“Yes,” I murmur, “if that’s a proposition that you would be at all interested in...”
There is way too long a pause after I say that. I feel exposed, raw, all too aware of what I am risking here. I have done this on impulse—literally run headlong into this confession. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he does, but his wounds are still too deep? What if he still doesn’t think he deserves to be happy, or even worse, what if he doesn’t think that he’ll be happy with me? What if he does actually want this to be just “one for the road”?
Yes, he kissed me back—but that could mean nothing. That could have just been a primal reaction in the heat of the moment. What I feel for Luke has snowballed, changed, evolved—for me, this isn’t just about the physical. I am in love with the man, and if he doesn’t feel the same, it might break me.
As the seconds tick by, my tension builds, and a sense of dread starts to envelop me.I’ve been a bloodyidiot, I am starting to think.
Then Luke pulls me close, kisses my forehead, wraps me tightly in his arms. I couldn’t move even if I had any interest in doing so.
“I love you too, Jenny,” he says, murmuring the words into my ear. “I’ve known it for a while, and it scared me. I didn’t want to even admit it to myself, and I didn’t want to put any pressure on you, especially when you seemed so set on staying here. It’s been torture, lying alone out here, knowing you were just up in that room—so close but out of reach. Knowing that we would be so much better together than we are apart...”
I lay my head against his chest and simply let myself breathe. Let myself feel safe, and hopeful, and—yes—joyous.
Better together, he said, and that is exactly it. I didn’t even know what I was missing until we made each other whole.
Chapter 24
Two months later
It is early October, and the landscape is showing subtle signs of change. In the flower garden, the Michaelmas daisies are holding on to their purples and lilacs, and the gladioli are swaying in graceful stalks of pink and yellow. The foxgloves are fading, but the hedgerows are still bursting with life.
We are enjoying an Indian summer, our days dappled with sunlight. Gentle breezes bear the smell of the ocean, rising up over cliffs that are still scattered with sea campion and scarlet pimpernel.
Luke and I are walking Frank and Betty on the beach, smiling as we watch them chase each other around the sand, a chaotic trail of pawprints in their wake. We hold hands as we stroll, barefoot, and it is still thrilling, still miraculous, to be holding his hand. To be able to live like this. To live so fully.
We are talking to Charlie on the phone, his face filling the screen that I hold up in front of me as we walk. Luke is pointing out seabirds perched on the crags, and I am telling him how his granddad is doing, and Charlie is filling us in on all of his ownadventures. He has visited a stone circle called Carnac, continuing our theme, and has already mastered the basics of ordering beer and food in French. He looks relaxed, happy, somehow older—in a good way.
“So,” he says as we balance on the boulders and slip our feet back into our sneakers, “this is the big day, is it? Are you all prepared?”
“Yup,” I reply, grinning. “Except we don’t even have a baseball cap set up, Charlie!”
“Ha—see what happens when I’m not around? Everything falls to pieces! So what’s the plan?”
“There isn’t one,” Luke says, before he shouts the dogs over to follow us back up the steps. “We’re just going to wing it!”
I have become much more adept at managing the steps now, almost back to my native abilities as we clamber back up to the house.
I see that my parents are there, waiting for us by the front door. My dad is looking well—his operation was a success, and although he was a terrible patient, his recovery has been surprisingly swift. He is, in fact, as he predicted he would be, better than new. We have been forcing him to take it easy, but it is a joy to see him walking with so much ease, moving back into the upstairs bedroom, throwing cricket balls with glee. It won’t be long, he tells us, until he’s back batting. He says he also plans to take up powerlifting and train for an Iron Man contest. We hope he is joking, but neither my mother nor I am quite sure.
I hand the phone over to my dad, and the two of them chat to Charlie while Luke and I do a final check on Joy. We are fully charged, fully stocked, and fully ready to go. My mum has supplied us with vast quantities of homemade jam and bread and scones, and my dad has checked over her engine and tire pressure—not that it was necessary, but it clearly made him feel useful.
Frank looks on mournfully as Luke shoos Betty inside the motorhome, slinking down to his belly, his ears flat. “Poor thing,” I say, scratching his head. “You’re going to miss Betty, aren’t you?”
“We’re all going to miss Betty,” my mum says, reaching out to tidy my hair away from my face. “And we’re going to miss you too. But Christmas isn’t far away, and it will be marvelous, darling, to have everyone in one place, won’t it?”
Charlie is flying back for Christmas week, and Richard says he’ll bring the kids over for dinner, along with Rebecca, and I have to agree—it actually will be marvelous. I am now fully confident in the fact that my parents don’t need me to stay. I have kept them under careful surveillance, and spoken to Dad’s nurse, and consulted with my brother. They may be in their seventies, but they do have a lot of living left to do, and they are perfectly capable of doing it without me hovering in the background.
“It will, Mum, yes,” I reply. “And Luke and Charlie will finally get to hear Dad do the dinner gong!”
“Well, he seems to think he’s Superman at the moment, darling, so he may well destroy it with one mighty blow!”
Dad brings the phone over so we can all say a final goodbye to Charlie. We gather around the screen, all taking our turns at waving at him.
“Good luck!” he says, grinning. “And I’ll be keeping an eye out for new Sausage Dog Diary posts, Mum—don’t be slacking just because I’m not there in person to nag you, okay?”
I promise that I won’t, and I mean it. Richard followed up on his suggestion about the motorhome dealership, and it looks as though I might actually get a sponsorship. Luke and I have stayed here quite happily until we knew my dad was out of the woods, but we have also been out for many day trips together, and I have most definitely rediscovered the joy of writing. Thatand a few other things, I think, smiling as I feel his arm slide around my waist.
When it is finally time to leave, my dad engulfs me in a hug and firmly shakes Luke’s hand, imparting some last words of wisdom about how to avoid traffic on the A30.
