Page 12 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

‘Where are you going?’ burst out Nancy.

‘To Scotland. For a bit of a break.’

‘On your own?’ Nancy’s voice was wracked with concern. ‘Look, why don’t you come back to London? Stay with us. You and Bronte. Take all the time you need to get yourself together. You can relax here, decide what you want to do.’

I was touched by their kindness and concern, but the last thing I wanted to do was stay at theirs and be surrounded by more reminders of Joe.

‘I needed to get away,’ I started, blinking. I had to tell them about Joe. I took a breath. Just tell them, Rosie. Get it over with. ‘I received a letter.’ I paused. ‘From Joe’s mistress.’

There was so much silence down the line, I thought the reception had cut off.

‘Sorry?’ Nancy’s voice was confused.

‘It turns out Joe was having an affair with this woman for three years and kept promising he’d leave me for her.’

There was a strangulated noise from his mother. ‘No… No… That can’t be right. You don’t know what you’re saying.’

I lifted one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed at my forehead. ‘It’s true, Nancy. If you don’t believe me, contact Mia. She has the letter.’

There were more startled protestations from Nancy. She relayed the information to Joe’s dad, who also proceeded to insist that this was all utter nonsense.

I’d heard enough. I couldn’t handle this right now. ‘Like I said, contact Mia. I’m sorry, but I have to go now. Speak soon.’

I slumped my head back against the driver’s-seat headrest. Around us, other cars were easing to a halt into the unoccupied spaces. Retired couples, harassed business people and lorry drivers were milling around, availing themselves of the toilet facilities or returning to their vehicles with take-away cups of coffee and sandwiches.

Behind me on the back seat, Bronte was making light work of the chew stick I’d given her. There was the intermittent sound of crunching and snapping. The mention of Mia had brought me to another uncomfortable truth. It wouldn’t be fair to make her think that I was planning to write again, that my previous outburst about not wanting to be an author anymore had been some impulsive whim and that given time I’d come round. I had to tell her that part of my life was over. She was my agent. But she was also my friend. She needed to know. Of course, she’d be shocked and saddened, but she’d have to understand. She would come to accept it in time, I reassured myself. The writing light inside of me had been blown out. The revelation of Joe’s infidelity had seen to that. How the hell could I ever write anything again, let alone a romance, when the love of my life had made me think I mattered but it turned out I hadn’t? Joe had been all my heroes rolled into one.

Writing didn’t exist for me anymore.

My passion and heart for it had died the day Greta’s letter and those photographs arrived.

I had to be truthful and honest, even if that meant disappointing other people. Writing romances didn’t sit right with me anymore, and I wouldn’t be able to face myself in the mirror if I didn’t believe in what I was writing.

Up until this point, I’d been so invested in my characters, their lives and their experiences that they’d felt like old friends. I’d always had faith in love – up until now. My books were all about the happily-ever-afters and the belief that love conquered all. No matter what obstacles or difficulties I threw at my beloved characters, they always found a way to be together.

If only real life could be that way.

Despondency thumped in my chest. I took a steadying breath. Come on, Rosie. Just tell her. It would be like ripping off a plaster. Painful for a few seconds, but then the irritation would subside. Okay, probably far longer than a few seconds. Knowing Mia, her agony would last weeks. I eased into it first by telling her I’d just spoken to Joe’s parents and told them about his affair.

‘Jesus. Still, you did the right thing telling them, Rosie. I’m sure they’d much rather hear something like that from you, than someone else. What did they say?’

‘Not much. They sounded stunned. In denial. I told them to contact you if they wanted to see the letter.’

‘Of course. No problem.’ She let out a rush of air. ‘They’re probably appalled and embarrassed. Their golden boy turning out to be not so wonderful after all.’

I glanced at my eyes in the rearview mirror. ‘Look, Mia, there’s something else I need to tell you. I won’t be writing again. Not anymore.’

Mia sounded like she was struggling to breathe. ‘Look. I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through right now, but please don’t make any hasty decisions.’

‘It hasn’t been hasty. I’ve been thinking about nothing else.’

Mia’s silence down the line was so prolonged I wondered whether she’d passed out.

When she did try to recover herself, her voice struggled. ‘Dear God. You’re serious, aren’t you?’

I jammed my lips together and shifted in my car seat. ‘Yes. Very.’

Mia blustered so much into my ear; she sounded like she was choking. ‘But… But … I thought you just needed time, and hell, no one would blame you if you did.’ She paused. ‘Rosie, don’t rush into anything. You aren’t thinking this through properly.’