‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath, and to my surprise his words were fierce, with no trace of apology or regret. ‘You can come up with your own theory about what happened, use that as an excuse to avoid any chance of finding out whether what we have is real. Is worth risking our hearts for. Or you can come to dinner with me on Friday, and I can explain how I have loved you and missed you every single day – every night,’ he groaned, ‘since they dragged me away.’
The tears I swiped off my cheeks were answer enough, but I managed a weak nod, just in case he wasn’t sure.
‘Now please let me go before someone finds me blubbering in the hallway.’
He turned to go, but then changed his mind, stepping forwards to cup my face in his hands and press his lips gently against a stray tear still on my cheek. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
The first time Jonah King kissed me, it had felt like the answer to every stray longing in my heart.
This time was even better.
35
On Wednesday, it happened.
The only good thing I can say about it is that Nicky and I were together, and the kids were still on their way home from school.
It had already been an unsettling day. Toby had found me when the Bloomers were having lunch, vibrating with excitement as he explained that Courtney had decided to give things another try, and he was catching the bus up to Sheffield with Hazel that afternoon. I wished him well, made him promise to let me know how it went, and arranged to drop all their things off on Friday if he wanted to stay.
At three-thirty, a taxi pulled into the driveway, which wasn’t unusual on Bloomer days, but it was when Nicky had already helped the last mum load her pram into her carer’s car and waved them off.
‘There’s definitely no one still hanging around?’ Nicky asked, peering out of the cabin window, her hands full of dirty mugs.
‘No. Toby and Hazel should have left about an hour ago.’
‘Who’s this, then?’
Before I could hazard a guess at all the people I hoped it wasn’t, Nicky clutched my arm, her intuition flaring.
‘It’s her.’
We both blurted the same swear word.
The back door of the taxi opened, and out stepped the woman we’d been hoping and dreading to see for five years.
‘What the hell do we do now?’ I murmured, not that there was any chance of her hearing me as she wandered over to the cottage’s front door.
‘Improvise?’ Nicky replied. ‘Stay true to ourselves? And no matter what, we damn well stick together.’
We slipped out of the cabin door, which faced the side of my house, scurried across the garden and entered the kitchen via the patio.
‘Here.’ Nicky grabbed my shoulders, then fluffed up my hair before tucking one side behind my ear, untucking it, and then brushing it back again. All her crop needed was a quick smooth over.
‘Everything else presentable?’ she asked, breathless with tension as she bared her teeth for inspection.
‘All good.’
‘You, too.’
‘I guess we’re ready as we’ll ever be.’
‘Which is totally not ready.’ She laughed, a little manically.
‘Did you think she looked old?’ I whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered back. ‘I was freaking out too much to?—’
Mum knocked on the door with a jaunty rhythm that reflected the tone of the twenty-one postcards stuffed into the back of my understairs cupboard.
