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20
Clare
This was the conversation she’d been dreading. The conversation she’d decided not to have. But it seemed she was having it anyway. The last hour with Izzy had convinced her of that, although deep down she’d known for a while that this moment would come.
They went to the boathouse, scene of so many intimate and private conversations.
She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at Jack, wondering what he and Flora had been talking about that was too important for them to seek shelter.
He rubbed his hair, draped the towel around his shoulders to absorb some of the water in his shirt and then surprised her by pulling two glasses out of the cupboard along with a bottle of malt whiskey.
He set it on the table outside on the deck and for a moment she wondered if he’d misunderstood. Did he think this was social? Two old friends catching up?
“I had no idea we had whisky here. Where did that come from?” She sat down, hands in her lap to hide her nerves, wishing she’d taken the time to change and apply some makeup. She didn’t feel together and for a conversation as important as this one she needed to feel together.
“It was left by your previous occupants. Todd and I discovered it a few days ago.”
“James and Alysson McGuivan.” They’d booked a few days on their way from Scotland to London. They’d paid the going rate without a whimper of protest and left the place as pristine as it had been when they’d first moved in. She wished all the people who rented it were as thoughtful.
“Well the McGuivans had excellent taste in malt whiskey and were generous enough to share the love. Perfect for emergencies.”
“What makes you think this is an emergency?”
“The look on your face.” He sloshed whiskey into both glasses. “Drink, Clare.”
Without even bothering to sit down, he knocked it back.
She didn’t touch hers. She knew the courage she was seeking had to come from within, and she needed her head straight for what would undoubtedly be the most difficult conversation of her life. She pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling physically sick. How should she put it? Would the order of the words make a difference to the impact? How did you soften something so harsh?
Jack put his glass down on the table. “It’s not fair that you should do this, so I’m going to do it. You’re trying to find a way to tell me Becca was having an affair.”
She looked up at him. “Jack—”
“And after you’ve told me that, you’re going to tell me she was leaving me.”
A heron swooped, skimming the water close to them but neither of them noticed.
At that moment her whole world was him. “You knew?”
“Yeah, I knew.” His shrug was all pain. Hurt. Raw. “I knew.” He stood up, and she pushed her chair back and stood up, too.
“Oh Jack—” It hadn’t occurred to her, not for a minute, that he might already know. But why not? She was fairly sure she’d know if things weren’t right with Todd.
She couldn’t find the right words so instead of speaking she went to him, wrapped her arms round him. She’d never punched or done physical harm to anyone, but if Becca had walked onto the deck at that moment she would have knocked her out cold.
She felt his arm close around her shoulders, comforting.
“I’m sorry, Clare.” He held her. “So sorry.”
She pulled away. “You’re sorry? Why would you be sorry?”
“Because you were caught in the middle of this. You’re a kind, decent person. If I’d had the slightest idea that you knew, I would have said something a long time ago.”
“She told me during that last vacation, on the last night. We were barely speaking when you all left. And then she wrote me a letter—” She clung to him, this man who had married her friend and then become her friend. Yet again she was questioning all the decisions she made. “I didn’t know what to do. She was dead, Jack. I didn’t see the point of hurting you and the girls by telling you. It didn’t occur to me that you knew.” But perhaps it should have done, because Jack had always known who Becca was. Right from the beginning.
“I’d known for a while.”
“A while? How long had it been going on?”
