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Ron hesitated for a moment wondering if he could say something, anything, to help redeem the situation. But he was lost for words. So he did the only thing he could and the only thing that Jake wanted him to do – he left.
***
‘Don’t you dare!’ Beverley cried, when Ron offered for a second time that Troy could have his bed for the night. He was eager to make himself scarce, not wanting to spend another minute in the house where the atmosphere was so acrid.
He’d be more than happy to take a blanket and sleep amongst the dunes again. At least he wouldn’t feel Annabelle’s nearness, knowing that he couldn’t hold her or comfort her. Quite rightly she was wrapped up in her children’s misery, trying to console Izzie and trying to break down Jake’s barrier, although she wasn’t having much success with either.
Kate and Brett were clearly at a loss as to how to help, and the two older girls were hiding away in their room. Ron didn’t blame them. Helen was sitting in one of the chairs in the living room, her lips firmly pursed. She only un-pursed them long enough to sip at her tea.
Troy, on the other hand, had made himself perfectly at home. He was sprawled on the corner sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arm draped along the back of the cushions, a beer in his hand. The man didn’t look in the least bit perturbed about the mayhem he was causing. In fact, he looked totally relaxed, as though whatever was happening had nothing to do with him.
Jake had come upstairs to check that his dad was still here and then he’d slunk back off again. Izzie was alternating between her mum and her dad, not knowing which one to go to. Her father didn’t seem interested in her, he just gave her an absent-minded pat on the head every now and again, as though she was a small dog. So Izzie was cuddling Pepe instead, who stared balefully at the stranger and uttered little rumbling growls deep in his throat every so often.
Kate and Brett were clearly uncomfortable with the situation. They were sitting on the terrace, nursing a drink, their heads together, whispering, and occasionally one or the other of them would shoot a glance inside.
Beverley, however, wasn’t backward in coming forward.
When she’d come upstairs and found Troy on the sofa, she’d told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t welcome. ‘Not after what you did to my niece,’ she said, her hands on her hips. ‘Annabelle, why did you let him in?’
‘HeisJake and Izzie’s father,’ Annabelle said with a sigh. She looked pale and drawn.
Ron wished he could put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right, but he wasn’t sure that it would be.
As far as he could tell, the only way to make the children happy, Jake in particular, would be for them to go back to Australia. After all, they had been ripped from their homes, their friends, and their school, to start afresh in another country. Whether a return to Australia would make Annabelle happy, was also something to consider. She’d suffered the same as her children, and had had to leave her home, her job, her friends, and her whole way of life behind. Admittedly she had been born and had grown up in the UK, but she hadn’t lived here for years, and she must be finding it as much of a wrench as her children.
He suspected it would have been difficult enough for her to make the change, without having two miserable kids in tow. He knew she had to consider what was best for them and what would make them happy, which, at the moment, seemed to be going to Australia. Whether she and Troy resumed their relationship was irrelevant. The point was that the children would be back with their friends in a country they knew and loved; maybe not in the same house but possibly one close by, and they’d be able to return to their old schools, and they’d still be able to see their father on a regular basis.
To Ron, Annabelle’s decision was a no-brainer. She had to go back.
Even if she didn’t, even if she did decide to live in her parents’ house in Brighton, Ron knew there could be no future for him and her. Jake had made that perfectly clear. He wasn’t happy with his mum having a relationship, and once again Ron could understand that. There had been so much upheaval in the little boy’s life, that he wouldn’t be able to cope with yet another one. And maybe he would always blame Ron for coming between his mum and his dad.
Feeling as though he had no choice, Ron made the only decision open to him, and one he should have made the minute he set eyes on Annabelle Litton – he would leave.
It was the best thing for everyone.
***
Ron was good at waiting. He’d had a lot of practise at biding his time, and patience was his middle name.
It had taken until one o’clock in the morning before the house had finally fallen silent and as far as he could tell, everyone was asleep. He’d not bothered to argue with Beverley about who was sleeping where: instead, he’d retreated to his room without a murmur, and had left the sofa to Troy.
For nearly two hours he’d sat on the edge of his bed, his trusty old Bergen at his feet, and as he waited, letting the house settle around him, he thought about where he would go.
Undoubtedly he’d make his way back to Pershore eventually – he always did – but in the meantime he’d head along the coastal path and into Cardiff, where he’d be able to buy a sleeping bag and stock up on anything else he needed. He still had some money left, safely tucked away in an old leather pouch that he’d tied next to his skin around his waist with a thin strap. He used to wear it all the time. He’d ever had much money to put in it, but when he did have some he’d liked to keep it well hidden, in a place not easily accessible to anyone other than himself. He’d forgotten it was there and had found the pouch when he was packing earlier, buried deep in one of the pockets.
Eventually, he felt the time was right, and he got to his feet, hefting his rucksack onto his shoulder. There was one more thing he needed to do, something he should have thought of doing before he retired to his room, and that was to leave a note for Beverley. He couldn’t simply walk out on her and not thank her for everything she’d done. Or tell her how much she meant to him.
Quietly, he slipped into the games room, hunting around for a pen and some paper, but couldn’t find any. And neither was there any in the TV room, but he could remember seeing a pad that someone – Helen, he thought it might have been – had left on the kitchen counter for people to write down things that they needed the next time anyone went to a shop.
Ron frowned. There was nothing for it, he’d have to nip upstairs and retrieve it.
For a fairly big man, Ron could be exceptionally quiet when he needed to be, and he crept silently up the stairs and into the living room. He heard Troy snoring and saw the man lying flat out on the sofa, and he pulled a face in disgust.
The room was dark, but there was enough light filtering in from the occasional street lamp outside for him to see the notepad, and he was relieved to find a pen tucked into its curling tines.
Carefully, so as not to make a sound, he picked it up, but as he did so he realised the snoring had stopped. Slowly he turned around and saw Annabelle’s ex-husband staring at him from over the back of the sofa. Ron met the man’s gaze silently. He had nothing to say to Troy, and there was nothing Troy could say to him that Ron wanted to hear. They locked eyes for a few moments, Troy looking away first, then Ron crept out of the room.
The note wasn’t long. In it Ron said everything he wanted to say, and as he wrote it he felt the sting of tears at the back of his eyes. He was so incredibly sad to leave Beverley – she’d been like a mother to him, and that’s how he regarded her, but he couldn’t stay. Not now. This was the right thing to do.
He wished he could give her a hug, Pepe, too. He’d miss the little dog almost as much as he would miss the animal’s mistress, and he stood there for a moment after he’d slipped the note under her door, his Bergen on his back, saying a silent farewell.
Then his thoughts turned to Annabelle, and he hoped he wouldn’t hurt her too much by leaving without saying goodbye.
He knew she’d understand. It didn’t make the heartache any less – he would carry it with him for some considerable time, possibly to the end of his days – but he didn’t think she’d blame him for leaving as he did. Once again, he told himself it was the best for everyone, Annabelle especially.
It was the best for him too.
Smiling sadly, he opened the front door, slipped into the night, and headed for the open road, leaving his heart and his dreams behind.
