And so the pain made more sense now. How devastated he must have felt to find out he had a son, the son he could never have with Tiggy. And yet, Maddie had had no idea. She’d thought he’d walked away from her, that it was for the best as her mother had told her. Maybe a few months ago, when he’d trusted her, when it was going well, maybe then if she’d told him it could have all been so different. He’d always said he couldn’t tolerate lies. She pulled her legs up in front of her and hugged them as the front door closed.
She pulled out her paints from their box by the sofa and opened her sketchpad. She flicked to her latest painting; it was of two hummingbirds circling each other, their wings entwined. She sat for a while, drawing the delicate shapes of the birds, their fragile wings, the tiny beaks, then she traced a few outlines with paint, then snapped the sketchbook shut. It wasn’t working this time. They just weren’t right.
She wanted to dislodge the disquiet in her soul so she stood up and headed to the kitchen and wiped down all the surfaces. She could hear Ed singing in the shower upstairs.
As she scrubbed out the sink she looked out to the bay at the beautiful sunset. Life can be so cruel, she thought. Poor Tiggy. She tipped the water out of the bowl, watching it swirl in a circle and drain away – it felt like all her hope was draining away too. She stood with her hands outstretched on either side of the cold sink and wiped her cheek on her shoulder.
This was beyond repair. He was so near… and yet so far away from her emotionally. And it was her doing. But perhaps even if she couldn’t have a relationship with Greg, it looked like Ed could. His father. She picked up a wine glass from the draining board, determined to look for the positives, twisting a tea towel tightly inside it. Round and round went the towel as her mind calmed a flurry of thoughts. Suddenly, the glass edge smashed in her hand, and she cut her fingers. Blood oozed down her hand and over the glass, undoing all the weeks of healing.
67
Maddie was in bed, rubbing cream into her hands. It was a Sunday in early September. It had been two weeks since she’d last seen Greg. There was just a very slight chill in the air in the mornings when she let Taffie out into the garden. Her hand had started to heal again, after the nurse at the doctor’s surgery had bandaged it up and scolded her for not being careful. She had only cut two fingers, but they had been deep cuts.
It was a bright, sparkling kind of day outside. Maddie loved this time of year. She glanced out the window to the sapphire-blue sky with streaks of white clouds, to the bay stretching out ahead, and knew the air would be fresher today. She realised that this time last year was when her life was turned upside down. The school dinner lady had had quite a year, whether she’d liked it or not: finding Greg again, going to Bali, coming home, poor Olive passing away, the beautiful cottage, Tim’s devastating revelations, her pottery, her son engaged.
She looked at the scarring on her hands and thought of Ed. The centre had placed him on the other side of the island this week where the winds weren’t so strong, to help run a windsurfing course all week with a school group of beginners. Teaching children seemed to come naturally to him. Ed had been more and more animated about the club, and about sailing. He was taking an Inshore master course, and according to Greg and a few others, he should have enough hours soon, he just needed to get more experience.
He poked his head round her bedroom door, dark hair stuck up at odd angles.
‘Mum? Greg’s just called. There’s a boat that was meant to be chartered today from the sailing club, but the guy’s ill and the skipper says it’s free if we want it. Fancy coming? Greg says that if I help him skipper the boat I’d be able to clock more hours for my Day Skipper certificate.’
Me, Ed, Greg? Maddie didn’t think twice. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Are you quite sure he wants both of us?’