All those years of doing anything she wanted, regardless of the consequences, seemed to have caught up with her at last.
Miranda would say it was karma. Or carelessness.
Maybe it was both.
But she shouldn’t be thinking about her big sister. She needed to focus on the man in front of her.
The man she’d thought was in love with her. Until right this moment, when she saw the shifty, awkward look in his eye.
‘Francesca and I . . .’ Callum started, and Juliet’s stomach seemed to drop the full fifty floors to street level.
God, I am such a cliché. The boss and the assistant. How had she ever thought, even for a moment, that this would end differently?
You weren’t thinking, that’s the problem. Miranda’s voice sounded in her head – judgemental and, most annoyingly, right. She hadn’t thought, she’d just felt. Gone with the emotion, the moment, and not thought beyond another fun night together.
‘You’re getting back together with your wife,’ she said, flatly. No need to cushion this blow, she’d already felt it.
Callum gave a sheepish nod.
Anger started to rise up in her belly. Was she angry at him for being such a walkover, or at herself for believing he could be anything different? She wasn’t sure. ‘The wife you told me could never understand you the way I do. The wife who threw you out of your house so you’ve been living in a hotel for three months. The wife you described as a—’
‘Never mind what I said about her before,’ Callum interrupted, hurriedly. ‘She’s my wife. The mother of my children. And whatever happened between us in the past, I never stopped loving her.’
Another twinge, deep in her belly. Perhaps where his other child lay, gestating.
She hadn’t thought much about his children, until now. Until she was carrying one.
‘You told me you never loved her at all.’ Was there anything he wouldn’t have said to get her into bed? Juliet doubted it. And she’d believed it all because she’d wanted to. She’d wanted the excitement, the thrill of an office relationship that was technically against the rules. Another new thing to try.
‘What is love, really?’ Callum pontificated, and Juliet wondered why she’d ever thought this man was something special. Right now, he sounded like every other guy who’d ever dumped her. Which was all of them – except the very first. ‘Do any of us ever really understand it? Or know how to predict it?’ His smile was smug, like he believed he was the only person on the planet who had actually figured out those things. Like he knew love better than anyone – and certainly better than her.
Like her opinion, her feelings, didn’t matter at all.
Maybe they never had.
God, he was a patronising dick of a man.
‘So, just to be clear.’ Juliet shifted uncomfortably on the chair as another wave of nausea hit. She had a feeling this one had more to do with the conversation than morning sickness. ‘Despite telling me daily for the last three months that you loved me, that I was your future, that your marriage was one hundred per cent over and you wanted to marry me the moment the divorce came through, you’re actually now going back to your wife.’
Of course he was. Now she was here, in this moment, Juliet couldn’t quite believe she’d ever thought differently. She should know how this story ended by now. Because it never ended with the guy picking her. Even the single ones chose something else.
Only one man in her entire life had ever chosen her over everything else – and she’d picked life outside Seashell Island over him. It wasn’t a decision she regretted – she’d had to leave that place or she’d have gone insane. But she did sometimes wonder, on days like this, if her track record with men ever since was punishment for breaking Rory Hillier’s heart.
Callum at least had the good grace to look mildly sheepish. ‘Juliet, our time together was very special . . .’
Our time together had consequences.
‘But I’m sure you knew too that it was more of a . . . temporary escape from reality for us both, rather than a future.’ Callum smiled fondly at her. ‘Wasn’t that what you wanted to talk to me about today, anyway? How we’d grown apart this last week or so, and it was time for us to part?’
You mean how you’ve purposefully been avoiding me for the last week, hoping I’d break up with you. Which was the whole reason she was having to tell him now, and here at the office, rather than somewhere more appropriate.
It was all so obvious now. At the time . . . well, she’d had bigger things to worry about.
She still did. And that problem was literally still growing – inside her.
‘No,’ Juliet said, flatly. ‘I wanted to tell you I’m pregnant. With your child,’ she added, in case that wasn’t completely and utterly obvious to his deluded little brain.
She didn’t get a lot of satisfaction from the way the colour drained from his face, but the slightly green and sickly tinged tone that replaced it did make her feel a little pleased. She shouldn’t be the only one nauseous and scared by this pregnancy.
Scared. That was such a small, childish word for what she felt.
Terrified was closer. Overwhelmed by fear and uncertainty was even better.
She was pretty sure Callum wouldn’t have to feel those things for the next nine months. Or eighteen years. Or for ever.
‘You can’t be,’ Callum said, his voice a little shaky.
‘Trust me, this isn’t the sort of thing I’d make a mistake about. Especially now.’ She’d taken six tests, just to be sure. All bought from different pharmacies and taken at different times of day.
‘You’re . . . trying to trap me. Trying to stop me going back to my wife.’
Juliet looked at Callum – really looked at him. Saw past the bluster and the confidence and charm that had been so attractive at the start, and saw a terrified man in the middle of a mid-life crisis, who’d tried to have everything and failed.
She’d tried to have everything too, she supposed. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to fail.
She just didn’t know quite how she was going to achieve it yet.
Juliet shook her head. ‘Trust me. Francesca is welcome to you. A baby at twenty-eight wasn’t exactly in my life plan either, but it’s happening and so we have to deal with it. Like grown-ups.’
She needed to be a grown-up. The one thing no one had ever thought she’d manage to be. Not her parents, who smiled indulgently as she came up with another dream or scheme, anything that would keep her away from festering on Seashell Island. Not her brother Leo, who still insisted on her texting to tell him she got home safely after one of their monthly dinners together. And definitely not her big sister Miranda, who’d made Seashell Island her whole life and couldn’t understand why anyone would ever leave, or what Juliet could be looking for over on the mainland that she couldn’t find on the island. Even Rory had wanted to keep her safe on the island, with him.
She’d always been the baby to them – to everyone. The one who was indulged, who no one expected too much from. The reckless, unthinking, impulsive one of the family. Seeking her own pleasure and not caring about who got inconvenienced, or even hurt, along the way.
And maybe she’d always been that to herself, too. But she couldn’t afford to be that Juliet any more.
Not if she was going to be somebody’s mother.
Oh God, I don’t know how to be a mother. I can barely take care of myself!
‘We need to figure this out,’ she repeated, as Callum stared at her in horror.
‘No,’ he said, lurching to his feet suddenly. ‘You need to deal with this. I have a wife. A family. I can’t have anything to do with it. You understand?’
He wasn’t asking if she could be understanding and forgive him, Juliet realised, horror mounting inside her as he crossed the room to open the door. He was telling her he would deny
this to anyone she told. He’d never acknowledge his own child. He just wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening at all. That they had never happened.
Well. She didn’t have that option.
‘I understand.’ She stood, slowly, her choices running circles in her brain. She had to pick one. Now.
She could demand DNA tests, kick up a fuss, cause him all the trouble in the world.
Or she could deal with this herself. As a grown-up.
Juliet swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘And I’m sure you’ll understand, in the circumstances, if I’m not able to work my full notice period.’
She couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t look at this man another moment longer.
Relief flowed off Callum in waves. ‘Of course, of course. I’ll . . . speak to HR. Tell them it was a family emergency or something.’
A family emergency. That had the benefit of being the truth.
She was going to be a family. Alone.
And that was terrifying and unfair and awful. But she was going to do it anyway.
Not just do it. She was going to rock it. Somehow.
Juliet nodded stiffly, and picked up her bag as she stood. ‘In that case . . . goodbye, Callum.’
She didn’t check to see if there was any hint of regret in his eyes as she walked out. Because even if there was, she knew she didn’t regret leaving him behind. Not one bit.
MESSAGES
Leo (to Parental Units group): Hi Mum, Dad. Hope your journey home is going OK. Just wanted to check you got my email? About me and the girls coming to stay this summer? We’re on the ferry now, so we’ll be there when you get home tomorrow. Can’t wait to see you!
(Unread)
Leo (to Miranda): Hey, sis. Just in case Mum forgot to mention, I’m setting up camp at the Lighthouse for the summer with the girls, while Emily’s away on honeymoon. Is there food in?
(Unread)
Leo (the Waters Wanderers group): Where is everybody? Haven’t heard anything from any of you since that photo of Dad with a koala. Great photos by the way, Mum. Sorry I haven’t been responding, bit busy at work, you know how it is. Glad you’re having fun though, and looking forward to having you home soon. (Btw – check your emails!!)
(Read by Juliet)
MIRANDA
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’ Miranda blinked at Paul over the familiar checked tablecloth at the Crab Leg Cafe. ‘Are you actually breaking up with me?’
Her engagement ring felt too heavy on her finger, and her heart seemed to be shrinking in on itself, like it was being squeezed and wrung out.
‘I think that, after all these years, if it was meant to happen – if we were meant to get married – we would have done it by now.’ Paul pulled his napkin tight between his hands, wringing it into a tight spiral. Just like her heart.
Miranda ground her teeth, her jaw tense with frustration. ‘We’ve been engaged for five years, since my thirtieth birthday, and I’ve been trying to get you to set a date since the day after you proposed.’
‘But have you really?’ Paul’s patronising tone grated, and Miranda only just resisted the urge to grab the napkin from his hand and throw it at his face. ‘I mean, if you really wanted to get married you’d have—’
‘What, exactly?’ Miranda asked. ‘Saved up thousands of pounds to pay for a wedding? Read every wedding magazine going? Picked out save-the-date cards? Been to three wedding fairs at the venue of my dreams? Bought my wedding dress?’
Paul swallowed so hard she saw his Adam’s apple bob. ‘You bought your dress?’
‘Three years ago,’ she ground out.
How could he do this? How could he actually be doing this? And how had she not seen the signs? They’d been together since they were sixteen. She’d spent more than half her life with this man. She hadn’t ever expected anything to change – just like how nothing ever really changed on Seashell Island. And that was how she liked it.
And, in fact, nothing had changed. So why was he doing this?
‘Let me get this straight,’ Miranda said, keeping her voice low, in case any of the tourists eavesdropping from nearby tables were Seashell Holiday Cottages clients. She could already see her childhood friend Becca watching her from behind the counter, curiosity in her eyes. ‘After nineteen years together, five of them as my fiancé, you’ve suddenly decided I’m not the right woman for you after all.’
‘Things change, Miri. People change.’
Not on Seashell Island they didn’t. That was the point, the reason she’d fought to stay there. The security of knowing that every day would be the same as the last, that she could rely on things happening in the proper order at the proper times. The Easter swim. The kite festival on the beach. The end-of-summer festival up at the Lighthouse. The feeble Christmas light switch on where one of the bulbs always blew. She knew this island, she knew how her days, her months, her years would pass.
‘I haven’t changed.’
‘Well maybe I have!’ Paul’s gaze darted out of the window as he spoke.
Suddenly, the awful truth dawned. ‘You’ve met someone else.’
‘No! I just . . .’ he sighed, and rubbed the napkin across his forehead. ‘I got offered a new job. A promotion. Off the island. And I want to take it.’
And she’d thought she knew Paul. Known he was steady and reliable and safe, just like her island.
She knew Christabel thought he was the wrong man for her, that she needed someone more fascinating, more exciting. But her friend had always failed to appreciate the most important thing about Paul: he didn’t want her to leave Seashell Island.
But evidently she hadn’t known him at all.
Miranda stared at him. ‘You didn’t think about asking me to come with you?’ It was more a statement than a question. Of course he hadn’t.
‘No,’ Paul admitted, his shoulders slumped. ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t. Would you?’
She tried to imagine leaving Seashell Island. Her island. The first place she had ever belonged.
Juliet had been too tiny to remember life before they settled on Seashell Island, and Leo never seemed to either, but Miranda did. She remembered moving from school to school, from flat to shared house, never settling anywhere for longer than a couple of terms, never long enough to fit in or make friends. Just long enough to be bullied and teased. Never knowing when they’d move again, or how long they’d be staying. Not even being sure when she went home at the end of Friday if she’d go back to the same school after the weekend.
It had been such a relief when her parents had bought the Lighthouse. It had taken a while for Miranda to really believe it, but the fact that they actually owned it had helped convince her that this time, for the first time, she could expect to stay.
Of course, the place had been falling down around them to start with. It had taken months, years of DIY, and even three-year-old Juliet had been wielding a paintbrush by the end, but it had been theirs. A place they could stay, at last. A place where Mum could paint and Dad could write – and they could even pay the bills because as soon as they were open they had plenty of guests, because who wouldn’t want to stay in the house with the best view on Seashell Island?
This place was home. This island was home. It was safe. She couldn’t leave it, not even for the man she’d promised to marry.
‘No,’ she said, softly. ‘I wouldn’t.’
He looked up, meeting her gaze with his own solemn one, and Miranda knew there wasn’t anything else to say.
He wanted to leave, just like Leo and Juliet always had. Just like she never could.
She’d tried once. It had been a mistake, so she came back. But that was her, not him.
She gave Paul a small nod. She wouldn’t try to make him stay.
‘I guess that’s it, then,’ he said, after an awkward pause. Miranda coul
dn’t help but notice he didn’t seem particularly heartbroken.
‘I guess it is.’ Nineteen years of her life over, just like that. But her heart seemed intact.
Maybe Christabel was right. Maybe she had just stuck with Paul because he was the safe choice.
But what was so wrong with making safe choices?
There were things they needed to sort out, Miranda knew. For a start, all her stuff was still in his flat. She still worked for his father, still hoped to take over that business one day – although, now she’d never be family, would that still happen? She let herself fantasise for a moment about Nigel disowning Paul and adopting her instead. Which, if Paul left Seashell Island for good, wasn’t entirely outside the realms of possibility. Nigel and Gwendolyn were as devoted to this island as she was.
But all that stuff would have to wait a while. She couldn’t face any of it just yet.
Right now, all she wanted to do was curl up back at the place she’d always felt safest, and grieve for the security and certainty she’d just lost – even if she wasn’t sure she’d really mourn the relationship that went with it.
She needed to get back to the Lighthouse.
Dropping her napkin over her untouched plate, Miranda picked up her handbag and got to her feet.
‘Goodbye, Paul.’
He jerked up to standing, too. ‘Miranda. Don’t go. I mean, we can still be friends, right? And we need to sort out the flat and—’
She shook her head. ‘Not now. You just broke my heart, Paul, give me a minute.’
‘Did I, though?’ Paul tilted his head a little to the side as he asked the question, the way he always did when he was talking about something he thought mattered. One of a million tiny quirks she’d memorised over the years, from how he always crammed for exams at the last minute to how he folded his socks. Half a brain full of information she’d never need again. ‘I mean, is your heart really broken?’
Summer on Seashell Island: Escape to an island this summer for the perfect heartwarming romance in 2020 (Riley Wolfe 1) Page 3