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I glance over at him, not sure what to say to this, as the silence lengthens.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap so defensively,’ I murmur at last, and he turns, snapped out of his reverie. ‘You could be right,’ I add. ‘Shaun and I might well be better as friends.’
Shaun’s never embraced me as thoroughly as he did Harriet just now. But then again, I guess I’ve been keeping him slightly at arm’s length, so where was his opportunity?
Rory grins sheepishly. ‘I’m not saying another word, Clara. I’ve obviously put my foot in it, somehow.’
‘No, you haven’t. Not at all.’
‘Well, just because you and I are... friends... doesn’t give me the right to make wild pronouncements about your romantic relationship.’
‘But it does. Wearefriends. And I totally trust your judgement, Rory. I don’t know why I jumped down your throat just then.’
He glances across at me with an odd look. ‘The thing is, Clara, I’m not really sure youshouldtrust my judgement.’
‘Why ever not?’
He breathes in and blows out his breath, pausing before murmuring, ‘Because I’m not sure evenItrust my own judgement these days.’
He swings the car out, doing a nifty hundred and eight degree turn as I stare at the back of his head. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh... just that I think I’ve messed up.’
‘You mean you’re regretting buying the stables?’ I ask in surprise. ‘But why? Is it... is it because of Lois?’
He looks bemused for a second. Then he shakes his head. ‘Never mind. Ignore my ramblings. Let’s get you home. We can’t have Bertie turning up late for school.’
He’s smiling now, but my internal radar for how Rory’s feeling is squeaking away like mad.
If he wasn’t talking about regretting buying the stables, whatwashe talking about?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Back home, when I run in– anxious that Bertie should be up and ready for school– I can feel a cold draught sweeping into the house from somewhere.
Puzzled, I dash into the utility room, and sure enough, the back door is wide open.
‘Bertie? What on earth are you doing out here?’ I begin, popping my head out into the garden. But he’s nowhere in sight.
Then I spot Irene, sitting on Dad’s favourite wooden bench, over by the hedge.
What on earth?
She’s just wearing a thin top and it’s only a few degrees above zero out here. She must be absolutely freezing!
Not certain of persuading her to come back inside, I dash into the hall, grab my big fleecy-lined coat off the peg, and crunch my way over the grass towards her, past Bertie’s old swing. She looks so sad– and at first, she doesn’t even seem to notice me, she’s so wrapped up in her thoughts.
‘Here, put this on,’ I urge her, and she leans forward a fraction to let me drape the coat around her shoulders.
‘I’m not cold,’ she insists.
‘So what are you doing out here?’
‘Thinking.’
‘What about?’
She sighs, a smile spreading across her face. ‘Bertie used to love that swing when we first got it, remember? Your dad used to spend ages pushing him, and Bertie would be absolutelyshriekingwith delight. Bertie was his whole world.’
