I laugh.
‘You really are in a cheesy mood today. Maybe some other time.’
‘Maybe.’
He puts the knife away and draws me in for a tender kiss. Protected from the cold and the rain, I’m enveloped in his arms, the warm perfection of his lips. After an age I’m released, and we sink back into silence, cuddled up against each other on the bench, watching the worst of the storm sweep past.
‘I was proud of you at the cemetery. That took a lot of guts.’
He shrugs off my compliment.
‘I said goodbye to her. Properly. I’d never done that before … and I forgave him.’
I look up at him. My expression asks the question. Why?
‘Because I pity him. Just like I pity Boyd.’
‘Pity? One of them abused you. The other tried to kill you.’
‘And neither of them knew contentment or love, not like I do.’ His gaze penetrates me, right to the core. ‘Boyd was ill. And my stepfather? Well … there must have been a reason.’
He’s right. Those who torment are never happy. I think of Boyd and what he did to me, crushing any self-confidence I had left. And then I think of Sara, perhaps the root cause of all the weakness. Silently, I forgive them both … and banish their misery from my life.
‘Don’t you ever wonder about your real dad?’ I ask. It’s a question that’s been lurking at the back of my mind for a while now, and this seems to be the perfect time to ask it. ‘Don’t you ever want to contact him?’
He looks out to sea. Grey waves swell and surge, tumbling over each other in an endless race to reach the shore, each one crashing to pieces before it’s dragged back into the mass.
‘I did a bit of research,’ he admits at last. ‘When I was off work. The devil makes work for idle hands. He’s still alive. Lives in Suffolk.’
I hold my breath, wondering what’s coming next. A host of half-siblings?
‘He’s an alcoholic,’ he informs me, ‘with several broken relationships behind him. He’s been in prison a few times.’
‘You don’t want to meet him?’
He shakes his head and pins his gaze on me.
‘He walked out on us, Maya. He didn’t care. He’s never been there for me, never made the effort to find me. As far as I’m concerned, he has no right to be in my life. He might have other kids. I didn’t bother finding out. And if there are any, I don’t want to risk contacting them. I don’t want any more heartache or trouble. I have Layla and Sophie. That’s enough.’
‘So, what do we tell this one?’ I touch my stomach.
‘The truth … eventually. I’ve done what I can, but some ghosts just need to be left where they belong.’
I nod my agreement. He’s made his decision. His real father – and everyone associated with him – is out of the picture for good, and I respect that.
‘I understand.’
‘What’s the point of clinging to the past? What’s the point of letting it crush you? I’m moving on. I’m through with it.’
I reach up and brush a finger down his cheek. I’d like to tell him we’re never through with the past, that it’s with us forever, sometimes out of sight, sometimes in full view, always unchangeable. We can only ever learn from it … and manage the consequences.
‘How about you?’ he asks. ‘I read that interview, the one you did in New York. This place had an effect on you too.’
Oh, the interview. I’d forgotten about that, and the truths I let out into the open.
‘I’m dealing with it,’ I tell him. ‘I’m moving on, just like you. The person I was … she didn’t feel like she belonged, she didn’t feel like she had any merit. But I’m not that person any more.’
‘No you’re not,’ he answers quickly. ‘And I’m the luckiest man in the world because you’re going to be my wife, my partner.’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘And the mother of my children.’
‘Children?’
‘Are you really going to stop at one?’
I place a hand on my stomach. I’ve not even felt the baby move yet, but we’ve had the first scan and I’m already in love with this new little being. And so is Dan. More than once, I’ve caught him gazing in wonder at the picture.
‘Probably not.’
‘I didn’t think so.’ He smiles. ‘The person you were … leave her here. Leave her with that boy.’ He nods towards the groyne.
I put my hand in his. His grip tightens and he stands. I stand too. He picks up the umbrella and flips it open.
‘Ready to weather the storm together?’ he asks.
‘With you, I’m ready for anything.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
I stare at myself in disgust. It’s not the hair that’s the problem. That’s fine. An elegant up-do, all curls and twists and things, crafted by a professional hairdresser. It’s not the make-up either. I’ve done that myself. And it’s definitely not the jewellery. The sweet-pea necklace and matching earrings were a no-brainer. From the neck up, everything’s fine: simple, understated, and me. No. The real issues begin from the neck down. Twelve thousand five hundred pounds’ worth of designer wedding dress, made to order at Dan’s insistence. It looked glorious on the page, great on the rail and fine on me … when I last tried it on, two weeks ago. But now …
‘Jesus.’
Twelve thousand five hundred pounds’ worth of creamy silk balloon out
