yours, but I understand – your parents, your age, all these years that have gone past—’
Decision? She wasn’t sure what he meant. Decision? And then she realised. Understood what he was saying – what he thought of her – and she looked at his big, beautiful hands, hands that had caressed her, hands that had cupped her breasts, had tenderly held her as she shook against him when he made love to her. She studied his rough fingernails as he held his chin in his hands and stared at her.
‘About not keeping the baby, I mean. I don’t blame you, I really don’t. You…’
Her mouth went dry, and when she opened it to say something her voice was shaky. ‘Is that what you think of me?’
She got up from the bed, clutching one of the cushions to her chest. All the brandy, the exhaustion of the last few weeks, Olive’s service, the shock of falling into the ocean, the years and years of pain she had been harbouring after watching him walk away, trying to understand just how hard it would have been for him, a man with such a free soul, to be tied down, to feel obliged. He had always been like that, like a ship sailing into the seas, looking for adventure. A free spirit. She’d tried to stop wanting him, wanting to know how he felt. Then at last, having the chance and hoping that somehow it all might make sense when she could finally talk to him. Suddenly all the pain came flooding back. ‘Get out,’ she said quietly. ‘And go back to your wife.’
Maddie stood up, walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. A few moments later she heard the hotel bedroom door shut as she sank to the floor, clutching her knees.
31
‘Right, darling, let’s get in and have a look – a look at your new home. Yours, Maddie.’ Rachel squeezed Maddie’s hand. Taffie barked at her heels. It was a grey November day with a light, misty drizzle that hadn’t let up all the way down from Hampshire.
‘Shh! Taffie! I’ll take you on the beach later!’ She bent down and tickled him under the chin. Thank God for her companion Taffie. The last week had been awful. She felt stung about what Greg thought her capable of doing. She’d had to tell the school that she was leaving, and she’d cried herself to sleep on a few occasions – quietly, as Rachel and Alan were in the next room. It was nineteen years ago all over again…
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, a new voice was commanding. Maddie looked at the front door. Her front door. She and Rachel were on the doorstep, a silver Yale key in her hand. They’d just been to the estate agents and he had fiddled about at the back of the office and returned with a big A4 jiffy bag with the key for the cottage, the instructions for the boiler, and a leaflet from the council about the bins.
The cottage was detached and small; it was perfect. It was hers. A shiver ran up her spine. There were two bedrooms upstairs with dormer windows and a large bathroom. Downstairs was a lounge that ran the width of the house with a vast window overlooking the back garden. At the bottom of the garden a low stone wall outlined the end of the property and provided some shelter from the sea winds and waves, which would often spill up onto the path running along the other side. The path meandered around the coastline for several miles, and in places stone steps led right down to the beach.
The kitchen-diner wasn’t big, but there was a window there too, overlooking the bay with another spectacular view. There was a back door, and a loo downstairs, and a tiny under-stairs cupboard. Outside, the cottage was white pebble dash with a red-tiled roof. Next to her mossy-green-painted wooden door a black anchor was nailed to the cottage wall. It was slightly wonky. Maddie touched it with her finger and noticed that the nail was rusty. She gently moved it upright – and it moved right back again. Olive’s old cottage.
Although it was achingly familiar, it didn’t feel like Maddie’s home – yet. She’d never lived anywhere alone. It had always been her and someone else, even at university she had been in halls, then a flat share, then – well, back home with Mum and Dad, and then