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And she hated the way they’d ended it.
They had such a great relationship and they’d ruined it with a stupid fight.
And she didn’t want to be mad at him. She wanted to hug him, and tell him how sorry she was about his friend. And tell him that she understood he didn’t want to talk, but that if he ever did, she’d be there, ready to listen. She’d stuffed it up and he’d had every right to be pissed.
She felt a sob bubble in her chest and she let out a small scream instead.
Standing on top of a ladder, covered in dust from the ceiling she was painstakingly stripping of the swirly contact paper that her aunt had put up some time in the seventies, and all she could think about was him. What was he doing now? Teaching, probably. Was there a teacher at his school who thought he was fanciable? Undoubtedly. He was impossibly good looking, smart, funny, and just damaged enough to inspire that protective instinct. Hell, he was a catch, and someone else was probably busy catching him right now.
Katie wasn’t sure why she was bothering carrying on with the renovations. She’d already decided to sell the house. She had the contracts, she just needed to sign them.
But the sentimental idiot in her couldn’t bring herself to sell the place she’d met David. Not yet. It was too soon. Too raw. Besides, it was mid-term for Maxie. She was better, surely, to wait a few weeks until holidays came. Then, they could go to London together and talk some options over with Grandma Rose.
A prick of anticipation ran through her as she thought of London. It would be so easy to surprise David. To apologize for their fight and explain that she wasn’t happy with how things had ended.
She paused, scraper in hand, a frown on her face.
That’s what she needed to do! She would be careful. She would make it obvious that she hadn’t come to get things going again, but simply to end things on the right note. Didn’t their fling deserve that?
She groaned as she remembered the way he’d felt, with his arms wrapped around her. Immediately, her body gushed with warmth. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to wait for holidays.
She’d go now. For the weekend.
“Mum,” she spoke into her phone quickly, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. “I need to speak to you about something. Maxie and I are going to come stay for the weekend, okay?”
“Oh, darling, I’ve got golf tomorrow, but I suppose I can cancel…”
“Thanks, mum. That would be great. I’ve actually got an appointment on in the morning, so if you could mind Maxie…”
“Not a problem. Gives me some time with my beautiful grandbaby.”
“Not such a baby now, mum. You won’t believe how much he’s grown.”
“I’ll bet. When will you be here?”
“Tonight. We’ll set off once he finishes school.”
“Great. See you then, darling one. Oh, and Kit? Be careful on those roads, won’t you?”
And Katie felt a swell of tenderness for this woman. Even after her husband had run off with some other woman, she’d still never spoken a bad word about him. And when he’d died in a violent car smash, she’d grieved as any wife would. She had loved him to the last, even though he was undeserving of it. “I will, mum. See you later tonight!”
And she laughed! As she hung up the phone, she did a little dance on the spot, because finally, she was sure she would see him again, and it felt good.
His address was on the registration paperwork that he’d emailed through when he’d initially made the booking, and she transcribed it into her iPhone maps now, marking it with a pin. “Tomorrow, I will see you, Mr. Trent, and we will sort all of this out.”
With another laugh, she ran upstairs, packed for herself and Maxie and changed into clothes that didn’t scream ‘Bob the Builder’. This felt right, and so how could it be wrong?
* * *
His house wasn’t like she’d expected, she thought with a small frown, staring up at the run-down council house in east London. It looked like sheets were strung up instead of curtains, and the garden had become overrun by grass and tin cans. She frowned again. David had seemed so neat and well put together. He had left his room impeccable every morning, and insisted on doing the dishes each night.
With a small shrug, she brought her hand up and knocked on the door. It was a cool, yet crisp, morning, and she’d dressed in bright colors to reflect her hope for the future. A bright tangerine coat, and an emerald scarf, with her hair pulled up into a ballet style bun, and dangly yellow earrings. She heard a kerfuffle inside and froze, forcing her mouth into the shape of a smile. Her heart jack hammered against her rib cage so loudly that she brought her left hand up to her chest in an attempt to muffle it.
A young man wrenched the door open, his skin pale, his hair styled in a crew cut, his clothes almost as unkempt as the house.
“Morning,” he said curiously, his pale eyes flicking over her with interest.
“Oh. Hello. I’m here … for David? Do I have the right address? David Trent?”
