‘Huh!’ Cillian barked crossly, flicking the paintbrush away with the back of his hand. ‘I do not impregnate anything that moves. I’m a good dad! It’s her mother that’s the problem, not me! I didn’t move on with my life. I’m a huge mess! I can’t even get my daughter to talk to me!’
A single hot and salty tear escaped from him and he brushed it away angrily, clearing his throat a half dozen times to try to calm himself.
Shit. She’d done it again. Open mouth, insert size-nine foot. Yes, she had big feet too. Another common source of fun for dear ex-hubby. April put the brush down on the table and started to leave.
‘Come on,’ she said, one hand on the open door. ‘We need a coffee. We have time.’
***
Fifteen minutes later, Cillian was in the bathroom while April made the coffee. She’d invested in a posh one for the reception area, but at home she still drank the instant coffee her mum had loved. Duncan had always hated it, which made it taste all the sweeter now. Sod him and his bloody fancy gadgets. May he be impaled on one of them in a very unfortunate place.
Cillian shuffled into the room and April saw him put some tissues in his pockets.
‘Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to act that way.’
She waved him away, putting the coffees and a pack of biscuits onto a small round tray and leading him through to the lounge. She moved a paperback she was reading from the chair arm and motioned for him to make himself at home.
‘It sounded like you needed to get it off your chest.’ She met his eyes and saw such sadness there. It looked comfortingly familiar to her, like looking in a mirror. ‘I was weird yesterday, because I don’t do well around families. Children in particular.’
‘Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but why buy a chalet park in the heart of the Cornish tourist trade?’ He laughed as he spoke, but his eyes focused on her.
Finally. Someone had actually asked her the question. No one ever had before. Work colleagues, friends, they had all just declared her mad. Warned her against it, asked questions about how she could afford it. It was all the logistics, never the reasoning.
‘My mum brought me here one summer, when we were leaving my dad.’ She’d never told anyone that before. Not even Duncan. Oh, he knew that she’d been here before, as a girl, but he never knew why. Why a single mum from Yorkshire had driven halfway across the country to take her daughter on holiday. ‘I always liked it. It came up for sale, and I bought it.’ She looked around her new home and Cillian followed her gaze.
‘Well, it’s starting to look better in here, I must admit. Why don’t you like children?’
‘Wow, you don’t pull any punches, do you?’
He looked straight at her with those green eyes, making her suddenly want to be seen. By him. The look he gave her was a puzzle that she hadn’t quite cracked yet.
‘I’ll answer, if you tell me why you hate women.’
‘I don’t hate women.’
‘I don’t hate children.’
‘Glad to hear it. You hate men?’
‘No.’ Just one or two. ‘Why doesn’t Orla speak to you?’
‘I asked first. Come on, answer me properly.’
April sighed, sitting back on her newly cleaned fabric sofa and buying herself time by taking a deep slug of her coffee.
‘I can’t have kids. We tried for a long time, but it just wasn’t meant to be.’ She didn’t bore him with the details of her PCOS. The mood swings, weight gain, hair loss. Periods that came infrequently, if at all. When they did come she raged one moment, and cried the next. She was always so tired, so lacking in iron in the beginning that she never realised how much her condition had been affecting her life unseen. She wasn’t about to discuss her heavy flow with a relative stranger, an employee at that. A rather hot employee. She felt herself flush, and she met his eyes again. He smiled. ‘I have issues, and I guess over time, I just felt awkward around them. I love children, I just don’t really have that gene, I guess.’
Cillian shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It must be hard. I don’t think that there is a gene though. People are people – they don’t often differ from who they tell you they are. You just have to learn to listen to what’s not being said.’ He looked stricken for a moment. April didn’t ask why.
‘It is hard,’ she agreed. She felt like she didn’t have to sugar-coat it with him, which was novel. Maybe it was because she had just had a fight with him. She felt like the air had been cleared somehow. ‘My marriage ended, and I needed to get away, do something with my life.’
‘Knitting might have been less hassle, or skydiving?’
She laughed at his joke. ‘I can knit actually, but I draw the line at skydiving. Your turn!’ She pushed the biscuits closer to him and he took one, dunking it straight into his coffee. She smiled inwardly. She’d been resisting the urge to do that herself.
‘Turn?’ he asked, suddenly focused on the book jacket sitting spread eagle on the table. ‘Good book?’
‘Yes, and your turn to answer the question.’
For a long moment, Cillian looked at her thoughtfully. She found herself blushing again as she tried to meet his eyes, but she could feel the flush of her cheeks spreading to her face and neck. ‘You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t hate women. I don’t hate any woman, never have. Orla’s mum is … It’s difficult. She’s not on the scene anymore and it’s difficult for Orla. When she drops in and kicks off, I have to pick up the pieces.’
From his face, April could tell it was difficult for him, too. He looked wretched today, as
