He nods.‘Good.’ He hesitates and I wonder if he’s about to ask me if I phoned hisbuilder friend, but then he seems to think better of it. ‘Well...see you, Lottie,’ he says, and he follows Marcus out of the café.
*****
A little later, driving back to Sycamore House, I thinkabout the irony of Liam’s job. I mean, what are the odds that the next reasonablyattractive man I meet after Guy also happens to be a part-time warbler atweddings?
It would be very wrong of me to assume all wedding singersare cheating scumbags – because of course they’re not – but having listened toMaddy joking with him about bridesmaids and being the focus of all those glamorousgirls’ attention, I might be wise to steer well clear of Liam Westerbrook infuture. (I wonder what his thoughts are on sending dick pics after a firstdate?)
I have a very specific reason for returning to SycamoreHouse just now.
The letter I saw in that pile of junk mail has been nigglingat me ever since I saw it, although in the confusion over finding the sledgehammerand Liam’s surprise intrusion, it had slipped to the back of my mind.
But there was a familiarity about the handwriting and I needto know who it’s from. Maybe there will be other letters in that pile for me...
*****
Back at the house, my heart sinks on seeing the hole inthe wall again and twists painfully at the sight of the broken teapot. I wishnow that I hadn’t been so gung-ho with that sledgehammer, but at the time, Ijust felt so frustrated that Eddie and his crew weren’t coming back. Thethought of waiting ten days to get the work done (if they even bother to comeback) seemed impossible, but what choice do I have?
I hate to admit it but Liam Westerbrook, in pointing out thedangers of demolishing the wall, might just have saved me from a disaster. Ashiver runs through me at the very thought of the ceiling falling in on top ofme.
I walk over to the pile of junk mail and pick up the letteraddressed to me. Realising now who it’s from, I drop it back on the bench inshock. A quick sift through the pile reveals three more letters, all addressedin that same curly handwriting.
There’s a whining noise in my head, like a trapped insect. Feelingslightly faint, I lean over the worktop, arms folded, staring at the fourenvelopes lying there. Two are addressed to me, two to Dylan.
In one swift movement, I gather them up, open the cutlerydrawer and shove them inside.
If I open this Pandora’s Box, I might find hope inside andthat’s a very dangerous emotion. Because what if my hope is ultimately dashed,like so many times before? I’d be risking even more hurt and heartache then,wouldn’t I?
Slamming the drawer shut, I clap my hands together as if towipe the contamination from my hands – and the letters from my mind...
Fen
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Can you get some more of those indigestion tablets?’says Rob, as he drives me to my coffee date with Maddy and Ellie. ‘We’ve runout.’
‘Already?’ I look at him in surprise. ‘But I just bought anew pack last week and my heartburn hasn’t been quite so bad lately.’
‘We’re definitely out of them,’ says Rob firmly. ‘I checkedthis morning. None in the cabinet.’
I shake my head. ‘Honestly, Rob, I don’t know what’shappening to me. I was convinced we had almost a brand-new packet. It must be thepregnancy hormones turning my brain to mush.’ I turn and smile at him. ‘It’s solovely of you to worry about me, though.’ I lean over and touch my forehead tohis shoulder, breathing in his lovely cologne as a burst of pure happiness zipsthrough me. ‘The twins and I would be lost without you,’ I tell him, strokingmy bump dreamily.
‘Agatha and Christie, you mean?’
I chuckle. ‘Still prefer Roy and Cropper.’
He looks over at me with an oddly wistful smile.
‘What?’ I shrug.
‘Nothing. Except that I love you, Fenella Slater. I didn’tthink it was possible to love you any more than I did on the day we gotmarried. But I actually do.’
It’s so unusual for him to admit something like this that mythroat is suddenly blocked with a huge lump. ‘I love you, too, Rob.’
‘Good,’ he says, snapping back to his practical self as we arrivein Sunnybrook. ‘Right, I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours?’
‘Great. I’ll give you a ring.’
We draw up outside the new coffee house on the high street,the one owned by Milo, who’s now Ellie’s business partner, after he recentlydecided to invest in the Little Duck Pond Café. Milo’s also our friend Jaz’snext-door neighbour and we’re always kidding her about him. Jaz swears there’snothing going on between them but there’s always this tell-tale blush whenevershe talks about Milo.
