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But that day she’d cried wrenching sobs until finally she was out of tears. Walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water, she’d seen the letter on the table.

She had picked it up, headed back to bed and lain down, placing the letter on her stomach, trying to divine what was inside it based on her gut.

Her stomach wouldn’t tell her anything though. She would have to open it and find out for herself.

Sitting up in bed, she’d turned on the light and opened the envelope, careful not to rip the paper. She hadn’t known why she’d felt she needed to be careful but the emblem and words on the crest made her respectful of the process.

She’d pulled out the letter and opened it and her eyes scanned over the words.

Congratulations.

We are pleased to inform you.

Accepted for the Grand Diplôme of Cuisine and Pastry.

£30,000.

‘You got what you wanted, Dad,’ she’d said looking out the window at the snow.

He had told her to apply before he was diagnosed but she’d told him they couldn’t afford it. Then, when he’d was told he was dying, he’d announced that he had a life insurance policy. It wasn’t much but it was enough to put her through the course and help her live in the rented flat for a year or so.

‘Dad, I can’t think about that now,’ she had said to him, as she had helped him into bed.

‘You have to think about it. You love cooking and you love caring for people.’

‘So I can cook in a nursing home or something,’ she’d said.

He had gently swatted her hand. ‘Go and learn all those techniques I see you watching on the television and the computer. Your croissants would make the French jealous.’

As she lay in the small bed in the house of an old man whom she hardly knew, she wondered what her dad would make of her success now. He would have hated the way she gave her life up for Simon to control.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she whispered into the darkness.

She wondered what Marc was doing. Just thinking about him made the shame rise inside her and she closed her eyes and sighed. What must he think of her?

The vision of Simon’s gloating was burned into her memory and she wished she could get him out of her mind and think about all the nice things about Marc instead.

His hand in hers, the shared glances, the laughter, the teasing, the flirting.

Who was she kidding? Marc was never going to stay in York and Avian and the boys would return to America. Why was she pretending this would be happy families forever and ever?

She looked at her phone next to the bed. Ten missed calls from Marc. More texts. She didn’t read them or listen to the messages. She was too embarrassed.

Closing her eyes again she lay on her back and took some deep breaths, slowing down her racing mind by thinking about the garden at Pudding Hall. The orchards and the maze, the dell with the shared company of the fantastic stag.

She didn’t know what she was going to do next but she had to choose a future that spoke to her heart and soul; one that helped her put good into the world.

The selfishness she had seen from Simon and Avian and even Marc at times wasn’t anything she wanted to be around.

She’d enough of the self-involved. She wanted to make a difference and even though the pub was now sold, she could work towards that, couldn’t she? She would speak to Zane in the morning to find out what was needed and how she could help beyond the van. She would get out of her head and into the world.

30

‘Dad?’

Marc looked up from his laptop in his study.

‘Not now, Ethan, we’re busy.’