of him were ones where he had his head down at his desk and never on the arm of another woman or, as Mum’s diary had alleged, women. For some reason, my brain was reluctant to marry up with the truth I now carried around in my heart, but I tried not to let it all dominate my day in the sun.
I had just stepped out of a refreshingly cool shower late that afternoon when someone began beating a tattoo on the cottage door and I hastily pulled on some clothes before rushing to answer it.
‘Just a sec,’ I shouted, fumbling with the key in the lock, ‘hold on.’
I opened the door and was faced with the biggest bunch of yellow roses imaginable. In an instant I was transported back to my parents’ garden and, remembering how beautifully the roses had bloomed this year, courtesy of the bunch Joan had arranged for me during my last attack of vertigo, I was completely convinced that my father was standing behind them – and I was amazed to discover that I hoped he might be.
My heart hammered hard as I tried to work out what I was going to say but I couldn’t come up with anything and it didn’t matter anyway, because it wasn’t him.
‘I’d all but given up on you,’ said Joe, his face appearing over the top of the blooms as he lowered them. ‘Are you going to ask me in?’
I stepped aside to let him in as my heart settled back down again.
‘These are for you,’ he said, handing the beautiful bunch over. ‘I remembered how much you enjoyed looking at the roses when we went for our afternoon tea.’
‘Hello, Joe,’ I said, finally finding my words. ‘They’re absolutely stunning. Thank you so much. It was kind of you to remember.’
‘There’s not much I forget,’ he grinned, evidently pleased with my reaction.
Aside from the first non-platonic kiss anyone had ever planted on my lips, of course.
‘When did you get back?’ I asked, brushing the thought aside.
‘Not long ago,’ he said, following me into the kitchen where I thought I’d seen a vase at the back of one of the cupboards. ‘I haven’t even been to the farm yet.’
‘Are you putting the moment off by any chance?’
‘In a way,’ he shrugged, ‘but I had a couple of things to do in the village and I wanted to see you. I’ve been feeling bad about how we left things last week.’
I thought back to how resolutely he had objected to my suggestion that he should go with me to the pub and how keen he had been to convince me not to try and ‘mend him’.
‘I hate the thought of you thinking that I don’t appreciate your concern,’ he said, looking at me intently.
‘I know you appreciate it, Joe,’ I told him, ‘and I also know this isn’t just any old run-of-the-mill sort of situation either.’
He nodded and ran a hand through his hair.
‘That’s all right then,’ he smiled, ‘that’s settled. And you know, I have high hopes for today.’
‘High hopes?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I’m hoping we might be able to say goodbye without any confusion, mixed messages or argumentative undertones.’
I supposed that had become a bit of a habit.
‘Hey now,’ I said, finally locating the vase and plunging the roses into it, ‘don’t go mad. Let’s not count our chickens until you’re walking out through that door and heading back to the farm, shall we?’
I made us tea and halved the gargantuan slice of coconut coffee cake Sophie had sent me home with the day before.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind sharing this?’ Joe asked, appreciatively eyeing the plate.
‘It’s imperative that I do share it,’ I told him as I handed him a cake fork, ‘because if I keep eating everything Sophie tries to feed me, then I’m going to be at least two dress sizes bigger before I wave goodbye to Wynmouth.’
I hated the thought of saying my farewells, whatever size I was going to be when I had to do it.
‘That’s not going to be happening just yet though, is it?’ Joe asked.
‘What, me piling on the weight, or saying goodbye?’
‘Saying goodbye,’ he laughed. ‘I can see you’ve already put a bit of weight on.’
‘Hey!’ I objected, batting him with a cushion and almost knocking the plate out of his hand. ‘I thought you wanted to leave on friendly terms today?’
‘I do,’ he laughed, hiding the cushion down the side of the sofa. ‘I do. You know I’m