‘Only that I’m not getting any younger.’
‘God, you’re sixty-two, not ninety-two!’
He smiled wearily. ‘I feel it sometimes.’ He patted her hand. Goosebumps popped up. The gesture was gentle and tender but was so un-Davey-like, it made her blood run a little colder.
‘Come on, what’s up? You can talk to me. Wondering what’s wrong makes me worry more. Is it Breda? Are you two splitting up?’
‘Breda?’ he exclaimed.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t care for each other.’
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘OK. I surrender. We do “care for each other” as you so quaintly put it. She’s a good woman.’
Now it was Tammy’s turn to laugh in derision. ‘You make her sound like a character from Jane Austen.’
He feigned hurt. ‘Sheisa good woman. A kind, talented and brilliant woman who’s far too good for me, which is what’s bothering me. If we became “official”,’ he said, curling his lip at the word, ‘and moved in together, I’m not sure I could live up to her expectations.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t have “expectations”,’ Tammy said, bracketing the word with her fingers. ‘She loves you for who you are.’
‘Loves me?’ Davey said in genuine wonder. ‘Christ, I don’t think it’s gone that far, has it?’
‘I give up on you!’ Tammy burst out in frustration. ‘You’re losing sleep and you’ve started smoking. You’re worrying yourself silly about a woman and whether you’re good enough for her. If that isn’t love, I don’t what is.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re so idealistic …’ Tammy sensed what he was thinking: who was she, a young woman, to tell him about love? She who had never truly loved a man – not romantically – how could she possibly understand?
‘I’m being realistic,’ she stressed. ‘If you’re scared that moving in with Breda would leave me stranded here, don’t be. I’d love to be able to bring men back to the flat without you watching over me like Nana the dog inPeter Pan.’
He scoffed. ‘Men? Where are these mythical men? I’ve only seen one man since Sean the Builder – Ruan the Suit.’
‘There have been others,’ Tammy said indignantly.
‘True, but I only feel the need to watch over you with this one.’
‘Well, don’t. I know what I’m doing, and besides, this conversation was supposed to be about you. Promise me you’ll talk to Breda.Properlytalk to her. Stop tormenting yourself and her, and accept that maybe, for once, you can be in love and be loved back. This is your time, Davey, and I don’t want to mention it, but you said yourself you aren’t getting any younger.’
He laughed and stood, scooping up the ciggies. ‘I’ll take your advice.’ He lifted the lid of the wheelie bin and tipped the half-full packet inside. ‘Happy now?’
Tammy pressed her lips together. ‘It’s a good first step but let me know when you and Breda have sorted things out. Then I’ll be happy.’
Before he could argue any more, Tammy whisked off upstairs to the flat, feeling a little lighter at heart. She might possibly have actually got through to Davey. Sorted out his love life.
Now all she had to do was not sabotage her own.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ruan exhaled as the builder’s van trundled off up the track from Seaspray.
It hadn’t been the best few days. First, he was convinced he’d blown his chances with Tammy, or at least made her super wary of him. All he’d heard from her since their kiss in the cove was a message saying she had to work all weekend in the gallery and had a memorial tribute to do for a local fisherman. She’d saidspeak soonat the end of the text but he wasn’t holding his breath.
He kept himself occupied by tackling more work on the gardens, convinced that the plants he’d chopped down had miraculously shot up again over the week. He also met up with two mates at Kane’s, batting away any questions about Tammy.
Now, he was reeling from the scale of work that needed to be done on the fabric of the house itself. Even before his great-uncle had moved to the home, he’d let the building fall into disrepair, and once the place was empty, the elements had done the rest. Ruan was beginning to think he’d bitten off more than he could chew in selling his flat and trying to tackle a renovation.
He hung his waterproof on the hook inside the caravan and shut the door.
He was working from ‘home’ that morning, partly because he had a meeting with a long-standing client of the firm whose remote farm was situated near Land’s End. It made sense to travel straight from Seaspray.
He was also at the van because he’d scheduled two site appointments with builders. The first, now disappearing up his drive, had left him with a cloud over his head to rival the stormy morning. She’d worn gold wellies and a permanent scowl – and had taken one glance at the house before sucking in a breath and pronouncing, ‘It needs a lot of work.’
