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‘Yes, it was. Look, Rosy, let’s carry on for a little bit longer and see where we are. But I’m glad you’re feeling better and I’m glad you’ve decided not to marry Akil. I really liked him and if you were in love with him would welcome him as a brother-in-law...’ There was a tinge of reservation in her voice that Arrosa noted. Yup, Akil clearly had madequitethe impression on Clem. ‘But as you’re not I really think it’s for the best. And it’s also for the best that you get a good long rest.’
‘You’re sure?’ Relief flooded through Arrosa as she double-checked. It had been the right thing to offer to switch back but she didn’t want to, not yet. If possible, she wanted the full six weeks. She wanted more scones, several trips to the cinema, to walk down the street every single day relishing her anonymity.
‘I’m sure. Now, go eat that scone and don’t forget to send me a picture of Gus so I know you’re remembering to feed him. Love you.’
‘I love you too.’ Arrosa ended the call and placed her phone back on the table, thinking about the next call she needed to make, and sooner rather than later. She might have more time but, before she could really enjoy it, she needed to clear things up with Akil. Not just for her own sake but for her sister’s. The things Clem hadn’t said were more telling than the things she had, and that self-consciousness in her voice was new.
Maybe she should suggest that Akil take Clem out for more sightseeing?
As for herself, if she saw Jack again she would apologise and offer to buy him a drink. It was the least she could do after misleading him, after all.
‘Daddy, please come bodyboarding with us.’ Clover tugged at Jack’s hand and his phone nearly fell from his grasp, his email half drafted.
‘Careful,’ he said as he returned his attention to it. ‘I need to finish this first. Why don’t you carry on with your sandcastle?’ He reread the carefully crafted words and added another line. It was time to pull in the big guns, get an external agency to advise on the comms strategy before his theatre plans were washed away by public disapproval.
‘I finished my castle. Look, Daddy.’
The plaintive note in her voice tugged at his heart and Jack looked up to see Clover’s disappointed expression, the familiar heavy feeling of guilt pressing down on him. He’d never really appreciated it before it had happened to him, the ever-present feeling of not being enough, not doing enough, that accompanied being a single parent. Not for the first time, and he knew not for the last, Jack wished he could go back in time and change all the careless things he’d said to his mother, the times he’d shown his own disappointment when he’d known full well that she was doing her best.
And that was all that anybody could ask, that he did his best. Which meant in this case heading into a crowded sea on a hot June weekend. ‘Go on then,’ he said, and Clover’s bright smile was all the reward he needed. That was the thing about being six, tears turned to smiles in an instant. ‘What about you, Tansy?’ But he wasn’t surprised when his eldest daughter shook her head, the long silky blonde hair and pointed chin so reminiscent of her mother it sometimes hurt to look at her, a reminder of his failures.
‘I’ll keep an eye on our things,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’ve got my reading list to finish.’
Jack touched her hair. ‘You’ve been reading all morning. Come with us, your sister would love it.’ But Tansy shook her head and returned to her book with a martyred air that was as worrying as it was irritating.
She’d always been a serious child, too serious her mother had said, with a sense of responsibility that seemed to negate her ability to just let go and have fun. But since Lily’s death those traits had become more pronounced, a line of worry too often on her brow, a line wrong on an eleven-year-old girl. He caressed her hair again, telling himself not to mind as she shrugged him off with an exaggerated sigh.
‘I’mworking, Dad.’
‘Okay, but you know where we are if you change your mind.’ Jack looked back at the small erect figure, still worrying, as Clover pulled him into the cold waves. That was the thing about Cornwall. No matter how hot the outside temperature—and today was practically Mediterranean—the sea was always bracing. Clover didn’t seem to notice as she hopped over waves, chattering on about her recent surfing lesson and how close she’d been to standing up. Some of the worry lifted as he listened. This was what he had brought them back here for, this kind of outdoor life, and the pink in her cheeks and happiness babbling through Clover’s voice was all the affirmation he needed. Tansy would settle in soon enough.
As Jack and Clover waded in, waiting for the right wave to bodyboard into, he became aware of a slight figure standing further along, waist deep in the water. There was something about her that snagged his attention, the poised, graceful way she stood, almost regally, despite the surf pushing and pulling her. Jack noted dark wavy hair piled high, tendrils curling around a long neck, sunglasses shading high cheekbones. It was the woman from the theatre, the one he’d almost run into the other day. Rosy.
She wasn’t moving, just standing still and letting the waves crash over her, but there was something about the way she looked up at the sky, the way she held her hands out that symbolised freedom. She looked as if she had been relieved of a huge burden and was taking this moment to celebrate with the elements. His mouth twisted wryly at the thought. It wasn’t like him to be so fanciful, let alone weave stories around complete strangers—besides, she had told him that she wasn’t staying around, she’d clearly wanted to let him down gently. He’d obviously imagined the strange instant connection that had seemed to sizzle between them.
As he stood and stared, Rosy turned slowly and her eyes locked on his for a breathless moment, a half-smile lingering on her full mouth before she held up one hand in a half wave. Jack nodded in return and then returned his attention to his daughter, trying his best to put the woman—Rosy—out of his mind.
The rest of the afternoon wasn’t the success he’d hoped for when he’d suggested a beach day. It was hot, very hot, and the beach was crowded with the tourists who flocked to Polhallow during the summer months. As the day went on the noise on the beach grew, the sea crammed with swimmers and surfers, and Clover got first sand and then saltwater in her eyes. No sooner was that resolved than she started to cry because she was too hot, and then because she was hungry. Tansy read steadfastly on, pausing only to tend to her sister as if she were her mother, pulling first wet wipes and then suntan cream out of her bag.
‘You can trust me to pack for us,’ Jack said, half amused, half put out as his eldest daughter raised disbelieving eyebrows.
‘Remember last time?’ she said. ‘You didn’t remember Clover’s juice.’
‘That was different, I didn’t expect it to be so hot last time.’ And there it was again, that insidious feeling of guilt. He’d been back in Cornwall for over two months and this was only the second time he’d brought his girls to the beach—and the truth was he wouldn’t be here now if the nanny hadn’t broken her foot and returned to her parents for a few weeks. His daughters only had one parent. Providing for them wasn’t enough, he had to make sure he met their emotional needs as well. He needed to play with them more—and somehow get Tansy to relax and trust him to have things under control.
Finally, he packed up their things, promising Clover an ice cream as they wended their way through the families, couples and groups of friends picnicking and lazing on the beach until they reached the beach café. A queue was snaking its way along the path and after a quick look at Clover’s mutinous face Jack knew he would be there for some time. There was no way she was going any further without the promised ice cream and no amount of money or infamy would help him jump the queue. Forget the theatre, maybe he should buy an ice cream shop instead. He tried not to huff, jiggle impatiently or check his phone as they waited. Instead, he scanned the queue and, with that same feeling of almost inevitable recognition, clocked Rosy near the front.
Her hair was still tied up and she wore a long pink sundress over her bikini, a bag thrown over her shoulder, and yet she looked as cool and elegant as if she were in the middle of Paris, not on a hot sandy beach. As if aware of his gaze, she turned and looked at him, at Clover hopping from foot to foot and Tansy, who was sighing again as if Jack had conjured up the queue to annoy her, and waved, saying loudly and deliberately, ‘Jack.Jack, I’m here!’
Both girls looked up at him in surprise. ‘Who’s that, Daddy?’ Clover asked.
Jack squeezed her hand. ‘Possibly the answer to our prayers. Just play along girls.’
Tansy said nothing but gave him a suspicious glance as Jack waved back and said extra heartily, ‘There you are! I didn’t see you, Rosy. Come on, girls. Let’s tell Rosy what we want.’ Nobody seemed to question the ruse as they joined Rosy at the front of the queue.
‘Thank you,’ Jack muttered with heartfelt gratitude and Rosy smiled radiantly, filling him with a warmth the situation hardly warranted. ‘You’ve saved me from a long wait, which is no fun with overtired children.’
‘It’s no bother at all,’ she said. ‘Least I can do after stepping out in front of you the other day. I’ve been wanting to apologise. What can I get you—and, more importantly, what do the girls want?’
