African drumming band, the vegan restaurant, last night . . .’ I trail off thinking about them together on the sofa. Trust me, Daniel did not look like a man who wanted to finish things.
‘We were.’ She nods. ‘We did.’ She gives a little sniff and her large green eyes start to glisten. She blinks rapidly. ‘But he said now that I’ve found Harold, he didn’t want to stop me from being with him. From being with my soulmate.’
I pause, allowing for that to register. ‘Can you just rewind that bit?’ I fix her with a hard look. ‘How does he know you’ve . . . I mean, I’ve found Harold?’
‘I told him.’
‘You told him?’
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‘Of course.’ She nods. ‘I told h»€ods. ‘I t³€d h»€odsim...
‘You haven’t even met him yet! He might be the completely wrong Harold,’ I exclaim, waving the espresso pot around. ‘I mean, there must be more than one unlucky sod in the world with the name Harold.’
Robyn stiffens slightly.
‘And even if by some miracle he is the right one, you might hate him.’
‘I don’t hate anyone,’ she reprimands hotly. ‘Hate is wasted emotion. It will only bring bitterness into your heart.’
‘That’s not what you said about the man who left his dog in the car.’
Last week Robyn saw an article on the news about a man who’d nearly killed his Dalmatian from heat exhaustion by leaving it locked in his jeep in the midday sun. Thankfully it was found in the nick of time by a passerby.
‘I don’t hate him. I want to lock him in his car in hundred-degree heat without any water or air and let him suffer in agony for a very, very long time and beg for help and come this close to dying.’ She pinches her two fingers together and scrunches up her face so that she looks pretty scary. ‘There’s a difference.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ I quickly change the subject. ‘About Daniel, I mean, not the man with the Dalmatian,’ I say hurriedly, before she reams off a list of torture devices. For a woman who’s all about healing, she knows an awful lot of ways to inflict pain.
‘Nothing.’ She shrugs and stares dolefully down at the teapot. ‘I would have had to finish it anyway. It was inevitable. It’s meant to be.’
‘Why? Because of what some stupid psychic said?’ I feel a stab of frustration.
Robyn purses her lips tightly and lifts her chin. ‘Wakanda is a Native American healer who can communicate with spirit guides. She has an amazing gift. Her Sioux name actually means “possesses magical power”.’
I open my mouth to argue, then, realising it’s futile, let out a groan. ‘Oh God, why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? I should never have told you about meeting the artist. It was supposed to be a secret.’
‘But you did,’ she says, reaching out and squeezing my arm in a don’t-blame-yourself kind of way. ‘You did tell me, and you did meet him. It’s serendipity.’
‘I thought that was a movie, not real life,’ I quip ruefully.
She smiles and, turning back to her teapot, g l€her teap³€, g l€heives it one last stir and pours herself a cup of tea.
‘So what are you going to do now?’
She pauses, and for a moment a look of sadness flashes briefly across her face, then it’s gone and is replaced with one of determination. ‘Do what I always do,’ she says firmly, and tucking her hair behind her ears, she gives me one of her megawatt smiles. ‘Leave things up to Fate.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
I’ve got a bone to pick with Fate.
Fate likes to portray itself as a genial character, a helpful soul, a guardian angel who will be there for you to lean on when the going gets tough. Don’t know what to do? Leave it up to Fate to decide. Life in a mess? Let Fate sort it out – he knows best. Single and heartbroken? Fate’s got something wonderful in store for you.
No wonder everyone is keen to put their feet up and let Fate look after them. It’s rather like your granddad. Or a very hands-on organised person, sort of your own personal PA.
Only in my experience Fate is no such thing, and the same goes for his little brother, Destiny. Quite frankly they’ve made a real mess of things where I’m concerned. So from now on they can bugger off and stop meddling. I’m taking charge of my own life, and when it comes to love, Fate can mind