Good Enough to Trust (Good Enough, Book 2 - Going Back)

by Stoneley, Zara

  GOOD ENOUGH

  TO

  TRUST

  By

  Zara Stoneley

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © Zara Stoneley 2013

  Published by Zara Stoneley 2013

  Edited by Annie Seaton

  The moral right of Zara Stoneley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All right reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A note from the author

  This is Book 2 in the Good Enough series. Each book can be read independently, however reading them in order will help you understand more about the lives of Holly, Sophie, Dane and Charlie.

  Book 1, ‘Good Enough to Share’, introduces the four friends, but centres around Holly and the issues she has had to deal with in her life. Book 2 is Sophie’s story. If you would like to find out more about the series, or any of my other stories, please visit my website – I love to meet readers and chat!

  This story is set in Cornwall, a place I love. Many of the place names used are real, but locations, buildings and characters are all used fictitiously – but for me, the mystical atmosphere and the magic exist. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Discover more about Zara Stoneley at

  http://www.zarastoneley.com

  Recent titles by Zara Stoneley

  Good Enough to Share – Book 1

  Riding High

  Forfeit

  Spice It Up

  Freefalling

  Prologue

  It was damp and it was cold. The kind of damp that creeps under your defences, seeps into your skin and wraps itself around your heart. The kind of damp guaranteed to make you feel sad and alone even when you aren’t.

  I glance back over my shoulder to the lone tall figure standing by the cemetery gate and he half raises a hand. And I know I’m not alone, not really alone. Maybe I never have been, I just haven’t been prepared to accept it.

  Even shoving my hands deeper into my pockets doesn’t stop the little shiver running down my spine as I turn back to face the way I’m heading, and I pick my way along the unfamiliar path to the two graves which mean so much to me. One slow step at a time. I’ve only been here a couple of times. I mean, you don’t have to be hanging around the headstones to prove to someone you loved them do you?

  But, if I’m honest, it isn’t anything so simple keeping me away. Fear is the thing that has stopped me coming here. Fear of being wrong, and fear of being right.

  I was here on the day they were buried, watching as their bodies were dropped into the dark, unwelcoming earth and the pang of guilt spearing my gut was so sharp it released the sharp tang of bile into my throat. I’d hated him then, my dad. Hated him with every tender, sore part of me as I’d clenched my hands into fists in my pockets. But I was still a part of him, he was still my father, if not often my dad. And I’ve realised now that he probably did love her, the woman who will lie next to him forever. Two people never to part. My parents. It wasn’t a love I could understand, or forgive. But he did, just as she loved him back with an unerring passion and devotion that was as bad as it was good.

  After the funeral I’d not been back for a long time. I hadn’t wanted to face the fear I suppose, but I guess now I was finally starting to understand, to accept. I’d been frightened of the truth. The fact that maybe they had meant it to happen, that I’d been kidding myself I could have made anything any different. Been kidding myself that it was all my fault, and if I’d never tried to live my own life it would never have happened.

  Nothing like an ego eh?

  But I’d finally realised I wasn’t that important. One tiny action of mine hadn’t changed the future, hadn’t changed anything. If they hadn’t done it then, they’d have done it another day.

  One day, any day.

  I guess once you’ve decided that death is the only way out, then it’s hard to find a way back, isn’t it?

  I stoop down in front of my mother’s grave, let the cold, brittle stone dig into my knees, and for the first time in far too long I can actually hear her voice, she’s speaking to me, saying out loud the words from her goodbye letter. The suicide note that I’d never let myself believe she could have written.

  Before they’d always been someone else’s words to my ears, but now I realise – or rather accept – the truth. They are her words, not his; the pattern, the tone is all hers. Maybe she’d been crying when she wrote them, maybe she’d not quite known what to write, but they still ring true.

  When I came back here at New Year I’d not heard anything, but maybe I’d been shutting my ears. I’d stood, looked at them, and just wanted, I mean really wanted, to understand. And I just couldn’t, which was why I’d gone away. I could see now that I’d needed to open more than my heart. I’d needed to open my mind.

  “I worked it out, Mum.” I picked up a daffodil from the small vase on the grave, ran my fingers up the stem. My little sis, Megan, had probably been here, she’d always accepted it. Not like me. But then she hadn’t blamed herself, had she? She hadn’t been the one running away.

  “No one’s perfect, are they? I guess though I’d always thought when I was little that you and Dad were. I mean parents are, aren’t they, perfect in every way, the people we want to grow up into? I’d never grown up and realised you weren’t, but I think I’ve finally got it.”

  There was the faintest hint of spring when I held the trumpet of the flower up to my face, the softest velvet as I stroked the subtle, lemon-white petal between finger and thumb.

  “Now I’ve got to work out what I really want and that’s the tough bit, isn’t it? Oh, you know all about tough don’t you, Mum, and I really wish you were here to help me, except that’s the point isn’t it? I have to work it out myself. I want him, you know. I always wanted him, but I might have fucked it up. But isn’t that what you’ve taught me, you and Dad? That a real relationship is about being able to do your worst and still be forgiven?”

  My feet slip in the gravel as I stand up and the sound does a shimmy around me in the still air. I’m alone, but not, if you know what I mean. I’ve never felt exactly lonely, but I’ve been alone lots. But something tells me it’s shifted.

  “I’m sorry Mum, Dad, I guess I only just realised that what you had was real.” I clutch the flower a bit tighter as the ache in my throat gets harder to bear and I can feel the heat welling up behind my eyes. There’s a tight knot where my heart should be. It’s supposed to be easy coming back, now I understand, but it’s not because I miss them even more. And I can’t hate them, I just want them back. I want them beside me, I want them holding me. I want them to tell me it’s all okay, to dry my tears and rock me to sleep. I can’t see the gravestone clearly now, because my eyes have blurred over with the tears I should have let fall a long, long time ago. Burning tears and a hurt I don’t want to battle with any longer.

  I might not be alone, but there’s still a massive gap where they should be. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, feel the dampness stain my face, the panic welling up in my throat and I let myself stand, sway for a moment. Fight with the lump in my throat until it isn’t quite as bad. Ima
gine how it used to be. And it’s strange because I don’t see us, our family, how we used to be. I see him, Ollie. Young and carefree, laughing as I play the fool. I open my eyes again, take a breath and it’s okay.

  I’m okay.

  “It wasn’t always nice, but you did love each other, didn’t you? Holly tried to tell me at Christmas, but I wasn’t ready to listen, I suppose. I mean, loving each other so much is for other people, isn’t it Mum, not people like us?” My fingers are cold from holding the flower but I don’t want to let it go. It’s almost like it’s a part of all of us, of the family I never saw properly. A present from little sis to our parents, and now passed on to me.

  Would I be prepared to die for love? Would I ever let myself go enough, let so much passion and want and need into my life? Would I ever trust anyone enough to let them end my life, so we could be together forever without the pain? I can’t answer questions like that, not yet.

  I take one last careful look because I don’t know when I’ll be back. Loving is hard, it hurts. And saying it all hasn’t made everything better, they’re still gone.

  I walk back up the gravel footpath and the crunch in my ears seems to run through my body until I feel like I’m slowly shattering like a pane of glass into those tiny fragments you see when a car windscreen breaks.

  “You okay?”

  His gaze has never left me, all the time we’ve been here. I swallow, feel the fragments pulling back together. Reforming into something clearer, something without the flaws. I slip my hand under his arm and the rough familiar fabric rubs against my knuckles. Some of the tension eases away.

  I nod and try to ignore the tears that I know are threatening to spill. “Thank you.” He raises a quizzical eyebrow. “For coming with me.”

  But it’s more than that, so much more.

  Chapter One

  “So, I take it you’re not going to help then? Even though I tell everyone I know that you’re not just beef burger on legs, that there’s a sensitive, feeling soul deep down under that thick skin?” I stared, and a pair of the biggest, brownest eyes I’d ever seen stared straight back at me. It could have been the look of love, except they were partnered by a big, lolling tongue and a runny nose, and the thick skin was covered in fur, or hair. Or whatever you say cows are covered in, skipping the leather bit of course. Mentioning that would be insensitive.

  I dragged my gaze away from the nearest heavyweight, and there was another dozen backing it up. Not good. They had all lowered their heads which made me think of an impending rugby scrum, and an uneasy prickle made its way down my spine – competing with the damp, misty air to win the first prize for what could make me feel most uncomfortable. All the better to see me, I hoped. They were herbivores, weren’t they?

  I shoved my hands a bit deeper into my pockets and shuffled back a bit in what I hoped was a casual way, and tried to ignore the way they seemed to have edged that little bit closer. They were just cows after all, and even though I never was much of a country girl surely I wasn’t going to run away from a group of vegetarian bovines?

  Not me, Miss I’ll-do-Anything-Once? I don’t know what hurt most, my teeth biting into the softness of my bottom lip or my nails digging into the palms of my hands, but either way I didn’t exactly feel relaxed and at ease.

  So much for being at one with nature, eh? Bugger.

  Even breaking eye contact with the small group of furry monsters didn’t help much, looking up the mist-laden hill as far as I could, which believe me wasn’t far, just made me shiver inwardly. If I carried on like this I’d be a nervous wreck before the day was out, and I hadn’t even started to do what I was here for.

  I had to be mad to be doing this today, tramping across the strange, unwelcoming countryside. Last time I had been up here it had been sunny, no cows in sight, and after a few minutes of climbing we’d turned around and stood silently in some kind of awed amazement. You could see for miles, across the rough tufts of grass, along the craggy, rock-scarred hills and out to sea. But today if I turned around all I’d be able to see would be—a broad chest.

  “Well, well if it isn’t Mrs. Doolittle.” Accompanied by a deep male voice that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a Welsh male choir. Except this wasn’t Wales, and the burr tinging the edges of the voice was closer to a Cornish burr. But it was deep and full, and with a hint of strength. Presumably for bellowing across the Cornish hills, competing against whatever the elements was throwing out.

  I must have looked as blank as I felt, probably because all the blood had drained from my brain to my hammering heart, just in case I needed to make a run for it.

  Though God knows where, Mr. Built-like-a-brick-shit-house was on one side of me, and a herd of, for all I knew, mad cows on the other.

  “Talking to the animals?” He nodded at the cows behind me, and I had a horrible feeling they were creeping closer while I was distracted. But I couldn’t stop looking at him and that voice was like a dose of syrup, all gooey and warm, and strong.

  Did I mention strong? I’m a sucker for a man who sends out an aura of control, even if I am the last girl on earth who’d want to be told what to do.

  I shook my head to try and clear the weird thoughts.

  “I like cows.” I wasn’t quite sure if the mad rush of adrenalin was because of a fear I was about to get squished by cows, a dread I was about to be attacked by a strange man on a hillside, or whether it was something that wasn’t fear at all. Fear and excitement were close bed mates. “You’re not a mad axe murderer are you?”

  “Not the last time I checked.” He tipped his head to one side and I could swear there was a glimmer in his eye that was more friend than foe. “Don’t get many of them down here in Cornwall, no demand.”

  “You’re not in collusion with the cows?”

  “Nope, no collusion, I’m a work-alone kind of guy.” He was grinning, a broad grin spreading like sunshine across his face, and he reminded me of Charlie, okay it was in a totally improbable way that would make anyone laugh at me if I said it. But he did, it was the openness, the ‘let’s laugh togetherness’ about it. He looked kind, and non-judgemental, which was sexy. Well, it could have been the rush of blood back to my nether regions, once my brain had stepped down from red alert, which made him seem sexy, anyhow it didn’t seem to matter.

  I grinned back and had a crazy urge to hug him. But then who would be the weird one?

  “Don’t suppose you do, get axe murderers I mean, not many people to murder I suppose.”

  “Not this time of year.” He was still studying me, trying to work out which planet I’d come from, no doubt. “But those aren’t cows, you know.”

  “They are.”

  “Those are bullocks, girl. Big boy bullocks.”

  For a second I thought he said bollocks, which made no sense at all, but the big boy bit did.

  “Not from round these parts are you?” He laughed, a warm low laugh. “Those boys can be a little bit skittish at times, so it doesn’t do any harm to be prepared.” He held up a short stick and half waved it, as though he thought I might want it, or even know what to do if I had it.

  “Oh.” I suddenly realised he was actually stood on the other side of the wall, but he didn’t say it like they were dangerous. Just low, steady, warm, slowly melting treacle, mmm.

  Stop it Sophie.

  “A little bit skittish?”

  “A little bit is all they need to be when they’re that size.”

  The man had a point. I looked over my shoulder, and the twinge of nervousness got a bit more firmly established in my gut, but he didn’t look like he thought I was about to get trampled. Did he?

  “But, they’re not dangerous, they’re just cows? Well, boy cows?”

  “Well, I can guarantee they won’t eat you, but they might accidentally give you a good trampling.”

  Hmm, accidentally and trampling didn’t seem to go together too well.

  “It might be a good idea to join me on the other side of
the wall before they get brave.”

  I eyed up the wall, which looked about as unapproachable as the cows, sorry bullocks. Vaulting over walls was not my forte Well not unless there were extreme circumstances and I didn’t think we’d got to extreme yet. It must have shown on my face because he laughed and turned slightly, waving his stick in the general direction of the wall.

  “Stile over there, didn’t you use it to get in the field in the first place?”

  “I don’t think so.” I frowned and half turned, trying to remember what I’d been doing before the ghostly cows had materialised out of the mist and nearly given me a heart attack. Talking to them had seemed the best response at the time. You know, disarm the enemy with small talk.

  “I came over up there I think.” I gave a random flap of my hand.

  He reached his side of the stile just as I started to clamber over and looked at me a bit awkwardly as though he thought he should help, but didn’t quite know how. Maybe they didn’t get many girls in this corner of Cornwall.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Wasn’t sure if you’d hit me with your handbag if I tried to help.”

  Ah, maybe not as unworldly as I thought, which for some strange reason made me relieved.

  “No handbag, so you’re pretty safe.” I glanced down to try and work out where to put my foot next and he took a step closer.

  “Here.” He put a steadying hand on my elbow and that word ‘strong’ jumped straight back into my head and my belly. “You do look more of a handbag girl than a rucksack girl though.”

  I wasn’t sure quite how to take that. I was back on terra firma and he was only inches away, leaning against the wall eyeing me like I was some alien species again, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he put that hand somewhere else.

  “I can be either. Well, erm, thanks for rescuing me, I’ll be off then.”

  But I didn’t know which direction was off, which made it a bit tricky. Did I just stride off in any direction, wait until he’d gone then come scurrying back? I had thought I was on the public footpath we’d followed last time, but I’d got a horrible feeling I wasn’t. We, being me and the man who’d been the centre of my universe at the time.