‘Oh? Who?’
‘Discretion, pet. Discretion. I’ve got to preserve my lady friend’s reputation.’
Well, that made me almost keel over in a fit of giggles despite everything.
‘You, on the other hand, should not be searchin’ anywhere else,’ he asserted.
‘How do you mean, Alf?’
‘You have everything you need right here.’
Everyone else I met in the village just kindly smiled at me, patting my shoulder as they passed, sending me their silent messages of solace, which made it even worse. Because I didn’t need them to say anything. They knew my life well, and had been there when it had fallen apart the first time. They had seen me pick myself up and dust myself off. They were the people who had been so kind to me, and for them to witness another downfall of mine was not only humiliating, it was also devastating, and only flashes of humour managed to save me from total depression.
When a week had passed and no news had come from Luke, I sent him a text:
Hi Luke, how are things?
And waited. It was still daytime in California, so unless he was driving or with his lawyers, he’d see it.
After a few hours, he finally answered:
Real battle.
I could only imagine. Lauren was on a mission, judging by the look on her face the evening of the fire. I truly felt for Luke. I texted back:
Good luck, keep me posted xxx.
But there was no “Will do” or “Thanks” in a return. Not even a single x.
Over the weeks, everything had changed and nothing had changed. The kids had gone back for another term at Northwood, and the leaves had turned to orange while the sea had whipped itself into a greyish-brown brew, and I had turned the heating up and started making soups instead of salads.
I expected a phone call any minute with either some news, or even a simple “How are you?” But again, none came, just like every time I asked him a question, I rarely got an answer back. I didn’t dare ask about the script, of course. That was secondary to him. But to me, it was vital.
After week four, exasperated, I typed:
How is the battle going?
To which he answered almost immediately:
A bloodbath.
So he was alive after all. I waited for him to elaborate. And waited. And waited. And then in the end, I got on with my evening. Sod that for a game of soldiers.
*
‘Come on, Nina, pull yourself up,’ Alice said during one of her visits. ‘It’s just a temporary glitch. He’ll be back. There’s a contract.’
‘Gee, thanks for your faith.’
‘Well, it’s true. Listen, I know there was something between you and Luke, but these people are fickle. One day you’re their world, then the next, not so much.’ Could she have said anything worse?
‘You think this is just about the script? Do you really think me that vain? This wasn’t just about the money anymore. I actually thought we’d found happiness. That I’d found…’ I swallowed, unable to say it out loud. I thought we’d found something good.
I thought that from here on, with somebody to live and laugh with, we could rebuild two broken families. Jessica was a wonderful girl that had touched our hearts, and Luke was genuinely fond of Ben and Chloe. So many good things had happened these past few months. Picnics, walks along the coastal path, frolicking with our lovely dogs, days out and about… and promises of a better, fuller life.
And now? Now my heart was breaking, and everything, all the responsibilities and burdens that I’d shouldered all these years up until now seemed unbearable. The forest dream now made sense to me.
Forget Written In The Stars, Abandonment should be the title of the movie, the story of my life. Not to throw a pity-fest here, but who, in my same situation, wouldn’t feel at least a tiny bit sorry for themselves?
I wanted to kick myself in the head. I’d shown all my cards upfront and Luke had probably decided the movie was too much of a hassle and I wasn’t worth the trouble. It served me right. What was I thinking, hoping to get my family out of this predicament? Things like that only happened to J.K. Rowling, not Nina Conte. And now, because of my damn pride, I’d jeopardised my children’s future. Could I be more stupid?
Although I couldn’t hear them, I could feel my fellow villagers’ thoughts that, despite being kind, stabbed me in the back like little daggers dipped in pity. Of course they couldn’t understand how I’d come across such luck. Not even I could make sense of it.
‘Why are they looking at us so sadly, Mum?’ Ben asked.
I shrugged. ‘Maybe they think we’re sad, sweetheart.’
‘Are you?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely not. Are you, darling?’
‘Absolutely not, Mum.’
‘Good. Then let’s go home now.’
Okay, so for the moment, the deal might be postponed, but I still needed to pay my bills. Utility companies didn’t care what fantastic, ultimately lucrative (one hoped) project I was working on; they just wanted their money. Money I didn’t have.
And that was when I caught sight of the brochure for the Poldark tours Emma had left on my desk.
Except for some snippets she had shown me on her phone, I hadn’t seen the show, but when I was pregnant I had read all twelve books. And, given that I’d been trawling Cornwall flogging my arancini for years now, I knew every inch of this county.
I could do that job with my eyes closed (even by the cliffs). It would be a great addition to our income, especially as I wasn’t getting any great humongous light bulb moments for a book and, on top of everything else, the price of beef, my main ingredient, had gone up. All I needed was another bout of mad cow disease and I was screwed forever. So yes, it was wise to have a back-up plan. Hedge my bets, just in case. So I called
