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“That’s different. We’ve been on the same life raft since we were four years old. I could pick up the phone and say help, and she would catch the first available flight.” Just as Ro had done after David died, camping overnight at Heathrow to come standby via LaGuardia. Tilly remembered the cab speeding down the driveway, Rowena flinging open the door while the vehicle was still moving, her only words, Where’s Isaac?
Tilly twirled a lock of Isaac’s hair around her finger. “Besides, she spoils you rotten.”
“So—” Isaac picked a piece of fluff from Bownba, the once-fluffy FAO Schwarz teddy that now resembled a squashed possum. “You like James, then?”
“Clearly not as much as you do.” Should she worry that her eight-year-old still dragged his teddy bear to bed every night? Tilly attempted to squish her feet under the seat in front, but between the bottle of duty-free Bombay Sapphire, her canvas backpack and her floral Doc Martens boots, there was no room.
“Are we going to help him?”
Why was her son suddenly more tenacious than a Jack Russell terrier? Bugger it. She had been enjoying the growing distance between herself and James, herself and Sari, herself and the stings of everyday life. Thanks to Isaac, they rushed back, and all she wanted was a reprieve.
“You need to understand, Isaac—” Oh crap, now he looked crestfallen. “It’s not that I don’t want to help James, but he has that neat I-want-it-this-way thing that screams perfectionist.” Or worse, a Virgo, like Sebastian, and the last thing she needed was another Virgo. Although, technically, she didn’t have a Virgo in her life, not anymore.
“Cripes. Not like you and me, then.”
“Exactly!” Tilly wagged a finger. “Think of the trail of possessions you and I can leave across two continents. A woman as scattered as me could drive a man as uptight as James seriously nuts. You do the math. It ain’t gonna work.” She would be barmy to get involved with someone that persnickety. Which didn’t explain why she had agreed to talk with James in September.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about this,” Isaac said with great solemnity. “I hate hiccups. They scare me because I want them to stop, but nothing I do works. I need you to help me. That’s a horrid feeling, isn’t it? That your body won’t do what you want it to do.”
“Sounds like middle age,” Tilly mumbled.
“I bet it’s a whole lot worse if it’s your brain that won’t cooperate.” Isaac paused. “I think we should help James.”
“Nicely expressed, Angel Bug. I’ll consider your opinion, but right now you need sleep.” And I need peace and quiet. Tilly patted fleecy travel blanket into the gaps around Isaac.
“Tell me the story of how you and Daddy met.”
Tilly covered her mouth. At best, this story was happiness and despair tied up with a bow. At worst, it was a form of self-mutilation, a cut that bled with the life she had lost, or rather thrown away.
“Please?” Isaac looked up with huge Haddington eyes, as pale as her father’s had been. Thank God for genetics. Even a hint of them tethered you to the past.
Tilly smoothed down his bushy hair but it bounced free, sticking out every which way. “Our story begins one summer.”
“Just like now, Mommy.”
“Except this summer is a new chapter in the epic story of Isaac and Super Mom.” Tilly struck her Popeye pose and Isaac snickered. Given the turmoil in her gut, however, Tilly felt less as if she were about to write an exciting new chapter in their lives, and more as if she were free-falling without a parachute, waiting for the big splat when Sari destroyed her business, and Sebastian…. Great, now she had Sebastian to worry about as well as James.
Isaac poked her. “Mom? Are you asleep?”
“Miles away. Sorry.” She resumed stroking Isaac’s hair. “It was a beautiful Saturday in June.” Fourteen years ago last week, another notch on the totem pole of survival. Isaac wriggled into her, as if trying to crawl back into her womb. “I had run away from London and escaped to Bramwell Chase for the weekend. Grammy was off with the historical society, and Grandpa was due back from Northampton for lunch. We had the whole afternoon planned: work on the roses, then hike across the estate. I was propping open the gates for him when—” She didn’t want to remember this, not tonight. Tonight she just wanted oblivion.
“When you heard this funny noise because Daddy didn’t know how to drive a stick, and he’d borrowed some old banger.” Isaac over-enunciated the last two words using a perfect English accent. Tilly swaddled him into her.
“This MG lurched up the High Street, gears crashing. Your father said that was the summer he discovered his two great loves: MGBs and me. Of course, that was before you were born and became more precious than anything.” Isaac made a soft noise, like a kitten’s mew. “Daddy bought his MGB after he got home. The 1972 Roadster that will be yours one day.” If it survives being shrouded under a tarpaulin in the garage.
Her heart contracted at the memory of dark ringlets framing David’s face and his chestnut eyes sparked with ambition. She’d wanted to lose herself in those eyes, and she had. Watching David, as he enchanted a lecture hall or entertained a room of friends, could leave her paralyzed with love. And yet however large his audience, however far away Tilly sat or stood, his eyes always found her. She pushed the heel of her hand into her heart, but the pain tightened. How had she navigated three years without him, without his adoration, without his need to share every joy and every disappointment with her?
She took a shallow breath. “The car stopped, and the most gorgeous man I had ever seen stuck his head out of the window and said, ‘Hey there. Can you help me?’ And I thought, I’ll help you with anything you like.”
Isaac’s giggle dissolved into a yawn. “Daddy was on his way to a conference, but he got lost ’cos he didn’t believe in reading maps.”
“Only your father could take off across a foreign country and assume he’d end up where he wanted to be. When he explained he was looking for the Open University, I laughed so hard I couldn’t tell him anything, and Daddy started laughing—”
“And Grandpa turned up. And he liked Daddy straightaway.”
“Absolutely.” How could anyone not? David always had the right words, the right smile, the right inclination of his head. Only Tilly saw the fragile ego that pecked away underneath.
“And Grandpa invited Daddy in to look at maps. And he never made it to the conference ’cos he stayed with you instead.” Isaac’s voice was tinged with sleep. “And when Daddy left he asked you to marry him. And you said yes.”
“I never could say no to your father. Although at the time, I thought he was joking. But when your father saw something he wanted, nothing stood in his way.” Tilly shivered as her thoughts bounced back, briefly, to James.
Isaac was silent for a moment. “That’s not always good, Mom. Is it?”
“No.” She kissed the top of his head. “But it was that day.”
Isaac gave a shadow of a smile and, as if someone had switched him off, conked out. He looked younger in sleep. She could trace the face of the baby with the rosebud mouth suckling at her breast, the toddler with his father’s luscious lips, the little boy who whistled through the gap before his front teeth descended. David had never seen those front teeth, had never seen Isaac read a chapter book, had never seen him whiz through math homework declaring, “This is so easy!” If she had learned to say no to David, would things have been different? Would he be here with them now?
* * *
The engines droned as the plane flew closer to England and Tilly struggled to keep her mind from Sebastian. But Bramwell Chase was a village. She could bump into him walking down the High Street or cutting through Badger Way. Even an imaginary meeting left her giddy.
Should she slug him and say, “Naff off, asshole?” No, that smacked of amateur dramatics. She could give him a curt “Do I know you?” Nope, that was petty. If only she could snap out a Rowena-comment, a one-liner that shriveled up your desire to exist.
What was his wife’s name? And the kids—a boy called Archie and a girl? Archie and Isaac were the same age. They could even become friends. Tilly clutched at her throat. What if Sebastian turned up on the doorstep all smiles and “Remember me?” Her breathing eased. No, that was one scenario she didn’t need to prepare for. Sebastian was a successful personal banker for a reason. He never dabbled in spontaneity, never took risks, not even for her. When Tilly told him she was engaged, Sebastian had said, “I’ll catch you the second time around,” and walked away.
Would she recognize him after ten years? Would he recognize her? Since they last met she’d hacked off her hair and donated every piece of clothing that didn’t fit the jeans and T-shirt category to the thrift store. And now Sebastian was turning forty. He’d probably sprouted a beer gut and tufty, falling-out hair. Yes, a balding banker grown slack on the high life. That was the image to work with, especially the balding part. Sebastian had always obsessed over his receding hairline, unlike David, who’d had enough hair for two. But as her eyelids fluttered, and her head drooped against the plastic wings of the headrest, it wasn’t David who visited her dreams. She was cornered in sleep by the sixteen-year-old with the puckish grin, the boy she had once craved as if he were a drug.
Chapter 8
Tilly spotted him the moment the electronic doors jolted open. At least she thought she did. It could also be a mirage, brought on by lack of sleep and cheap gin—the airline had cut the Bombay Sapphire. It couldn’t be Sebastian—one foot resting on the pillar behind him, head rolled back, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his white jeans, suede jacket slung through one arm. Not at 8:00 a.m. in the arrivals area of Heathrow. Except that the redhead jumping up and down next to him screeching, “Haddy! Over here, you twit!” was Rowena.
With a dang and a thud, Tilly’s luggage cart rear-ended a chrome bollard. How did that happen? One moment she was gripping the metal bar so tightly she thought she might cut off circulation to her fingers, the next all she could think about was escape. She turned, but the door to the customs hall had closed behind her.
“Haddy!” Rowena waved and the bangles and beads on her wrists chinked against each other like gypsy bells. “Haddy!”
Isaac ducked under the barricade and hurtled toward Rowena. “Hey, Rosy-Posy,” he giggled, then launched himself into her arms.
Sebastian lowered his head, but appeared to have no interest in locating his ex-lover. He looked more dazed than intrigued, his expression that of a person who had just woken from a nightmare and was struggling to cobble together his surroundings.
Tilly experienced a sudden plummeting in her gut. Still beautiful, then. Maybe more so. But she hadn’t really expected him to be fat, bald and ruddy. She had always known he would gain substance with age.
“My little man,” Rowena squealed as she twirled Isaac. “I’ve missed you so much! I forbid you from leaving me ever again.”
Isaac disappeared into a kaleidoscope of laughter and color, wrapped in Rowena’s ankle-length skirt and clasped to the turquoise sweater that nipped in at her tiny waist and stretched over her perfect breasts. The sleeves were forced above her elbows in an effort, no doubt, to hide the holes. Secondhand cashmere sweaters—they’re recycled, Haddy!—were Ro’s standard uniform and she was loyal to the last thread. Even on toasty summer days she complained of being fucking freezing. But then Rowena, a landowner infamous for serving marijuana with her shooting lunches, had always lived outside the lines. Being with Rowena was like jettisoning yourself through a bubble wand and not knowing when you would burst back into reality.
Being with Sebastian, however, was to stay firmly on the ground, to do one’s duty. Tilly’s stomach lurched as if she were still on the plane and riding out a patch of turbulence. He certainly had the air of someone who crafted his appearance with care. The cuffs of his pale blue shirt—linen, had to be, since it crumpled in all the right places—were folded back to reveal a heavy metal watch worn, as the battered Timex had been, with the face on the inside of his wrist so that he alone could read it.
“Haddy!” The familiarity of Rowena engulfed Tilly: the smell of satsuma soap, the softness of cashmere, the thick curtain of coarse hair. “It seems like only yesterday I was waving you off at Christmas and crying buckets.” Rowena drew back. “But you look horribly pale. Are you eating properly? Sleeping? And why don’t you answer my emails, you lazy old cow? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Missed you, too,” Tilly said. “Now tell me what he’s doing here.” She nodded backward.
“Be nice,” Rowena whispered. “Sebastian’s had a rough week.”
“But—”
“Poppet! How you’ve grown since Christmas.” Rowena ran a hand from the top of Isaac’s head to below her collarbone. “You’re only a head shorter than me now.”
Tilly inhaled sharply and spun around, glaring at Sebastian. You first.
Gradually, his face transformed into his lopsided smile. He pushed off the pillar and sauntered over, hands still buried in his pockets.
An announcement drifted through the Tannoy system. Rowena teased Isaac as she foraged in her carpetbag, and Isaac spoke in his knock-knock joke voice. But Tilly couldn’t decipher words. All she heard was noise, distorted by the thumping of her heart. Thump. Sebastian took another step—thump—and another step. Thump.
Finally, he stopped in front of her. Was his heart running a marathon, too? He hesitated—oh crap, was he thinking about a kiss?—and his grin spread. Bugger, he knows what I look like naked. A plastic bag rustled and Isaac shrieked with glee, but Tilly didn’t turn. If hell were tailored to fit, she was roasting in it, cooked to a mush before the man she had never wanted to see again.
“Hello,” Sebastian said.
“Hey,” Tilly replied with a deep breath.
He smelled of privilege, of dinner parties with port, cognac and cigars. Did he used to wear aftershave? She couldn’t remember. In ten years Sebastian had navigated a life she knew nothing of and returned a stranger. Did he like a cocktail before dinner? She had no clue. Could he still lose a Saturday to watching cricket on the television, curtains drawn against the sun? How would she know? A decade of silence lay between them, and in an instant he became blank.
“Awesome! The new Dr. X! Look, Mom. Look what Ro gave me!” Isaac tugged on her cardigan. “You can turn him upside down and all the green stuff in his tummy sloshes around. Thanks, Ro! You’re the best! Now I can have a huge battle with Action Man and—” Isaac dropped his voice “—the evil Dr. X. We did pack Action Man, right, Mom?”
“Right.” Tilly swallowed. “Isaac, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Sebastian, an old friend of mine.” Ex-friend.
“How come I’ve never met you?” Isaac zoomed Dr. X through the air.
Way to go, Angel Bug. You tell him.
“Your mother and I lost touch a while ago.” Sebastian’s smile wavered. “My fault, I suspect.”
Was he goading her? Tilly yanked down on her rumpled T-shirt.
“I see you’re a fan of Action Man,” Sebastian continued. “So’s Archie, my son. I think he has the largest collection of Action Man in the world, including the museum pieces I used to play with. Would you like to come over one weekend and meet him?”
“Yes, please!” Isaac’s face glowed with ecstasy. “Does he live in Bramwell Chase?”
“Sort of,” Sebastian said. His eyes narrowed slightly, not so anyone would notice, but Tilly had always gauged his mood from his eyes. So not a stranger, which should put her at ease, right? Wrong. She felt like a lump of leftover pudding, unsure of where to put her hands, her eyes, and—sod it. Her stomach churned again.
Rowena locked her arm through Sebastian’s and gave him a supportive nod, a we’re-in-this-together gesture. Wait…when did they become friends? Tilly had always been the fulcrum of their threesome. It was fact, as undeniable as chrysanthemums blooming in fall. Rowena and Sebastian had tolerated each other through high school, vying for Tilly’s attention until she coerced them into a truce, but that was it. And now Rowena was renting Manor Farm to Sebastian. Had they become buddies when Tilly wasn’t looking? And if so, why hadn’t her oldest, dearest, best-est friend told her?
“Archie’s at boarding school,” Rowena was talking to Isaac. “Where they lock you up and throw away the key.” She affected an evil laugh. “But he has an exeat coming up. That means he gets to escape for the weekend. And we’re not far off the summer hols now.”
Isaac’s eyes grew wide. “Sleep-away school? Jeez-um. He must be tons older than me.”
Sebastian disentangled his arm from Rowena’s. “I think you’re the same age. Am I correct?” he asked no one in particular.
“Exactly the same age.” Tilly arched her back. Slam-dunk, tosspot.
Sebastian plucked at the back of his gold signet ring. Yup, she could still push his buttons. More flip-flopping in her stomach. Why couldn’t he have stayed a stranger?
“I’ve never seen your hair so short.” Sebastian spoke to Tilly as if he were making an accusation. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”
Yes, but I recognized you. Tilly crossed her arms. I’d recognize you anywhere.
“It’s fab, isn’t it?” Rowena glanced from Tilly to Sebastian and back again. “You look like a cross between Joan of Arc and a woodland sprite.” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, we have so much to catch up on. Just like old times. And Isaac, I’m depending on you to help out tons with the pheasant poults.”
Tilly ignored Rowena and spoke to Sebastian. “My hair got in the way when I gardened. So I hacked it off with the kitchen scissors.”
“Kitchen scissors?” His tone was light, but his face gave nothing away. “Makes you look younger.” And how would he know? He hadn’t seen her in ten years. He grasped the metal bar of the cart, pushed forward with his flat stomach, and walked off with her luggage. Ever the gentleman. Still, he could have asked first. Then she could have said no.
Rowena and Isaac skipped after Sebastian, swinging their clasped hands, gabbing away as if they hadn’t seen each other in six years, not six months. Rowena stopped to smack a kiss on Isaac’s cheek, and they both erupted into laughter.
Tilly watched her little band with a sigh. Who was she kidding? Hating was such hard work, and she didn’t hate Sebastian. Well, maybe only a smidgen. And yes, she could fault his radio silence, but history stood in Sebastian’s favor. He had loved her, protected her, desired her when she had believed no one could, and she had thrown the relationship away not once, but three times. Technically, two and a half. Seemed he had every right to deny her his friendship. But if he and Rowena had palled up, Tilly would have to let him back into her life. The question, though, was how much.
She watched the back of Sebastian’s head as he walked away. His hair, darkened to dirty-blond, was cut close to his scalp and gelled into non-rebellious spikes. It was a banker’s haircut: sculpted, immaculate, expensive. And, unfortunately, it suited him, too.
* * *
Tilly and Isaac were trapped in Rowena’s Discovery on a seat spackled with dried mud and imbued with the stench of wet Labrador. Bob Marley blasted into the back of the car as they hurtled around the M25, a loop of a racetrack with few signs and no billboards. A highway that skirted a capital city yet advertised nothing; a highway that didn’t distract you with the lure of shopping or the promise of a fun family getaway. A highway that aimed to get you from point A to point B at warp speed. At least, that seemed to be Rowena’s interpretation.
If David had been in Sebastian’s seat, he would have insisted Rowena pull over so they could swap. But Sebastian appeared as unruffled by Rowena’s high-speed lane weaving as he was by his reunion with a girl he’d sweet-talked out of her virginity. When the speedometer passed ninety, he turned away and stared out of the window.
“For gawd’s sake, what does the plonker think he’s doing?” Rowena accelerated up to the bumper of a French truck and blasted the horn. “Get out of the fucking lane, wanker!”
“Ro—” Tilly jerked forward and kicked the back of the driver’s seat.
“Fuck. Sorry,” Rowena said. Tilly kicked the seat again.
“Mom, what does fuc—”
“It’s an outlaw word,” Tilly raised her voice. “You are never to use it. Understand?”
Isaac shriveled into the seat. Tilly, you loathsome toad of a parent. She never turned to Isaac in anger, never, and being trapped in this sweltering car with Sebastian, shackled in her own private hell, was no excuse for nipping at her son like a snapping turtle.
“It’s a bad word, Angel Bug.” Tilly grabbed Isaac’s hand and squeezed. “Or rather a word people see as bad. Which means that most people find it offensive. Which is why you shouldn’t use it. Right, Ro?”
“Absolutely, dear heart. Ab-so-lutely. Always listen to Mummy. Never bad, foul-mouthed Aunty Ro.” Rowena gave her right hand a playful slap.
“But—” Isaac glanced at Sebastian, as if checking for his reaction. “What does it mean?”
“This I’ve got to hear,” Rowena muttered, and turned down Bob Marley.
“It’s an ugly word for sex.” Tilly’s cheeks flamed, which was ridiculous. She and Rowena had spent half of their childhoods scouring National Geographic for pictures of naked tribesmen, the other half searching Lady Roxton’s romance novels for sex scenes. And Sebastian had known Tilly’s teenage body better than she had. So why did she feel as if she were swirling down a whirlpool instead of bobbing along in the slipstream of her past?
Isaac curled up his lips. “Are we going to have another conversation about your sperm, Mom?”
Rowena brayed with laughter that sounded like whooping cough shot through the nose, and the Discovery swerved.
