table and drove. Not towards home, but up towards Red Hill and sat next to a pile of rocks and watched the sunset, with her arms wrapped around her legs, and tried in vain to understand the mindset of a woman who had no family to fall back on, and no one to call.
‘Why’d you do it?’ she asked finally, but there was no answer and there never would be.
‘Why’d you lie like that and say he was, when he wasn’t?’ Tears blurred her vision. ‘Did you know he’d never be able to turn away your orphaned child, the way he turned from you?’ And that was a petty and hurtful thought and Tilly felt ashamed of herself for ever having uttered it aloud, even in the middle of nowhere. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. I just … you know what he’s like. You never know what he’s thinking unless you drag it out of him. All he had to do was say, ‘I’m not sure she’s mine’ and we could have talked about it. I could have been part of whatever’s going on, but I’m not and it’s touching on every insecurity I’ve ever known.’
Silly, naive, cosseted Tilly. Put her in the kitchen and let her feed you baked goods, but beyond that, out there in the wider world, what use was she? Couldn’t navigate London. Had never known paralysing fear or hunger or conflict. Couldn’t rise to the occasion and put faith into practice when Henry said trust me, just trust me.
Trust him to return home and explain what he’d been doing.
She unclasped her hands and dug them into the dirt that had always been her centre. ‘You believed in him.’ She closed her eyes and reached for her truth. ‘Whatever he’s doing, I believe in him too.’
Throw her a curveball and watch her adapt to it. Maybe that was her strength. A strength borne of loving and being loved, of thinking the best of people and not the worst, of standing firm for what she believed in.
Grow up, Tilly Moore. Know your worth. Henry had chosen her for what she would bring to him and she brought steadfast love, and the pleasures of home, the comfort of family and much, much more.
She opened her eyes. The wind whistled in the trees and set silver-green leaves to rustling.
‘Thanks, Amanda. Good talk.’
*
It probably wouldn’t do for Henry to kiss the ground the minute he stepped from the plane. He’d probably drop the baby, for one thing. The fractious, grumbling baby who could keep up her fractious grumbling for twenty-four hours straight. He knew this because his darling child had just proved it.
He’d been aiming for fatherhood to look good on him, given Tilly was waiting for them on the other side of customs and immigration.
He’d settle for not smelling like baby drool.
Immigration took forever, and customs even longer, but eventually he walked through the arrivals gate and into the waiting room. He was relatively clean and tidy after a change of shirt for him and a complete change of outfit for Rowan. Tilly stood waiting for them, and the look on her face was hard to decipher. Relief and plenty of it. Sheer joy when she looked at Rowan. Something altogether more complex when she looked at him, and suddenly he felt all awkward and wrong footed.
And then she flung her arms around them both and burst into tears, and it wasn’t quite the welcome he’d expected.
‘You foolish, silly man. What am I going to do with you?’ she told his shoulder and then proceeded to kiss him stupid.
She took Rowan out of his arms next and hugged her close and, and then she kissed him again, and he sensed this could go on and on. ‘What did I miss?’ Because, seriously. He’d been gone for less than a week. ‘Want to get out of here?’ he asked next.
The Mercedes was a welcome sight. The furnished apartment, same as last time, seemed like an oasis. The shower beckoned, but he wanted to get to the bottom of Matilda’s tears first.
Rowan had fallen asleep in the car and stayed asleep during transfer to the portable cot in the apartment and why, why could she not have slept on the plane?
‘Do we need to talk?’ he asked Tilly as she poured herself a glass of water and threw him a guarded smile. ‘Let me rephrase. I do have news and things to say, but you go first, if you like.’
‘Sure you don’t want