grass where his tent was placed, the tiny dents in the ground from his camping chair. He was here, but now he has gone, and I feel like an emotional archaeologist digging for evidence of what once was.
I take deep breaths, place my hands beneath my ribs. The baby is kicking, and for once it does not fill me with joy. It fillsme with sadness that Guy is not here to share this with. Where is he? How is he? What can I do?
