Aunty Linda sighed. ‘I don’t expect it will come easily to either of you. Your mother’s also wondering about trust. How she can open herself up to reconnecting without constantly living under the threat of you cutting her off again if she doesn’t play by your rules.’
I sat back, a wave of nauseous anger churning in my stomach. ‘I didn’t cut off contact because she wouldn’t play by my rules.’ I shook my head, disgusted at the thought. ‘I had no rules. Or rather, my only rule was to try to keep her happy!’
‘I know.’ Aunty Linda placed her hand on mine. ‘I know. But she doesn’t understand this new Ollie, whodoeslay down some boundaries. I’m not criticising, darling. You asked where she was at. I’m telling you that she’s scared and confused and also navigating enormous change while wondering how she can make things better. I suppose what I mean to say is that it’s complicated. It’s going to take patience and proper communication on both sides.’
‘I don’t want to lose her. But I won’t risk losing myself, now I’ve finally found me,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘I like me a lot more than her.’
‘No comment,’ Aunty Linda replied, before offering me another brownie.
So, with no small sense of trepidation, on full alert for any sign of her old tricks and more than ready to implement a swift retreat if required, I began texting every few days. Keeping it light and simple, I asked her for a recipe, sent a photograph of a deer I spotted in the forest, had a brief conversation about my cousin’s engagement to a woman he’d met online six weeks earlier. Mum sometimes replied immediately; other times it was several hours before an answer pinged through. Her messages were polite and cautious, which made me grateful and relieved yet at the same time peeved and lonely.
Aunty Linda wasn’t wrong when she said it would be complicated.
But it was a start.
In between these messages I welcomed some new ReadUp clients to replace Yasmin and Trev and managed various issues cropping up in my coaching team. I sat in on the Business Builders meetings, which only grew more bizarre each week. I coerced Irene into chatting with me and met Yasmin in the park so she could train me and play with Nesbit. On one sunny Saturday I ate breakfast with Steph and took Nicky on a bike ride through the forest.
I tried to organise a party that was worthy of the Dream List – the kind of party I would have wanted a man who was deliriously in love with me to arrange – even as I fought the urge to cancel, wrestling with feeling overwhelmed and deciding that I hated parties, so why should I be forced to have one for my own birthday.
I rattled around my empty house, and nursed my emotional bruises with dog walks and long-drawn-out nights staring at the ceiling forcing myself to count my blessings, of which I knew there must be many. I sent Joan updates about Nesbit, as promised, and snippets of trivia about how the forest was getting ready for autumn. She replied with streams of follow-up questions, while ignoring all mine about how she was settling in. I tried not to worry, reminded myself that she was with a family who loved her and got back to organising my party. Around ten days after they’d left, Carole phoned to say that she didn’t think they’d be coming back for my birthday. At first she blamed it on Leanne’s health, but when I offered to come and see them instead, she admitted that Joan was still struggling to adjust and she thought it best to wait. I was tempted to cancel the party altogether.
On top of all this, I seemed to have messed up with Sam, despite thinking that I’d handled things maturely and sensibly enough to avoid this from happening. On the two occasions I hiked far enough around the forest to eventually bump into him, he was polite rather than friendly. He didn’t pick up on my hints to have a drink or a walk, and acted distracted – almost dismissive – as though he was far too busy to chat. This was so unexpected that on top of all my other jumbled emotions, I had no idea how to interpret it, despite analysing every comment and gesture for torturous hours on end.
‘He must have only been interested in a potential hook-up all along,’ I bemoaned to Steph, who was surely fed up with this topic of conversation by now, but was kind enough to act like this was the first time she’d heard me droning on about it. ‘Did he just want the challenge of getting me to crack? Like, as some sort of ego boost.’
‘What if that whole story about his ex, and how he’s a sworn singleton is all a line to reel you in?’ she suggested, causing my innards to shrivel like slugs in salt. ‘Maybe he didn’t leave the family firm because he hated it and had a nervous breakdown, he was just crap so they kicked him out. It’s all part of the sob-story to get you into bed.’
‘Ugh, don’t even say that!’ I cried. ‘Firstly, why would someone go to all that effort to getmeof all people into bed? And secondly, if I’m still that vulnerable to being manipulated then all my fears about moving out have come true, and I might as well go back home where at least I know what’s happening.’
‘Alternatively, you chalk it up to experience, then congratulate yourself for communicating a clear boundary, meaning that whatever his reason for backing off, you’ve no horrible regrets. This proves that you are, in fact, the kick-ass woman I knew you were all along. Plus, you can breathe a big sigh of relief that he’s got the message and moved on.’ Steph huffed noisily down the phone. ‘This was a win, Ollie.’
‘Unless, of course, none of what he said was a lie. Heisthe loveliest man I’ve ever met, and once he got to know me he just realised that I’m a boring, pathetic person with a mountain of issues and he decided he doesn’t want to be friends with me after all.’
‘Okay, I’m not listening to this any more. This is getting so boring and pathetic that I’m wondering whyI’vebothered to be friends with you for so long. You met a man who seemed nice and then maybe revealed himself to be a jerk, boohoo. Or here’s a wild idea – perhaps he’s genuinely busy. Maybe September is the busy season for forest rangers. Either way, no big deal. Can we please talk about your party now?’
I knew Steph was teasing but she was also smart enough to know when I was sinking into pitiful wallowing.
Not that it stopped the wallowing altogether, of course. I still felt confused and hurt by Sam’s change in demeanour. I spent far too many hours wondering what would have happened if I’d gone ahead and kissed him. I might still be feeling lonely and rejected, but at least I’d have got to enjoy a kiss.
Early one mid-September morning, a week or so before the party, I decided that I couldn’t bear to lie there and wait for the birds to start cheeping for another miserable second. Getting up, I shrugged into leggings and a hoodie, put on my flip-flops and slipped outside, Nesbit padding behind me. There was a narrow streak of blue where the sky met the roofline of the cottages, the moon above it a mere sliver of silver. Icy dewdrops brushed against my feet, and as I breathed in the crisp air, it was ripe with the scent of autumn.
I was startled by a sudden cough, even though I’d come out here hoping to find him. Swivelling around, I saw Ebenezer crouched on a tiny stool, offering me a garden fork. Accepting it gratefully, I knelt down beside him and got to work.
‘Tomorrow, wear proper shoes,’ Ebenezer instructed when he finally rose from the stool with a wheeze.
Nodding, I went inside for a hot shower, a mug of tea and three hours of the best sleep I’d had in months.
After several days of party-induced panic, driven by relentless overthinking, I decided that the party was going to be a celebration of the completed Dream List – although apart from Steph, no one would know that’s what it was.
Initially, I wasn’t quite sure how that would translate into food and décor and entertainment, but on an extra-long walk in the opposite direction to Sam’s house, I decided it simply meant that instead of stressing out about everyone else, I was going to cram my party full of things that made me happy. Once I’d figured out what they were, of course.
* * *
The day before the big day, however, something even bigger happened. I came home from work to find a van outside New Cottage, and a man staggering under the weight of a giant cardboard box as he carried it up to the front door.
‘Do you need a hand?’ I asked.
The man dropped the box with a thud onto the pavement, revealing a pale face with startling blue eyes, floppy black hair and an overall air of dishevelment. He wasn’t exactly handsome… more like interesting. There was something about his face that made it hard not to stare.
