Morgan grinned at the pun. Connor hadn’t noticed he’d made one.
‘You know all that stuff, though. You know how to do it,’ Morgan said.
‘I do, but I can’t do it all. I can’t be in the office, run the boat trips, manage the café, the gift shop and the kiosk, and sort out the staff. Staff management’s one hell of a job on its own – you wouldn’t believe the hoops you have to jump through… Okay, I’m coming to the point.’ Connor put his coffee mug down on the floor beside him and looked directly at Morgan. ‘I need someone I can rely on, someone who’s around all the time, at least for the rest of the season, and I thought… No, forget it. You’ve already got a job.’
‘As it happens, I haven’t, not the one I had, anyway.’
He told Connor about the bookshop closing, the stop-gap hotel job he had lined up. He even told him about Kate, the whole story – he’d only hinted briefly at it before. It felt cathartic, a release, to talk about it; he hadn’t realised how much he needed to do that.
The hopeful look on Connor’s face was hard to miss, although he was obviously trying to disguise it as he sympathised over Morgan’s plight.
‘Look, mate,’ he said, ‘I gotta be honest here. I’ve seen her, that girl with the long dark hair, the one who asked me to say hello for her. I’ve seen her coming here, and I’ve seen the pair of you on the riverbank with no room for a fag paper between you.’
Morgan suppressed a smile. ‘We’ve not exactly been hiding. Anyway, what’s that got to do with anything?’
‘She lives here, in Maybridge, right? So in my twisted mind, I thought if you did happen to be planning a move up here and a change of scene, well…’
‘What about Ted? Won’t he think he’s being edged out?’
‘Grandad won’t take much persuading to stand down if he knows it’s you and not some stranger. You could still do your writing in the boathouse, in the quiet times.’ Connor shrugged. ‘Forget it. It was worth a long shot, though.’
‘Okay.’
‘You’ll do it? Oh mate, are you sure?’ A beam broke out on Connor’s face.
Morgan grinned back. ‘Yep. Why not?’
Why not indeed? There was nothing stopping him, was there? The manager of the hotel would soon find someone else, and he hadn’t much fancied the room above the shop, if he was honest. He loved it here, the river and everything, and he could write in the evenings. The idea of a clean break from Haverstone appealed, too. If Connor didn’t need him after the summer season was over, he could find something else to do up here, if he hadn’t made plans by then to move on somewhere else.
And, as Connor had unsubtly pointed out, there was Layla. They’d be able to see one another all the time instead of just at weekends, and perhaps, if things worked out, eventually they’d be able to get a place together.
Morgan thrust the idea away. He was getting ahead of himself, way ahead. Slowly, she’d said. The excitement he’d allowed himself to feel faded fast as he wondered how she would take the news that he was moving to Maybridge. Would she think he was crowding her, pushing things too far?
But she would understand that his decision wasn’t about her. Layla held other people’s feelings in high regard. She would know it was better for him to leave Haverstone and make a fresh start in a place that already felt like home. It all made perfect sense.
Chapter Eighteen
Kate stripped off her uniform and threw it onto the bed. Reaching beneath the grubby venetian blind, she lifted the casement to open the lower half of the window and let in some air. The slats of the blind were tilted half open, allowing her to see out while nobody could see in. At least, she didn’t think they could as the room was on the second floor of the nurses’ home and there were no other windows directly opposite. Not that she cared. If anyone caught an eyeful, good luck to them.
Peeling off her underwear, she stood naked by the window, gazing between the slats of the blind at the dense blue sky pierced by tall chimney pots that topped the buildings of the older part of the hospital. She smoothed her hands slowly down and across her body, feeling it begin to cool as it came into contact with the air. It had been a bit of a nightmare today. Two emergency admissions last night had filled to capacity the ward she was working on, and the nurse manager had taken herself off to some meeting or other, leaving Kate and an agency nurse to answer the ever-ringing phone as well as deal with the patients.
She was so hot and so tired. For two pins she could have thrown herself onto the bed and slept until morning, but it was only six o’clock. She’d jump in the shower and sluice away the pungent remains of a hard day on the ward – not that it ever went away entirely. Then she’d go over to the cafeteria for comfort food and a chat with whoever happened to be there.
As long as it wasn’t Xavi.
She’d deliberately avoided looking up his shifts, difficult though it was, so that she had no idea where he was unless they were on duty together. Except on clinic days, of course, when they bumped into one another – physically – at least six times a day because of the narrowness of the corridors and the meagre staff space. And then she had to endure that look, the lost look in his eyes, the silent appeal which the smiles he gave her had no hope of disguising.
It scared her to think it had come to this, that she could have fallen so completely out of love with him as completely as she had fallen in. And to think she’d given up Morgan, the flat – her whole life, apart from her job – in order to be with him. Only she hadn’t, in the end. It hadn’t taken her long to realise that prevaricating over moving in with Xavi hadn’t been about slowing everything down. It had been about her, and what she really wanted, and about swerving the biggest mistake of her life. One of them, anyway.
She’d made another mistake on Saturday night. She’d jumped into bed with a junior doctor she hardly knew, in his room after a party. It hadn’t meant anything, the sex; like scratching an itch. At least they’d been compos mentis enough to use a condom. Not a mistake of mammoth proportions, then, but a mistake nonetheless. She didn’t believe in casual sex, and she’d betrayed that belief willingly and without a smidgeon of guilt, until the following morning.
She no longer trusted her own judgement. It was almost laughable, considering how she’d railed against Morgan for the way he drifted through life. She’d seen that side of him first as an endearing trait, then as an annoyance, and finally as a weakness. Until that Sunday afternoon on the clifftop, when she’d suddenly seen, with a clarity as brilliant as the sea, that just because Morgan followed the flow and refused to fight her over the little things she’d thought were so important at the time, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t as focussed and determined as she was. Or she had been.
Morgan had loved her. For all she knew, he had never stopped loving her, even throughout her protests that there was nothing left between them. Perhaps she should have been honest enough to tell him there was someone else. It might have helped him to accept the situation. She’d wanted to save his pride and protect him from more pain, but what difference would it have made if she’d already broken his heart? Had she, in fact, broken two hearts in as many months? An arrogant thought, on her part, and yet…
Kate sighed. The rapidly cooling sweat on her skin sent shivers through her body. She picked up her towelling robe from the bed and wrapped it round herself but she didn’t move from the window. Instead, she stood and thought about Morgan until the sun began to melt over the rooftops.
Chapter Nineteen
‘It doesn’t matter, Mel. There’s plenty of bread. If we do happen to run out, I’ll go and get some more.’ Reece edged himself between Melody and the kitchen counter where the enamel bread bin gaped, its lid cast aside. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. ‘It’s fine. Stop worrying.’
Melody sighed, her tired eyes searching his face as if she didn’t quite trust what she saw there.
‘I just want everything to be perfect, that’s all. We’re having the mussels
tonight. She likes those. They serve them with brown bread and butter in the hotel, she said. I got a small brown loaf, but supposing she wants brown toast in the morning…?’
Melody spoke more to herself than to him, her gaze already returned to the bread bin.
‘Mel.’ Reece gave her shoulders a little squeeze, then let her go and replaced the lid on the bin with a firm clang.
‘Yes, you’re right.’ Melody sighed again. ‘Oh, I know, we’ll have chips with the mussels. Mussels and chips! That’s a classic, isn’t it? Yes!’
At once she was brighter, energised by her own solution to the problem which hadn’t existed in the first place. Her eyes glittered with new purpose. Reece couldn’t decide whether this was better or worse. The tablets she was on were meant to calm her, help her stay on an even keel. If that was the case, they were worse than useless, and did little to prevent the tidal thrust of Melody’s moods from one pole to the other.
Perhaps they were placebos. He supposed he should find out but he didn’t have the heart for it. He was losing heart slowly, day by day. Soon there’d be nothing left, and then what would become of them?
‘She’s here!’ Melody was out of the door at once, flying across the gravel so that Layla had to brake sharply to avoid hitting her.
Reece stood in the doorway, watching the two of them walking towards the house: Melody, her arm round Layla’s shoulders, her high, exaggerated steps almost a bounce; Layla’s stride purposeful yet resigned. She was laughing at something Melody had said, and when she saw Reece she gave him a bright, open smile that quietened his churning gut.
Layla had brought flowers for Melody – a cheerful posy of sweet-scented freesias – and a bottle of Merlot for him. He accepted his gift with a grateful smile and stood the bottle on the counter. They’d long ago tried to stop her bringing presents each time, but still they came – a tribute to her upbringing as well as her generous nature, he always thought.
Melody began fussing about the shelves, searching for the perfect container for the flowers, until Layla jokily edged her aside and laid her hands on a blue-and-white jug.
‘This is what we want,’ she said, holding it aloft.
‘Yes! So it is! That’s exactly what we want.’ Melody beamed. ‘Clever girl.’ Happily, she ran water into the jug, dropped in the freesias and carried it through to the hall table. ‘There. Now I shall see them every time I go in and out.’
The empty mussel shells lay abandoned in pools of buttery juice at the bottoms of the bowls. Reece stared at them over the top of his wine glass. They stared back, poking their sharp black tongues at him. He should have felt reassured by the relaxed dinner-table talk. Instead, he felt trapped, poised on the edge of the deepest chasm, unable to move.
The mussels had been greeted with relish by Layla, and no, she wouldn’t rather have had the bread because Melody made the best chips ever, which happened to be true. Layla had been amusing them with the continuing saga about her family and the overcrowded house, and how she longed for her sister and her young son either to move back to their own house or move on somewhere else. But out, definitely out. She’d made it a funny story, exaggerating the humorous bits for effect, and they’d all laughed together.
If Melody still disapproved of Layla’s family, she showed no sign of it. She seemed composed; serene, even. The two glasses of Chablis she’d drunk had helped, of course. Reece wasn’t sure she should be drinking if her medication was the real McCoy, but this wasn’t the time to raise the subject.
The only slight dip came in the form of Melody’s startled frown when Layla had asked if they wouldn’t mind her leaving tomorrow evening instead of staying over until Sunday. But Melody had rallied immediately, concurred with Layla’s plan as, almost visibly, she reshuffled Saturday’s meals in her head, and it had all been fine.
Tonight – this – wasn’t a problem. No, the problem was that behind all the bonhomie was a bloody great arrow pointing towards impending disaster. Layla couldn’t carry on coming here for ever, a permanent fixture in their lives. She obviously knew it and so did he, but did Melody? Sooner or later, it would end, gradually rather than suddenly. Although, he thought ruefully, suddenly might be better all round.
Later, as he and Layla tipped the shells into the bin and loaded the dishwasher, Melody having been sent away to sit down, Reece saw his chance to have a private chat. He thought he might be able to ascertain Layla’s intentions regarding Melody and the weekend visits. Instead, she seemed to have something she wanted to say to him, as she leaned conspiratorially towards him while they stood at the sink together. At first he thought she’d pre-empted him, and his stomach tightened. Then he saw her expression – the soft, new brightness of her eyes which he realised now had been there all along, only he hadn’t taken it in properly.
‘What?’ he said, smiling at her, equally conspiratorially.
‘I’ve met someone. Kind of.’
She blushed a bit. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her blush before.
‘Ah.’ He gave a knowing little nod. ‘And would this by any chance be a special kind of someone?’
‘Might be. It depends.’
‘What does it depend on?’ Reece asked quietly.
She shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. How it turns out. Stuff.’
She turned away, picked up the tea towel and began to dry a wine glass. Although she wasn’t looking at him she was smiling. He felt privileged to be the recipient of her secret. It was a secret, he could tell. New loves often were.
‘Have you told…?’ He glanced pointedly at the half closed kitchen door.
‘No, I haven’t told Melody. Not that there’s much to tell. Would you mind not saying anything to her, not yet, anyway? Sorry, I’ve got no right to ask. Forget it.’
‘No, no, I think you’re right. It’s for the best,’ Reece said, nodding.
He took the glass from Layla’s hand and put it in the cupboard. He knew exactly what she meant. Melody would make a major issue of it, insist on knowing what this ‘special person’ was like and all about him, before Layla was ready to tell. She might even – Reece paled at the idea – ask Layla to bring him to the farm so that they could meet him. It would be all too much.
Besides, he knew Layla well enough to understand that she was being extra sensitive to Melody’s feelings by not including her in this mini-revelation. She knew it would only trigger another reminder of all that had been lost along with Danni. Clearly, by confiding in him, Layla thought he was made of sterner stuff. He wished it were true.
He swallowed tightly, his earlier misgivings returning ten-fold. But the moment had passed to quiz the girl about her intentions; her mind was elsewhere, yet not, he thought, entirely happily.
‘So, is there a problem?’ he ventured.
‘When is there not?’ Layla spoke sharply, not how he’d expected her to react at all. She folded the tea towel and hung it on the rail, squaring it up so the sides were exactly equal before she turned back to him. ‘I just mean…oh, that I’m properly out of practice. I haven’t been out with anyone in a long while, not on dates and stuff. I haven’t been able to. It hasn’t seemed right, somehow.’
Reece looked at Layla, the way her eyes were searching his face, willing him to understand without her having to spell it out.
‘Not since Danni went?’
He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘died’, not now, not in front of Layla. She nodded, looking down at the floor. She seemed almost ashamed.
They stood in silence for a moment – Layla awkwardly, like a child who’d confessed to some misdemeanour; Reece struck dumb by this new revelation. The tally had risen; one more life put on hold since that tragic night. He didn’t want that for Layla. He and Mel, well, they would find their own way, in time. But Layla…
‘No, sweetheart.’ He touched her shoulder. ‘That’s not right. Danni wouldn’t have wanted that. You have your life, Layla, and you must live it, otherwise you’re doing her a disservice as well as yours
elf. This boy, the special one, don’t send him away. Give it a go, have some fun and see what happens, and if he turns out to be a complete doughnut, then so what? You won’t know until you try.’
Layla’s shoulders shook, her head still bowed. For a moment he thought she was crying, and then he realised she was laughing.
‘What are you like?’ She looked up at him, shaking her head slowly.
‘Me?’ Reece tapped a finger at his chest.
‘Doughnut.’ She shook her head again. ‘There are worse things than going out with a doughnut, I suppose.’ She giggled. ‘I promise I’ll let you know at the first doughnut alert.’
‘Well, see that you do.’
Layla left just after seven on Saturday evening. It was a cheerful goodbye, with cheek-pecks all round and no attempt on Melody’s part to pressgang the girl into giving a date for her next visit – assuming there was to be one. It was so easy, in fact, that Reece found himself holding his breath as the sound of the car’s engine faded into the distance, and Melody returned to the kitchen to hand-wash the best tea-plates and put the remains of the chocolate cake away in the tin.
She turned to smile at Reece as he followed her into the kitchen.
‘Such a lovely girl,’ she said, giving a little sigh. ‘She seemed really happy. Do you think she’s happy, Reece?’
And the way she spoke, with her shoulders in the right place and her forehead smoothly untroubled, caused him to exhale with relief.
‘Yep, I’d say she’s happy,’ he said, giving Melody the firm answer she needed. ‘Would you mind if I went and did some marking?’
‘Of course not. I’ll finish clearing up, then I might pop outside. It’s such a gorgeous evening.’
Never Coming Back: a tale of loss and new beginnings Page 13
