They both laughed.
Rita put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘Anyway, I can’t leave you; you’ve come all the way from London to see me and…’
Kel shook her head firmly. ‘Rita, go to him. He needs to know. And more importantly you need him to know.’
Rita hesitated, a flutter of nerves in her stomach. ‘I… I suppose you’re right.’
Kel gave her a small, knowing smile. ‘I am. Now go. Don’t overthink it. Just… be yourself. That’s more than enough.’
Rita nodded, squeezing her friend’s hand. ‘Thanks, Kel. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Kel shrugged, tugging her towel tighter around her head and, taking in her friend’s red eyes and blotchy face, added, ‘Actually, maybe wash your face and put on a bit of make-up first.’
TWENTY-THREE
It was seven thirty before a freshly showered and made-up Rita, in flowing sundress and denim jacket, slipped the scan envelope into her bag and headed to Hawthorn Acre. Checking herself in the mirror, she was glad Kelly had insisted she make a bit of an effort.
She sat in the Jimny for a moment before turning the key. Twelve weeks. Twelve miraculous, terrifying weeks. Was tonight really the night to tell him?
The engine coughed into life. She pulled out slowly, the hedgerows glowing a translucent green in the fading evening sun. The sea looked indecently calm to someone about to rearrange her entire future.
But Elodie had gone. The air between them could be cleared. Maybe this was the right time. Or maybe it was reckless. What if he’d only just got his balance back? What if telling him tipped everything sideways again? Babies at their age wasn’t a pastel Instagram announcement. It was nappies and night feeds and starting over when most people were winding down. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Would there ever be a perfect moment?
She practised saying it casually.Oh, by the way, we’re having a baby.She forgot the enormity of it herself for a second.Actually, no, we’re having two babies.She imagined taking his hands. Showing him the scan. Watching his face shift from confusion to joy.
Or would it shift to panic? Her stomach fluttered, nerves? It was too early for life, surely.
She had to do it. If she waited until she felt completely secure, completely certain, completely steady in her own world she might be waiting forever. She convinced herself that she would just have to trust love and whatever happened, happened. Love wasn’t a fixed point. It was weather. It changed. It tested. It healed. She’d got this!
And yet there was still a small, stubborn part of her thatwantedthat perfectly constructed Instagram moment. To tell him when it felt uncomplicated. When they felt uncomplicated. When it felt like a celebration, not survival. When she wasn’t bracing for a wobble. She glanced at the envelope sticking out of her bag. She had raised twins, got through the heartbreak and despair of grief. Held other people together through storms. Plus, built a business. So why did this feel like standing on a cliff edge? Her thoughts then turned to Archie. They had sat planning their later years to a tee, quiet mornings, long walks, even longer holidays. And look what happened to him… he’d literally gone right over that proverbial cliff without a choice.
But there was never a perfect moment for anything. She took a deep breath, turned off the engine, and fixed a smile on her face.
Jago was waiting outside the farmhouse and ran across to the Jimny the moment he spotted her. He opened the door, helped Rita out, and held back just long enough to see her face before pulling her into a tight embrace.
‘I’m taking you somewhere.’
‘Oh, are you now?’ Rita giggled.
Jago looked to the sky. ‘And we need to be quick.’ He led her down his garden to a wooden bench nestled beside a young buddleia bush, its first delicate purple buds just starting to open, the promise of summer lingering in the soft fragrance. A few early butterflies flitted lazily around it, drawn to the faint sweetness.
Rita sank onto the bench, a quiet laugh escaping her. Ironic, she thought. Last time they had been here, he had told her the story about Elodie, his scumbag of a friend running off with her and the subsequent child.
Her mind drifted further, unbidden, to Zenya’s card from a few days ago.Divine timing, it had said.Your future is uncertain, but life is most of the time, so just trust the flow and embrace the miracles coming your way.
The hair at the back of her neck pricked.Shit… miracles, plural.She shook her head with a small smile. Zenya reallywassomething special.
She glanced at Jago, sitting beside her, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sun was dipping low, streaking the sky with gold and rose, and the stillness of the moment belied the storm of thoughts in her head. Somehow, it felt like exactly the right place for truth. The sea, the sky, the tentative blooms, they all seemed to hold their breath with her. Even the seabirds had shut up for a second. Rita took a deep, steadying breath. ‘You know how much I love a sunset,’ she started.
‘Can I… talk first, please?’ Jago’s voice was quiet, measured.
Rita nodded, his gaze steady.
‘I’m… so sorry,’ he began, words tripping over themselves. ‘I didn’t really think how you might be feeling. I just… I saw a woman who, I’m not going to lie, had once been my world, well, I saw her in trouble and… a little girl, lost and sad. But she’s gone. Gone back to Surrey. It’s all OK, for now. Rita, I promise.’
Rita’s heart dropped a notch. ‘What do you mean,fornow?’
Jago’s forehead furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘She sees me as an anchor, a solidity in the storm of her life, and I can feel the tug, the uncertainty beneath it all. She’s very persuasive and I’m not very good at being cruel.’ He grabbed hold of Rita’s hand. ‘I should have not let this go on, just come to you. Maybe could have moved in with you whilst she was here. But I did what I thought was right, and… clearly, it wasn’t. I chatted to Stan, who in no uncertain terms gave me his Mrs Bodkin school of thought. Us men… we don’t always get it right, do we?’ He looked at her, his eyes pleading under his long lashes. ‘Do you forgive me?’
