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It was an hour before the last of the floats passed by, the music slowly drifting away, the lanterns now casting a warm glow over the darkening sky. Ash watched as Fliss turned back, her whole body more relaxed than he’d seen all evening. Possibly ever.
She glanced at her empty place setting.
‘The meal’s gone?’
‘You finished it.’ He chuckled softly. ‘You don’t remember?’
She offered a rueful smile. ‘I know I’m full, and I know the food was beautiful.’ She glanced at the bottle of red wine. ‘Ah, well, that isn’t why I’m feeling so chilled out; it’s only half empty.’
He didn’t have the heart to tell her it was their second bottle and she’d drank two-thirds of that one.
They fell into an easy silence, the street scene still offering plenty of entertainment.
‘So you enjoyed the parade?’ Ash asked, once the waiter had brought them a round of coffees.
‘I loved it.’ She nodded, her eyes sparkling happily. ‘It was almost magical. And now all the lanterns are so pretty; it’s like being in a fairy tale.’
‘I’m glad you had fun.’ He was careful to keep his tone upbeat. ‘I still can’t believe you’ve never been to a festival.’
He watched Fliss’s mind ticking over, wondering how best to respond. But then the server chose that moment to clear the dishes from their table and by the time they were alone again Ash feared she might have composed herself enough to brush him off. He was surprised when she answered hesitantly.
‘It wasn’t somewhere my uncle wanted to take me.’
‘He didn’t want to, or you didn’t want to?’
She slowly stirred her coffee, her eyes trained on the mini-vortex.
‘A bit of both, probably.’
He waited quietly in the hope she would offer more of her own volition, but she didn’t, and that ate away at Ash. He wanted to know her better, to understand her, but she was shutting him out. He couldn’t explain why that bothered him so much.
Then again, she wasn’t shooting him down either. It could mean part of her wanted to talk, if he could just coax it out of her without scaring her off.
‘You said your uncle raised you?’
She paused, then nodded. ‘From the age of eight.’
‘You mentioned your mother wasn’t kind to you.’
Perhaps by reminding her of things she’d already told him, it would help her to feel she’d already trusted him once. At least partially.
A brittle sound escaped her. ‘I represented the end of all her dreams. And she never let me forget it.’
He’d seen that often enough, with other kids in care.
‘She was an aspiring ballerina.’ Fliss bunched her shoulders.
Ah. Not that it excused it, but it gave him a better understanding of what Fliss had dealt with.
‘Would she have made it?’
‘I honestly don’t think she would.’ Fliss met his gaze, not spiteful but factual. ‘My uncle said she was good, but there are thousands of good ballerinas. She wasn’t great, certainly not stand-out. But she could never accept that. She always had to have someone to blame. Never herself. Before I came along she blamed her parents for not supporting her enough. Then when she fell pregnant and neither of my two potential fathers wanted to know, that was their fault. And finally, when I came along, I was the excuse she needed to explain why she’d given up dancing altogether. She could be...cruel.’
‘Is that why you’re so responsible? So rule-abiding? Except for when you’re leaping off helicopters to save injured soldiers, that is.’
‘I don’t know.’ Fliss looked surprised. ‘I’ve never really thought about it, I guess. I just know I vowed to myself I’d never be like my mother.’
