think people do when they lose someone? Just … plough on?’ He smooths my hair back from my face. ‘You were healing. You’re still healing. You’ll maybe always be healing. And that’s OK. It’ll just be part of what makes you you.’
I rest my face against his chest. He kisses the top of my head.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Say the distractingly fanciable thing again.’
I smile. I don’t know how to explain the way Jackson makes me feel, how freeing it is to be around somebody so completely themselves, so utterly without guile.
‘When you’re here, I’m here, too,’ I say, turning my face up to his. ‘Which is amazing, because most of the time, I’m always somewhere else. Looking back or looking ahead, worrying or planning or …’
He kisses me on the lips until my whole body is humming. I want to take that shirt off him and feel the hair on his chest and the broad, firm muscles of his shoulders and count the pale freckles on his arms. Instead I kiss him again, hungrily, breathlessly, and he walks me backwards half a step so my back is pressed against the cupboard door, his body flush to mine. We kiss like teenagers, his hands tangling in my hair, mine clenching fists of fabric at the back of his shirt.
Then – oof – the door opens, and we’re thrown backwards. All that stops us falling is Jackson’s arm thrown out to catch the doorframe – I cling to him, my hair in my face, as the music of the party blares around us. I can hear laughter and whoops, and even once I’m steady on my feet, I keep my face buried in Jackson’s neck.
‘Leena Cotton!’ I hear Fitz call. ‘You’re just as much of a minx as your grandmother!’
I laugh, pulling away a little and turning to look at the crowd around us. I see my grandma’s face – she’s beaming at me, a large gin and tonic in her hand.
‘Are you going to tell me off for meddling?’ she calls.
I lean into Jackson, my hands linked around his waist. ‘You know what? I can’t fault you on this one, Grandma. Switch places, and I would have done the exact same thing.’
Epilogue
Eileen
It’s been almost six months since Leena moved to Hamleigh; eight months since Marian left. And two years to the day since Carla died.
We’re at Leeds Airport, awaiting the arrival of the last member of our party. Leena’s organised it all: the village hall is decked out in moon daisies and lilies, Carla’s favourite flowers, and we’re having shepherd’s pie then brownies for pudding. We even invited Wade, though thankfully he took the invite as it was meant – purely a gesture – and declined.
Here in Leeds Airport, Samantha comes tearing around the corner, eyes scanning the gaggle of people waiting around us. She spots Jackson first, and that’s it, she’s flying towards him, her blonde mop of hair bouncing as she darts her way through the crowd and throws herself into his waiting arms.
‘Daddy! Daddy!’ Samantha cries.
Marigold follows her daughter more slowly. In her defence, nobody could move at speed in those ridiculous heels.
‘Leena, hi,’ she says, leaning to kiss my granddaughter on the cheek. Marigold looks relaxed, and the smile she shoots Leena seems genuine.
This is all Leena’s doing. Samantha will be spending the next four weeks here, then going back to America with Marigold after Christmas. Leena worked on Marigold for weeks: softly softly, placating, easing her into the idea, removing each obstacle one by one. I was there for the moment, one month ago, when she told Jackson that Marigold had agreed to a longer visit at Christmas. If it is possible for a man to look both broken and healed at the very same moment, then that’s how Jackson looked. He hugged Leena so tightly I thought she’d suffocate, but instead she came up red-cheeked and beaming, turning her face up to his for a kiss. I have never been prouder.
We make our way back to Hamleigh-in-Harksdale in convoy, Jackson’s truck in the lead, and me in Agatha the Ford Ka, who now – thanks to Arnold – has functioning air conditioning. There’s snow on the hilltops and dusting the old stone walls crisscrossing the fields. I feel a fierce, intense love for this place that has always been my home, and I watch Leena smile out at the Dales as we pass the sign saying Welcome to Hamleigh-in-Harksdale. It’s home for her, now, too.