Emily decided to try a different tack. “You know I’ve moved…?” she said, and Geoff made a noncommittal noise.
“Have you? A new flat…?”
She realised she hadn’t even told him about her job, or her move to the Cotswolds, which was telling, really. She didn’t tell her father much, but then there usually wasn’t much to tell. “No, I’ve moved to a village about an hour outside of London. Wychwood-on-Lea. I’m working for Henry Trent’s new charitable foundation.”
“Henry Trent…?”
Her father didn’t even remember the name of her boss. It wasn’t his fault—not really. They’d just never had that sort of relationship even though they’d both tried, at least a little bit, at the beginning, after her parents had divorced and her father had seemed, briefly, as if he wanted to keep in touch with his only child. Before he’d got new ones.
“My boss,” Emily said tiredly. “Why don’t I give you my new contact details?” Not that her father ever wrote or rang.
“That’s a good idea,” he said with the first hint of enthusiasm. Her father, like her, was a man of details and order. Why he’d married Naomi, who had to be one of the most chaotic people alive, Emily had never understood.
“You could visit,” she suggested suddenly, once she’d given him her new address. “Bring Amy and Jasper even, if you liked.”
“Oh, well.” Her father sounded surprised; she’d never suggested such a thing before. She’d only met Amy and Jasper a couple of times, awkward encounters with her father’s second family, the children he’d chosen to keep. “Maybe during the May half-term…” It was so half-hearted it hurt. Of course he wouldn’t bring Amy or Jasper. They had to be teenagers now, fourteen and sixteen perhaps, and Emily barely knew them. Her half siblings, and yet strangers, because that’s how everyone had preferred it.
“Just a thought,” she said, the words an apology. She didn’t know why she’d suggested it. She certainly never had before, had never wanted to before.
“No, no, it’s a good one.” To make up for his lack of enthusiasm, he now sounded cringingly jolly. “I’ll ask Amanda. We’ll look at our calendars.”
“Right.” Amanda, her father’s second wife, was someone else Emily barely knew. Her father had married her several years after their own relationship had fallen apart, when his weekend visits had trailed to monthly, and then to next to nothing, and Naomi had been well enough, or rather Emily had been old enough, not to need to be dumped at her father’s flat.
To give her credit, Amanda had tried, buying Emily a set of bath bombs and nail varnish that had been a thoughtful present for a ten-year-old girl, but Emily had hated them on principle. Amanda still always managed to remember her birthday with a card, signing both her name and Geoff’s in her loopy scrawl. Yet even she didn’t make any more overtures than that, and neither did Emily.
“I’d better go,” her father said. “I’m going to the footy with Jasper…”
“All right.” That little remark should not have hurt. She’d trained herself long ago not to let those thoughtless comments sting, and besides she didn’t even like football.
And yet, somehow since coming to Wychwood-on-Lea, Emily had felt just that little bit rawer. The tiniest bit more vulnerable than she’d ever let herself feel before, and it scared her. Where was her armour? Her strength?
And why, after years alone, a lifetime even, was she letting these kinds of things hurt? Why was she starting to feel so lonely?
Chapter Eight
Rain spattered the tall windows as Emily pulled her laptop towards her. Despite the gloomy weather, she was feeling positive—the office was now completely organised, all the new furniture had been delivered, and she’d done the hard bit of lining up all the local businesses to participate in the fundraiser, so there was only admin, organisation, and publicity left to do, which she could complete in the comforting solace of her office.
She’d also managed to avoid Olivia, Ava, and most importantly, Owen for the whole week, limiting her interactions to coffee with Alice and brief check-ins with Henry. Order had been firmly established, thank goodness, and she felt as if her life was back on its necessary even keel.
Nearly a week on, Emily was able to look at the events of that night at the pub as a mere blip on her radar, just as she’d been sure it was for Owen. She’d been feeling vulnerable, yes, because of how new everything was and how friendly everyone seemed. It had knocked her off-balance, but she was fine now. Absolutely fine.
It felt immensely reassuring to realise that—to come home from a productive day of work and have everything just as she needed and wanted it to be; to eat her meal-for-one while reading a book and have that be enough. It was all completely fine.
If she had to convince herself a bit too much of that truth, well, that was simply because she’d been so discomfited by the move to Wychwood-on-Lea, and having everything shaken up, but it really was all just…fine.
She’d even rung her mother on Wednesday, to check in, and Naomi had assured her, albeit a bit breathlessly, that she was back on her medication and not to worry about her at all—she wasn’t going to do something silly.
She’d even suggested visiting Emily one weekend, which had made her spirits lift. As challenging as her mum could be, Emily loved her and missed her when she wasn’t there. Visits were stressful, yes, but they could also be fun, and it felt, well, good to be with someone who knew her. Who loved her, in her own, odd way.
So that was good, and work was good, and really, it was all just…good. She frowned at the laptop as she scanned the spreadsheet of donors who needed thank-you letter follow-ups. Working for Willoughby Holidays was, in many ways, similar to working for Ellis Investments, although for a more meaningful cause.
“Emily? Do
