Page 104 of Secret Paths

Bernard’s sunny patch is empty now, the grass pressed flat where he lay. The bench beside me feels colder without Mrs Higgins there.

I start walking.

The fear is not that Peter will make my life smaller. I do not think he would. He has not pushed. He has not demanded space. He has only turned up, hungry and hopeful and infuriatingly easy to let in.

The fear is that I will make space for him and then discover I was wrong.

Wrong about him.

Wrong about myself.

Wrong about whether I can have someone beside me without slowly becoming less myself.

I walk past the old mill and turn back towards the village.

By the time the church tower comes into view, my decision has settled into something that feels sensible enough to trust.

I need to keep Peter at a distance.

I do not need to cut him off or punish him for wanting something I never promised. I simply need to remember what this is and stop letting it become something else by accident.

No more sleeping over.

No more meals that turn into conversations.

No more letting him look at me as if he can see the version of myself I keep for rooms with locked doors and no patients.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I stop beneath the churchyard wall and take it out.

Peter

I have survived my meeting at Morton Hall. There were even sandwiches.

I stare at the message.

Then I smile.

Small at first.

Then not so small.

I type before I can talk myself out of it.

Me

Congratulations. Did Rachel demand complicated spreadsheets?

His reply comes quickly.

Peter

No spreadsheet’s too complicated for me, baby.

I laugh alone on the path like an idiot.

Then I remember my decision.