by Kate Hewitt
And then the houses petered out and she saw them—a set of dilapidated garages that hardly looked as if one might house a beautiful home. She recognised Owen’s house immediately, the first garage of the set, the stairs on the outside heading up to the first floor.
She was here.
Emily took another buoying breath and climbed the stairs.
At the top she raised her hand to knock, conscious of the import of this moment, and how so much was held in the balance.
“Here goes everything,” she said aloud, and then she knocked on the door.
Chapter Twenty
Owen wasn’t expecting anyone at this time of night. He had a duffel bag on his bed but he hadn’t yet had the heart to fill it. A couple of empty crates were in the kitchen area, to pack away his personal stuff. He hadn’t done that, either. And now someone was knocking on his door, and he really hoped it wasn’t Jace, giving him what-for again. He’d had enough of being told what a cowardly jackass he was being. He already knew.
“Hello…?” The single word trailed away as he saw Emily standing there, her face pale and her eyes bright, her fists clenched at her sides. “Emily…what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” she repeated rather shrilly. She sounded both nervous and angry, and Owen had no idea why. “Everything and nothing, I suppose. May I come in?”
“Yes, but…” He didn’t know what protest he could make, only that he really hadn’t been expecting her here. He stepped aside and she walked past him along the mezzanine towards the spiral staircase that led to the living area. Her shrewd gaze clocked the bag on his bed but she made no comment.
Owen followed her down the stairs, wondering what on earth was going on, and yet at the same time realising, to his own shame and weakness, he was glad to see her. Really glad.
“So you’re leaving tomorrow, Ava said,” she said flatly, her back to him as she walked towards the sofa.
“Yes.”
She whirled around, one hand on the back of the sofa to steady herself. “Where are you going?”
“London, I think. I have a mate who says there might be construction work for me there.”
“Construction work?” She sounded disbelieving, and Owen tried not to flinch.
“I need a job.”
“Have you worked in construction before?”
“No, but I’ve got a strong back and willing hands.”
She shook her head slowly. “Where will you live?”
He shrugged. “Sofa surf for a bit, I suppose, until I can get my own place.”
“Sofa surf?” Now she sounded even more disbelieving. “Owen, is that really what you want?”
Of course it wasn’t. How could she think that for a minute? A second? He just shrugged, because he had no real response, at least not one he was willing to give.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, and now her voice sounded quiet and intense, and that made him squirm inside. He didn’t want to have this conversation, this reckoning, and yet he knew Emily deserved it. She deserved more of an answer than he’d given her so far.
“I told you before. I’m not in a place to be in a relationship.” Even now, when he knew she deserved more, he prevaricated. He just couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to have to admit his failings, and yet he sensed from Emily’s quiet tone, the determined tilt to her chin, that he would have to. She would make him.
“Why not?” Emily asked baldly. “Why is running away to London better than staying here and fighting for something? For us?” The words rang out, wobbled, and fell to the floor. Owen looked away. “Don’t I deserve an answer, Owen?” Emily asked, her voice softening. “I know we weren’t—we weren’t together for very long, but it felt important to me.”
“It was important to me too,” Owen couldn’t help but say. She deserved that much. She deserved so much more.
“Then why are you willing to throw it away at the first hurdle?” Emily asked, her voice breaking right in half. “Don’t you think we’re worth more, Owen? What we had? Because I do.”
“It’s not that simple…”
“But it can be, surely? If we let it? I know you don’t have the pub anymore, and you feel like you can’t offer me something. I don’t even know what.” The words were coming faster, tumbling out of her so Owen couldn’t interrupt, even though he wanted to. He wanted her to stop listing his weaknesses. His failures. “But I didn’t fall in love with you because of your job, Owen, or your bank account. I don’t care about those.”
He blinked. “Fall in…”
“Yes, I’ve fallen in love with you,” Emily declared recklessly. “Or maybe I’m in the process of it, I don’t know. When is it complete? Does it last your whole life? Because I want to keep doing it, if you’ll just let me. If you’ll give us a chance.” She paused, her lips trembling. “If you’re falling in love with me.”
Owen let out a groan as he sank onto the sofa, his head in his hands. “It really isn’t that simple.”
“Then tell me why not.”
There was no other choice now, he knew, not when Emily had been so honest and vulnerable. Not when she’d told him she loved him.
“Because I can’t bear letting you down,” he said heavily. “And I know I will.”
“You’re letting me down now, Owen, by walking away from me. Nothing could be worse than that.”
He lifted his head to gaze at her bleakly. “Are you sure about that?”
*
Emily registered the grim, despairing look on Owen’s face and swallowed hard.
“Yes.” At least she wanted to be sure, although she felt, just by looking at Owen’s face, that she was going to have to steel herself for whatever came next. “I am,” she added for good measure.
Owen let out another heavy sigh. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“The only way you’ve hurt me is by walking away,” Emily stated quietly. “I really do mean that, Owen. No matter what you tell me now.” She did believe that. At least she hoped she believed it. What could he possibly say that would change her mind? That would be so terrible? She couldn’t think of anything, and yet the look on Owen’s face made her wonder.
He didn’t reply and Emily went to sit beside him on the sofa. She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his.
“You’ve been strong for me,” she said. “Let me be strong for you.”
Owen was silent for a long moment. Then he said, his voice strangely flat, “I tried to save you, Emily, because I couldn’t save anyone else.”
Emily stiffened at that admission as she remembered Ava’s words—you can’t save anyone, you can only believe they’re worth saving. “Who couldn’t you save, Owen?” she asked gently.
“My mother. My father. My sisters.”
“How…?”
He drew a shuddering breath. “I told you my father was a drunk. He could be a happy drunk, the life of the party, and so much fun to be around…until he drank too much, and then he turned mean. Really mean.” Emily waited, her hand in his, knowing there was nothing she could say. What she needed to do now was listen.
“When he was mean,” Owen said, the words carefully distinct, “he hit my mother.” Emily couldn’t keep herself from giving a soft gasp of distress. “I started to realise when I was around twelve. And I didn’t do anything about it until I was sixteen. I was too scared of him.”
“You were a child, Owen.”
“At thirteen I was tall as he was. The truth was, I loved him. He was fun. And I wanted him to love me.”
She heard the bitter guilt corroding every word, and her heart ached. “That’s understandable,” she said softly.
He lifted his lowered head to give her another bleak look. “It gets worse.”
“All right.”
“When I was sixteen my mum ended up in A&E with a couple of broken ribs and a black eye. I went at my dad, giving him all I had. I was stronger and faster than he was, and I beat him up pretty badly. When my mum found out…she was furiou
s. She didn’t want him to be hurt. She wanted him to be home with us. And the next day, when she was still in hospital, he left. Less than a year later he was dead in a stupid brawl. My mother never forgave me.”
“None of that was your fault.”
“I ruined my family,” Owen stated bluntly. “First my dad, and then my mum, and then my sisters. One of them ended up on the drink like my father.”
“Not your fault—”
“I saw it happening, and I didn’t do a damned thing because I was heading the same way myself. In fact, I gave her her first drink when she was only thirteen. She’s never recovered. And then there’s my other sister, Carys. When I left at seventeen, she begged to come with me. She said she’d die in Cwmparc. She was sixteen, a year younger than me, and desperate. I left her there. And she’s still there—with no husband, four kids going wild, and an addiction to prescription painkillers. Is that not my fault, Emily? I didn’t save any of them. I got myself the hell out and they’re lucky if they get a telephone call from me once a year, because I can’t stand the guilt.”
“Then make amends,” Emily said steadily. “Set it right.”
He gave her a look of mingled hope and despair. “How?”
“By calling them more. By helping them—”
“How? Because I’ve got nothing now. I sunk everything I had into that pub, and the insurance payment is barely going to cover my debts. I’ve got no job—”
“So you can get a job,” Emily returned. “You have fifteen years of experience in owning and running a small business. Why shouldn’t you start again and succeed? Plenty of other people have.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know what your problem is? Your head is stuck in Cwmparc. You think you can’t amount to anything even now, when you’ve already done so much. People can change, Owen. They can grow stronger and braver and better. Look at Henry. He made a huge mistake with Jace—and yes, I know all about that—but he changed. Look at Ava. She turned around her life around. So did Jace, and Alice, and even Harriet… I don’t know a single person in Wychwood who hasn’t had some sort of hard time! It doesn’t have to be different for you.” She felt a sudden, surprising spike of anger. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“What?” He stiffened in shocked affront. “I’m not…”
“Yes, you are. You think you’re the only one who has made mistakes, has regrets? You think I don’t regret shutting people out of my life for years and years, and then letting my OCD tendencies control me? Huh?” Her voice rose, strident and powerful. It felt good to shout at him, to shake him up. Good and necessary.
“Emily…” Owen looked shell-shocked by her outburst.
“And what’s with your saviour complex, Owen?” she continued relentlessly, on a roll now. “You wanted to save me? Well, guess what, I don’t need saving. I need someone to understand, and encourage me, and be there, but I don’t need someone, even you, sweeping in on your white horse and saving me. All I wanted, all I’ve ever wanted, is what Ava said. For someone to think I’m worth saving.”
“I do think that—”
“Then let go of all your guilt because it’s not helping anything. How is running away again going to solve anything? You feel guilty for getting out of Cwmparc. Do you think you’ll feel better getting out of Wychwood?”
“It’s not like that,” Owen said with some fire in his voice. “I can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“What do I have to offer you?”
“I told you, I don’t need for you to have a fat wallet or an impressive job. I don’t care about those things.”
“And if I’m a useless plonker on benefits?”
“That’s not who you are,” Emily answered steadily. “If you have to go on benefits for a bit, fine. Plenty of people do. My mother is. But you’ll get back up on your feet, Owen. You’ve come this far. Why put a ceiling on what you can accomplish, especially when you have so many friends to help you? When you have me by your side?” Her heart beat hard as she said the words. She meant everything she said, but she was conscious that she was really putting herself out there. If he turned away from her now…
She’d be devastated. She’d also be blisteringly angry.
Owen was silent for a long moment. He was still holding her hand, so that was a good thing, but Emily sensed the indecision in him. The torment.
“Owen, I meant what I said—you’ve been strong for me,” she said quietly. “So strong. But now it’s my turn to be strong for you. I don’t want to be the only one who needs help and support. That’s not the point of a relationship. Let me be strong for you. Let me…” Her voice caught. Now she was laying herself bare, offering herself up on an altar. “Let me love you.”
Still Owen didn’t speak. Emily didn’t either, because she’d said everything she knew to say. His head was lowered so she couldn’t see his face. Her heart was thudding so hard she felt sick. She realised she was squeezing his hand as hard as she could, and she tried to relax—and failed.
“Do you really love me?” he finally asked in a low voice and Emily’s breath rushed out in a gasp she couldn’t keep herself from.
“Yes. At least, I think I do. I’ve never fallen in love before so I don’t know how it feels, but these last weeks without you have been miserable, even as I’ve been finding my way. I’ve realised that I can live without you, but I really don’t want to.”
Owen let out a soft huff of laughter that made Emily’s heart tumble in her chest. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“Do you mean…”
“How can you still love me, when I’ve let you down so badly?” He lifted his head to look her full in the face, waiting for her verdict.
“How can you love me when I’ve been all over the place, prickly and stupid and touchy and tense?”
“You’re not—”
“And you haven’t let me down. We can work through this, Owen. We are working through it. That’s a good thing, right?”
A smile curved his mouth slowly, like a sunrise creeping over the horizon, flooding the world with light. “Yes,” he said after a moment, an ache in his voice. “It is.”
“Then…” She hardly dared to hope. To believe.
“I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. I don’t know what I’m going to do, or how it’s going to work out, but for once I’m not going to run. I want to fight—for you, for me, for us.” He squeezed her fingers before he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers.
Emily closed her eyes, breathing him in, her whole body feeling shaky and weak after such an intense few minutes. She thought she might cry, but she didn’t. It felt too deep for mere tears.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his forehead still against hers.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I love you, you know. I should have said it before. I should have said it first.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Good thing.” He leaned back, still smiling, his eyes crinkled. “I’m glad you were willing to put up with me, Emily David.”
“Likewise.”
She smiled back, still feeling shaky, and then he kissed her and oh, it felt so sweet and so right, like flying away and coming home all at once. The future was still uncertain, but this wasn’t. This was rock solid.
“I’ve got a few people waiting to hear what’s happened,” Emily said when the kiss finally stopped. “We were having a drink and Ava and Harriet and even my mum all encouraged me to come here and talk to you. They’ll want to know what happened.”
“Are they slumming it in The Three Pennies?” Owen asked, eyebrows raised, and Emily laughed.
“And hating every minute. We need you back.”
“I’ll drive you down there. That should satisfy them.”
“Then you must not know them very well,” Emily returned with another laugh. “They’re going to want more than that.”
In fact, her friends were exuberantly delighted when they saw Owen’s van trundling d
own the high street, his window rolled down as he waved at them all.
Ava threw her arms wide before blowing them both kisses, and Ellie was jumping up and down. Harriet was clapping and hollering, and Alice looked teary. Best of all, her mother had the biggest grin on her face that Emily had ever seen.
“Yes, you queen!”
“You go, girl!”
“Owen, you lummox, you finally saw sense!”
“Now, now, ladies,” Owen admonished, smiling, and Emily found she couldn’t stop smiling—or laughing. Life had never felt so sweet, or so promising.
“You are going to kiss her now, aren’t you?” Harriet demanded, and Emily looked through the window to see every single one of her friends—as well as her mum—mock-glaring at them both, hands on hips.
“Yes,” Owen told them, “as a matter of fact, I am.”
And so he did.
Epilogue
The day of the Willoughby Holidays fundraiser was as perfect as a promise—lemon-yellow sun, washed blue skies, and air as soft as a kiss.
The grounds of Willoughby Manor were full of people, and laughter, and fun—a proper Victorian arcade of amusement, include an impressive Ferris wheel, stalls and stalls showcasing every local business, including The Three Pennies’ elegant marquee—and Man with a Van, Owen’s new venture providing a pop-up pub.
Naomi had been the one to have the idea, having spent the better part of a year in a van about five years ago, when Emily was at uni. With the sale of The Drowned Sailor—it was now going to be a kebab shop—Owen fixed up his van and invested in some folding tables and chairs and a liquor licence.
The pop-up pub proved to be a huge success, not just in Wychwood but in many of the smaller, outlying villages that didn’t have a pub of their own, and welcomed the van’s visits, often with a pleasingly long queue. Owen had discovered he enjoyed being on the open road, and he was thinking of adding food to the pub’s offerings as well. All in all, it had turned out far better than he’d ever expected.
