Page 49

Thom’s Porsche pulled up outside the static caravan and onto the concrete parking space. A small pull-along tractor had been tucked neatly beneath the wooden steps leading up to No. 6, Summer Dreams. Thom smiled when he noticed the name plaque. The engine cut, and for a moment the only sound was the wind dragging itself across the park.

Curtains twitched in neighbouring windows. The door opened before he could knock. Chloe stood there, finger already pressed to her lips.

‘Shh, Alfie’s in bed.’

Thom nodded, lowering his head as he stepped inside.

Outside, the wind howled and worried at the thin walls, but in here it felt warm and homely. It reminded Thom of the rare holidays they’d had as children in St Ives. Rare, because the farm had always been their world, and Archie had been reluctant to leave it in anyone else’s hands for long.

Chloe glanced around, a half-smile that didn’t quite settle. ‘It’s not exactly the Ritz. But… it’s home… for now anyway.’

Thom didn’t answer straight away. His eyes moved over the space instead.

Family photos lined the narrow shelves, sun-faded, mismatched frames. A small sofa sagged slightly in the middle, covered with a bright, patterned throw that tried its best to lift the room. Toys were scattered across the floor, abandoned mid-play. A worn mat lay in the centre, threadbare in places. Despite this modicum of chaos, everything was spotlessly clean. Spotlessly clean and cosy.

‘Don’t they say home is where the heart is? And yes maybe I have lived and been to some pretty cool places since I moved away but you’ve got to remember my roots will always be here in Cornwall.’

‘Anyway,’ she cut in quickly. ‘Enough idle chit-chat, we both know why you’re here.’

Chloe pulled her dress over her head in one swift movement, revealing a cream lingerie set underneath. She was wearing high-heeled court shoes.

‘Woah, OK. OK.’ Thom grinned.

She reached for him, pulling him firmly towards her. Outside, the wind rose, a long, low howl against the thin walls. She kissed him with intent, not breaking away as she led him through to the bedroom.

It was small, barely more than space for the bed and a narrow strip of floor. A plain white crumpled duvet with a huge teddy bear to the side of the pillows. On the wall, just one photo. Chloe and Alfie, laughing together on the harbour wall, hair blown wild, faces open and unguarded. She lay back on the bed giggling quietly; Thom went to lie on top of her, but she lifted a hand to stop him.

‘Get your kit off, bad boy; you’re of no use to me like this.’

Thom thought he had died and gone to heaven, even before she was on him again. Hands urgent, pulling, not waiting. His coat hit the floor somewhere behind him, forgotten. Her fingers worked at his shirt, clumsy with speed rather than uncertainty. He caught her wrists for a second.

‘Chloe… are you definitely sure?’

‘You’re boring me now, Thomas Jory. I want this as much as you do; now just shut up and fuck me like you mean it.’

He laughed but she just held his gaze this time. Really held it. Then she leant in and kissed him, firm, deliberate. Whatever restraint he’d brought with him didn’t last. His hands found her waist, pulling her in properly now, closing the last inch of space. The urgency shifted, less frantic, more certain, but no less intense. Outside, the wind battered at the walls, restless and insistent.

Sweating, his hair everywhere, Thom lay turned facing her, one hand still resting on her stomach like he hadn’t quite decided to let go. ‘Shit, what are you doing to me?’ he laughed quietly, but it didn’t sound entirely like a joke.

Chloe froze for a second, finger lifting to her lips, eyes flicking towards the door as if listening for Alfie. Then she relaxed again, the tension slipping away as quickly as it came. ‘Shall we do it again?’ There was a breathless laugh under her request.

‘What now?’ Thom raised his eyebrows incredulously.

‘I’ll give you fifteen minutes.’ Chloe smirked.

He grinned back. ‘You really are something else, Chloe Brimble.’ He looked at her properly then. The ease of her. The way she could sit in all of this like it didn’t rattle her at all.

‘You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before,’ Thom said. ‘To be able to do this and be fine about it. There are women I have asked for no complications with before and they say yes but they cannot hack it.’

He stopped himself, like he had said too much. Or not enough.

‘Well, all I can say is don’t go falling for me, Thomas Jory, but I can understand why you would.’ Chloe giggled and he began to tickle her, so she giggled some more. ‘Ssssshhhh,’ she managed eventually. ‘Alfie’s next door.’

His thumb traced a small circle over her soft, pale décolletage without him really thinking. Chloe took a deep exaggerated breath. He searched her face again, quieter now. ‘Hey. You OK?’

She didn’t answer straight away. Just looked at him. Her long chestnut hair damp and tousled. Her cheeks were flushed, lips full and naturally defined, no trace of make-up. She really was naturally pretty. Her brown eyes held his.

And in that pause, Thom felt something shift, too subtle to name, too big to ignore. The sharp ache that had followed him for months whenever he thought about Poppy suddenly felt quieter somehow, blurred at the edges by the woman lying beside him.