by Fiona Harper
Whatever he did for Megan was never enough. It never had been.
When she’d left him, he’d felt empty. Not really because he missed her—by then he’d been too exhausted to feel anything but regret on Jas’s behalf. No, the emptiness had been more a sense of being bled dry. He was a pretty decent bloke, he thought, and he’d put his heart and soul into his marriage but, in the end, he’d had to accept that his best had not been enough.
Megan had wanted more. She’d been so needy—he could see that now. Blindly, he’d thought he could help her grow, be the foundation that she could build on. But she was the sort of woman who needed constant attention, constant flattering, and he just hadn’t been skilled at that. It had been like feeding a gaping hole that had never been satisfied.
He scrubbed his face with his hands and headed back to the kitchen. It was going to take all his energy for the next half hour to make nice and hear what her latest gripe was without telling her to get over herself.
The young woman he’d married, who’d been fragile but full of promise, had not blossomed into the strong and confident mother he’d thought she would. She was still full of all the same insecurities. And what little confidence she possessed hadn’t grown into self-esteem, but had hardened into self-involvement. She was the world’s axis, and heaven help anyone who didn’t agree with her.
When he re-entered the kitchen, he was disappointed to discover that her coffee mug was still mostly full. He sat down beside her.
‘What’s so urgent?’
She gave him a withering look. ‘Thank you, Ben. I had a lovely Christmas. How about you?’
‘Dad? Look at this journal … It’s got an electronic lock and a password. I can keep all my private stuff in here. Mum says it’ll help me grow emotionally to keep a diary.’
Ben resisted the urge to growl. ‘It’s lovely, Jas.’
Placated, his daughter started to flick through the book, full of all about me pages. He’d really like to ‘lose’ that diary after Christmas. The last thing he wanted was for his ex to pass on the message to their daughter that life was all about her.
Turning back to Megan, he raised his eyebrows. She glanced at Jasmine, then motioned for him to join her on the other side of the kitchen. Too cloak-and-dagger for him, but it was easier to play along than have a row in front of Jasmine. He hauled himself back out of the chair and followed her, hoping that filling in the diary would command one hundred percent of Jas’s attention.
Megan’s idea of ‘subtle’ was talking in a stage whisper.
‘I want Jasmine to come and live with me.’
He shook his head. No way. They’d decided all of this when Megan had moved out. Jas needed to stay in Lower Hadwell for school, for continuity. It had been Megan’s idea to up and move to Totnes, South Devon’s new age hotspot, to ‘discover’ herself. He didn’t like the idea of Jas being influenced by all of that mumbo-jumbo at such a young age. And some of Megan’s friends …
Megan’s voice rose. ‘She’s going to be a teenager soon. I think a girl that age needs her mother close by.’
The rustling noises reaching from the kitchen table stopped.
He grabbed his ex-wife by the arm and propelled her out of the kitchen. Megan forgot her stage whisper and protested loudly.
‘Pity you didn’t think she needed a mother when you upped and left us.’
She ran a hand through her long hair. ‘I realise what a mistake that was now, and it’s time to put it right.’
‘Right for whom?’
Not for him, not even for Jasmine. This was all about what Megan wanted, about what was good for Megan.
‘Dad?’ A nervous shout came from inside the kitchen.
Still fixing Megan with his fiercest stare, he yelled back, ‘I’ll be right there, Jellybean.’
‘Yes, that’s right, Ben. Take the easy way out, run away from the main issue.’
Lord, he really wanted to grab this woman by the shoulders and shake her.
‘Megan,’ he said from between clenched teeth. ‘Wouldn’t it have been more appropriate to discuss this on our own, somewhere Jasmine couldn’t hear us?’
She made a gesture he could only describe as a flounce. ‘It should be her decision, you know.’
Give him strength! ‘We are not doing this now! Okay? You are going to collect your handbag, say goodbye to your daughter and leave. And I will phone you during the week so we can discuss this properly.’
Megan glared at him. ‘Fine.’ She stalked into the kitchen, followed his suggestions to the letter—which had to be a first—slamming the front door behind her. She was going to stew on this for days, he just knew it. Which was only going to make the coming negotiations worse, but how could he let Jas overhear? She’d witnessed enough rows already.
As he headed back into the kitchen he heard the screech of tyres in the lane.
Well, that ought to put any of her ridiculous ideas that he was still carrying a torch for her to rest. And about time too.
Louise put her phone away. The coast was clear. Although, from the sound of it, it would be better to leave father and daughter to some quality time this evening. Despite Ben’s protests, she’d insisted she was merely returning to collect her car then she’d be on her way.
She stepped over the low wooden fence that separated the lane from the stony beach and headed back towards Ben’s cottage. Only a moment later, she had to flatten herself against the hedge as a flashy four-wheel drive hurtled towards her.
Megan was in the driving seat, and she looked like she’d just sucked a whole pound of lemons. The car slowed briefly as she spotted Louise. At first, Megan’s face registered surprise, but when she got closer her face contorted and she gunned the engine, leaving Louise coughing on exhaust fumes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Louise still daydreamed about Ben, even that night, after she’d returned home after eating supper with him and Jas. Even the following morning, when she wandered down to the boathouse just as it got light.
Unlike Laura, who’d been wishing for someone she couldn’t have, Louise was seeing a man who was free to be with her. That made it different. Safer.
But now her dreams didn’t just involve significant looks and first kisses; they’d moved on, matured. These were no seedling fantasies. Now they were putting down roots, burrowing deep inside of her and they stretched far into the future.
She and Ben living at Whitehaven, talking easily in the kitchen, eating round the large oak table with Jas and Jack …
Waking up with Ben in her bed, a circle of gold on his finger …
Sitting outside on the lawn on a bright summer’s day, the squeals of the children ringing out as they chased each other in and out of the woods …
Okay, she’d borrowed that last one from Laura a little bit. But Whitehaven was the sort of house that should have children running on its lawns.
She reached the boathouse and went instantly to her destination: the desk.
7th November, 1954
I know I shouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I’d steeled myself for the news already, eerily sure of what the doctor wanted to tell me. I thought I was ready.
And yet, when he said the words—so kindly—when he told me I probably wouldn’t ever have children, I fell apart and made a terrible scene. It was the one thing I’d been hanging onto, you see. The one thing that could keep me cemented to Alex.
I don’t know what to do now. There is nothing left to hope for.
19th February, 1955
My marriage is dying a slow and painful death. The sad thing is that it wasn’t until I said to Alex that I wanted to leave him that I realised how much he truly cared about me. He’s always so quiet, always so restrained.
And yet my big, stocky businessman of a husband wept when I told him I couldn’t go on any more.
‘What?’ he begged me, ‘What more can I do for you to make you stay? I love you, Laura. I have always loved you.’
I didn’t say any
thing. What could he do to make me stay?
Be Dominic. That’s all I could give him, and even I am not cruel enough to say that.
He told me he knew he wasn’t good with words, but that he did his best, that he tried to tell me how much he cared in all the ways he knew how. That’s true, I suppose, when I think back. Alex likes to give gifts. He’s bought me more diamonds than I could ever wear, but I always thought they were just window-dressing for his trophy. I learned to despise them.
But I can’t say that about the other things, the things I’d hardly noticed and taken for granted—the way he always opens the door for me, or that he’ll fetch my coat if I so much as shiver. But you can’t build a marriage on little civilities. There has to be adoration. There has to be passion.
For me, there has to be Dominic.
And if I can’t be with him, I don’t want anyone else. It’s not fair to Alex to keep him tied to a woman who doesn’t love him. As much as he says he doesn’t want me to go now, he’d just end up hating me in the future. I’m doing this to save both of us from that.
Louise put the diary down and frowned. It all sounded so romantic, this desperate love for Dominic, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for poor Alex. She had a feeling he’d been a good man, that he’d loved Laura far more than she’d realised.
Louise knew she’d never have divorced Toby if he’d been half as attentive and kind as Alex had been to Laura. Good men like that were hard to find.
She looked at the closed diary and shook her head.
Poor Laura. No chance of being with the man she adored, and no desire to stay with the one who just might have adored her. But that still left a question hanging.
If there had been a husband with Laura at Whitehaven, who had it been?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As Ben motored across the river in the dinghy, he couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face. Life had a funny way of throwing surprises at you. If someone had told him six months ago that he’d fall in love with one of those glitzy women from the magazine covers, he’d probably have hurt himself laughing. But, in his eyes, Louise wasn’t one of them, anyway.
Through a series of text messages that morning, they’d decided that since it was a Sunday he should come to Whitehaven as usual. The hike up the hill towards the house seemed to last forever. It didn’t stop Jas complaining that he was going too fast and pulling on his jacket to slow him down. Finally, he caught a glimpse of white masonry between the trees. Jas started running—probably because she had cakes on the brain.
Two seconds later, he sprinted after her.
When he laid eyes on Louise, who had obviously been hovering in the empty kitchen waiting for him, he hadn’t counted on how hard it would be to be only feet away, but not able to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Not yet, anyway.
It was torture, having to go out to the greenhouse and look at the plants while Louise and Jas made banana muffins together—bonding time. When he returned, he drank his cup of tea so fast he scalded his throat. Did he care?
‘Come on, Jas. You and I are going for a bit of a walk.’
Jas rolled her eyes. ‘Aw. Can’t I have another muffin?’
‘When we get back.’ He walked over to the back door and handed her coat to her, then, over the top of Jas’s head, he winked at Louise. She rewarded him with a smile.
As soon as the door closed behind them and they started making their way along the path towards the old stable complex, his heart began to thump. ‘Jas? You like Louise, don’t you?’
Jas bent down to pick up a stick. ‘Yeah. She’s cool—and really pretty.’
No arguments from him there.
Suddenly his mouth went dry. ‘How would you feel if she … if we …’ heck, this was more nerve-wracking than when he’d proposed to Megan ‘… if she was my girlfriend?’ he finished in a rush.
Jas twiddled the stick in her fingers. ‘Cool!’ she said, suddenly, smiling up at him. ‘Can I have another muffin now?’ And, without waiting for him, she ran off back to the house.
He shook his head as a grin spread on his face. How easy had that been? He’d been expecting tears, arguments about why couldn’t he and Mummy live together again, but Jas had taken it totally in her stride. Maybe he wasn’t doing such a bad job of bringing her up after all.
Then, realising he could now go back to the house and, at the very least, hug Louise in front of Jas, he started to jog. If only telling the rest of the world could be that simple and uneventful, but he didn’t have to worry about that yet. For now, this was their little secret.
Ben should have suspected something was up as soon as he walked into the newsagent’s to collect his morning paper. Instead of the buzz of gossip, the rustle of paper and the ding of the old-fashioned till, there was silence, only broken by the echo of the brass bell that had announced his arrival.
There were around six people in the shop and they all stopped what they were doing and looked at him.
He felt decidedly uncomfortable as he headed for the rack full of newspapers. Had he turned green overnight or grown an extra head? What was up with these people?
As he bent to pick up his usual broadsheet there was a collective gasp.
Okay, that was enough. He stood up, and turned around to face them, his arms wide. ‘What?’
Still, no one uttered a word but, one by one, they all looked at something behind him on the magazine and newspaper rack. He had the feeling that if he turned round a trap door would open underneath him and he’d be standing on thin air.
Slowly, he twisted round and scanned the display. The other villagers burst into motion and chatter. More than one darted out of the shop without buying anything.
What the …?
He shut his eyes and opened them again, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. There was a woman he knew very well on the front of one of the tabloids, looking grim and angry with her arms crossed and her eyes blazing. Only, it wasn’t Louise.
It was Megan.
‘LOUISE GOT HER CLAWS INTO MY MAN,’ the headline screamed in tall white letters on a black background. Below were two smaller pictures, one a heart-shaped photo of him and Megan from the last summer holiday they’d shared together—graphically altered by putting a jagged rip between the two of them—and a headshot of Louise, taken from below, so it seemed as if she was looking down her nose at something.
He snatched the paper off the shelf. What the hell?
Megan had to have something to do with this. How else had the paper got that photo of them? What on earth was she playing at? Didn’t she think anything through? What if Jasmine saw this? Or even her friends?
At first he was relieved that there only seemed to be three copies on display but, eventually, his brain kicked in and he realised that must be because the rest had been sold. He grabbed all three of them, marched up to the counter and threw a few coins down. He wasn’t about to wait for change.
‘You should be ashamed of yourself for selling such trash,’ he told Mrs Green.
She gave him a stony look. ‘Well, Mister Oliver, we all know Megan’s been gone a while, and that Thornton woman has only just arrived, but you know what they say …’
Suddenly, he really didn’t want to know what the mysterious ‘they’ had to say about anything. He turned and walked towards the door. Mrs Green raised her voice, just so he wouldn’t miss her pearl of wisdom as he opened the door and exited the shop.
‘There’s no smoke without fire.’
What a pity the old stable block had deteriorated so badly. Louise pushed gingerly at one of the doors. The building was huge—a double-height room with gigantic arched doors at one end, big enough to take a carriage or two. The low-ceilinged central section had enough stalls for one, two, three … eight horses.
There was a hatch in the ceiling above one of the abandoned stalls. What was upstairs? Those skylights in the steep slate-tiled roof had to be there for a reason. She was dying to find out. Or, at l
east, she was dying to think of something other than the email that had blithely pinged into her inbox earlier that morning, and pulling buildings apart and putting them back together again was a familiar displacement activity for her at present. Safe. Comforting. All-consuming.
In a corner she found a stepladder, obviously not authentic Georgian as it was made of aluminium. Still, it would do. She dragged it underneath the hatch and unfolded it, making sure the safety catches were in place.
She was up the steps in a shot and, when she pushed the hatch door, she was showered with dust and dirt and probably a hundred creepy-crawlies. Holding onto the ladder for support, she brushed her hair down with her free hand.
When she’d stopped coughing and blinking, she poked her head through the hole. Enough light was filtering through the streaky grey skylights for her too see a long loft, with fabulous supporting beams in the roof. She turned round to look in the other direction. Goodness, this must run the whole length of the stables. It was easily sixty feet long. Just think what an amazing guest house this would make! There was room for at least four good-sized bedrooms.
Louise turned round and sat on the large, flat step on the top of the stepladder. She already had a house full of rooms she didn’t know what to do with. What on earth did she need a guest house for? And shouldn’t she find something more worthwhile to do with her life than prettying up her own house?
‘Louise!’
That was Ben’s voice. A second later, he appeared in the stable door, breathless and dishevelled.
‘Up here,’ she called, her skin cold and tingling as she peered into the dingy interior. He spotted her and ran to the bottom of the ladder. How was she going to tell him? How could she prepare him for the poisonous taste of her world? Just when she thought things were finally going right, all her old choices—the kind of life she’d led, the kind of man she’d married—came back to bite her on the arse.