AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘But I thought you were staying here?’
‘I am – you’ll see.’
A mile along the single-track clifftop road, Abigail told him to slow down. She pointed at the lighthouse with the neighbouring detached cottage. ‘There.’
‘You’re staying in a lighthouse?’
‘Er, no, in the cottage. Look …’
‘Oh, yes, I see it.’ He slowed and pulled the car on to the driveway, the gravel crunching under tyres. ‘Where shall I park?’
Abigail frowned at the lighthouse. She thought she spied the front door open a crack and the occupant checking to see who had arrived. ‘Just make sure you park as close to the cottage as possible. I don’t want that man having a go.’
Gerald parked the car, switched off the engine and glanced at the lighthouse. ‘What man?’
‘There’s just some old guy who lives next door. He’s a pain. I don’t think he likes people staying in the cottage.’
‘Hey, is this the holiday cottage you and—?’ He paused.
Abigail turned to her stepdad. ‘It’s okay to say his name. I won’t burst into tears – I promise.’ She wished she would. She still hadn’t shed a single tear for Toby since his death. She wondered if that made her a bad person. When she had visited her GP for sleeping tablets in the aftermath of Toby’s death, when sleep had been impossible, she’d confided in her about it. The GP had told her not to worry; it didn’t mean she loved her husband any less. They would come in time, the four stages of grief. Abigail was still waiting for the tears to arrive.
‘Yes, it is the place.’ Abigail opened the car door. She was about to get out when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to her stepdad. ‘What is it?’
He took a deep breath. Glancing at the cottage, he said, ‘Look, sweetheart, I know it’s not my place to say it …’
Abigail knew what was coming next.
‘Is this a good idea, coming back to the cottage where you and Toby spent so many holidays together?’
Abigail regretted spending her holidays here and not calling in to see her family. They had visited sometimes, at Toby’s insistence, but not nearly enough.
‘Come and stay with us at the guesthouse. Please.’
‘The thing is, Gerald … Dad, I had to come.’
‘Because you’d already booked it before he …’
Abigail breathed a sigh. She wished he’d finish his sentences. ‘Died, Gerald, you can say that word too, you know.’
‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’
And this was the reason she didn’t want to stay with them. They would drive her mad, pussy-footing around her as though they had to tread on eggshells. She could just imagine the looks Gerald would get from her mum whenever he unintentionally put his foot in it by mentioning Toby’s name, or that he’d died. There would be all sorts of silly shenanigans that she couldn’t deal with. Their attempts to avoid saying his name, or making any reference to his death, his funeral, his wake, would just make her remember it all even more – not less. How could they begin to understand?
But they can,a little voice in her head said.Dad. Her mum had lost her husband when she was not much older than Abigail. The difference was that he hadn’t been murdered, but he’d died, nonetheless. And Abigail’s mum hadn’t just had herself to sort out in the aftermath; she had a two-year-old son and a baby girl she’d given birth to that night. Perhaps that was what had got her through – the fact that she’d had two little people who depended on her. She’d had to get up every morning and cope with what each day brought – for them.
After Abigail’s week at the cottage, Lili had found her unwashed and unkempt, feeling as though she had nothing to live for. She didn’t want to think about it, but if she’d had a child, there wouldn’t have been time to wallow in that pit of self-pity. She would have had to get up each morning rather than hiding behind closed curtains until an annoying neighbour’s nephew had stuck his nose in and called Lili. Abigail had found out about that. Lili had told her she’d given him her number.
Abigail affectionately patted Gerald’s hand. ‘It’s all right. Come on. We hadn’t booked it for another holiday, by the way. I’m here because I own the cottage.’
Gerald’s bushy eyebrows shot up. ‘Pardon?’
Abigail got out of the car. She didn’t want to have the conversation outside, even though the chap next door couldn’t hear them. ‘Come inside, Gerald.’
He followed her through the garden gate and along the paved pathway up to the cottage.
‘Hey, I remember this place. It seems familiar.’
Abigail shrugged. ‘Perhaps I showed you some holiday snaps we took here.’ Although she doubted it. Abigail always felt guilty for not making the effort to pop in and see her family when she was holidaying in the area. ‘I reckon you’ve seen it advertised in the local holiday-letting agency.’
‘No, no, it wasn’t that. It was the night of the Great Storm. A child, a foundling, was left in this storm porch.’
Abigail had the key in the lock. She turned to look at Gerald. He was gazing around the storm porch. He stepped back, taking in the exterior of the cottage.
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure this was the place.’
Abigail frowned at him. Why hadn’t he mentioned this before? ‘What happened to the baby, do you know?’
‘I believe a nurse used to live here. She adopted the baby, I think.’ He stepped inside the porch and looked at Abigail. ‘What?’
She stared at her stepdad. ‘I think that baby was Toby.’
