‘Whatever we need to talk about to make this work for both of us.’
‘This?’ I asked, my heart pounding. What did that mean? Us? No, there was no way he meant that.
‘You returning to Willowdale. Me still being local.’
Of course. Why would I have thought he could possibly mean us?
‘We’ve already bumped into each other twice in eight days,’ he continued, ‘so I suspect it’ll keep happening. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable or like you have to avoid places in case I’m there.’
I stared at him, wondering how he could be so considerate after how I’d treated him. But he’d always been the calm, reasonable one – the yin to my yang. It was one of the reasons our relationship had been so good.
‘What do you think?’ he prompted when I didn’t respond.
‘Erm, yeah. Maybe.’
‘I hear you’re working on the Willowdale Hall project.’
‘How did you?—’
‘I saw Dougie Standish and he mentioned it. Congratulations.’
I felt relief that he hadn’t heard it from Mark. I didn’t want to think they’d been discussing me. ‘Thank you. I still have to keep pinching myself that it’s really happening.’
‘I can well imagine. How many times did we fantasise about working on the hall together one day? It’s amazing that one of us has had that dream come true. I’m so chuffed for you, Mel.’
He genuinely looked and sounded delighted when he could so easily have been bitter about it. Not that bitter was Flynn’s style. He could have been angry with me for being so rude to him in the pub last week, but that wasn’t his way either. Mum often referred to Flynn asa gentle giantand it suited him well. He always had been – and clearly still was – a kind and thoughtful man who tried to put others at ease.
‘I need to get back to work,’ I said.
‘At the hall?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I give you a lift?’
‘I could do with the fresh air. Headache. It’ll clear it.’
‘You’re sure? If I drive you, you’ll be able to get some paracetamol sooner.’
Thoughtful yet again.
‘I’m sure. So, I’ll, erm…’
He pressed a piece of paper into my hand and the touch of his fingers against my palm made my insides fizz.
‘My contact details if you do want to talk.’ He clasped his hands behind his head and I waited, heart pounding, for his big announcement.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, his eyes full of sadness, his voice tender. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again.’
How was I supposed to respond to that?
He lowered his arms and smiled. ‘I didn’t mean to blurt that out. Sorry. Forget I said it. I think we should meet and clear the air, but it’s your call. Hopefully see you sometime soon.’
As he walked away, he thrust his hands into his pockets and lowered his head. He’d missed me? I hadn’t seen that coming and he was absolutely right that he shouldn’t have said it. He was a married man! But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge how good it felt to hear it. I just didn’t understand how he could feel that way about me after how badly it ended.
None of us live forever and, sooner or later, we’ll all shuffle off this mortal coil. When that day comes, all we can do is hope that we’ve lived a long, fulfilled and happy life. Sadly, some lives aren’t nearly long enough. My mum’s dad died in his forties before I was born. A devoted Christian all her life, my grandma used to say that Granddad was such a lovely, kind man that God needed him in heaven as an angel. I wasn’t convinced of the logic behind it but if believing that brought her some comfort, who was I to judge? The only strong belief I had was that bereavements in this day and age should happen according to generation – fully supportive of the saying thatno parent should have to bury their child.To outlive your child wasn’t right. It went against the natural order of things, threw the world off its axis. And my world had never realigned when it happened to me. I wasn’t sure it ever would.
20
