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Everyone was staring after him, slightly perplexed at the sudden exit.
Felicity smirked an apology. “His behaviour gets a bit erratic when he’s hungry. You know, low blood sugar.”
“Same as Mitch, such a grumpy bum until you shove a Jatz cracker in his face,” Shelley said, and the other two women cackled in agreement.
Meanwhile, Felicity’s gaze travelled to the book Oliver had dropped onto the table.
“May I—take a peek?” she asked Shelley, who’d gone back to passing around pickled onions.
“Of course, love—you must be so proud of him.”
Felicity gave a tight smile. Gingerly she flicked open the cover, turned to the back of the book, her fingers rigid with anticipation.
The breath punched out of her lungs when she saw it.
A full-page photo of Oliver with his arm around the waist of a beautiful blonde woman, who in turn was gazing up at him with adoring eyes.
And… oh. Oliver… wearing an expression of pure love and devotion.
Felicity’s heart flipped inside out, nose-dived and skidded into the dirt. She felt like a voyeur, like she was witnessing something she shouldn’t see… didn’t want to see.
Somehow, she smiled at Shelley as she closed the book and placed it carefully back on the table. “I better take our dinner over before it goes completely cold. Thanks for the help, with you know, getting it onto the plate.”
As she walked across the camp site she glanced down at the plates. Even in the dying light she could see the chops were congealed, the peas shrivelled.
It reminded her of how her heart felt right now.
Cold, congealed, shrivelled.
She’d so wanted to look at one of Oliver’s books, so sure it would tell her more about him.
And oh yes, it surely had.
It told her she was an idiot to think she could ever compete with the woman he’d lost.
