Chapter 2
“Hurry up!” I yell up the stairs to my perpetually late husband. “They’re going to be here any minute. Nope, not any minute. Now. They’re here now.”
“I’m here.” He darts down the stairs, stops next to me, and slides his arm around my waist to rest on my hip.
The last four years have been a whirlwind.
The garden centre has gone from strength to strength.
I now supply the restaurants here and a few more in surrounding towns.
I’ve had to employ two members of staff to work on the growing part and another in the shop.
Ivan has become an integral part of my success.
He’s joined my business as a partner and has taken over the majority of the outside gardening services.
Trent is now a full-time artist and has had shows in London thanks to one of the critics who had visited his first exhibition here in Calston Cove. Life is simple, and even though Marc was released early, a no-contact order in place means we’ll never see him again.
I shocked Trent with my proposal. Our first holiday together on the beautiful island of Mykonos was the perfect setting, and all our friends turned up to witness it.
It’s a memory I’ll never forget. The wedding was exactly how I imagined it, with all our family and friends around us.
One big surprise was my parents taking my advice to retire here.
At first I wondered if it would be difficult being so close together, but it’s been a joy, especially when Tom and his family, and Bridget turn up with little or short notice.
Owning and running an organic nursery will never make us rich, but we don’t need it. When Trent’s house sold, he insisted on using the money to pay off the lion’s share of our mortgage, so it’s now virtually non-existent. We have everything we’ve ever wanted.
Well, almost everything, and that leads us to this moment.
Jet sits down next to me and takes a long drink of his pint. “Ahh, I needed that. It’s been a day of teenage angst in our home.”
“Oh dear, I remember those days, but as a teenager. It was not fun. Not that there was much of that in my home.”
“Trent says you’re looking into adoption. Have you started anything yet? Because we’re still in touch with the social worker who brought Conn to us. She may be able to help. I’m not sure she has much to do with babies, though.”
Trent sits opposite me at the small table in the pub. “We’re not looking for a baby. We would love to have a younger child. We’re not up to the trials you have with your kids, and they’re good ones.”
“Hey, that’s great. There are so many children desperate for loving homes.” He pulls out his phone and presses a few keys. My phone pings in my pocket. “I texted you her details. Give her a call when you’re ready.”
When I get into bed, Trent has a pensive look as he scrolls on the screen of his iPad.
“What’s up?” I snuggle up next to him. “An adoption site? Christ, is it like pick a kid?”
As we scroll through, excitement rises in my chest. Trent has tears in his eyes as he reads some of the children’s bios. “We need to do this.”
Trent opens the front door wide, and we step outside. The small car has come to a halt, and the woman we have become friends with climbs out and gives us a smile.
“Natalie, it’s good to see you.” After months of classes and meetings, our daughter is finally coming to live with us.
“It’s great to be here. Are you ready? Because I have a very excited little girl.”
The lump in my throat won’t budge, so all I can manage is a shaky nod. Luckily, Trent isn’t such a mess as I am. “I don’t think we’ve ever wanted anything more. It’s an amazing day for all of us.”
Natalie makes short work of opening the back door and taking our daughter out of the car. We have a little while before the formal adoption papers can be signed, but as soon as we read her file, we knew she was the one we wanted.
Wren was taken into care when she was only eighteen months old, after her mother died of an overdose.
After being confined to her cot all that time, she was unable to walk properly.
She was also non-verbal, but she has flourished in the last two years and has almost caught up with children her age.
She has lived with foster carers ever since, but the break-up of the carers’ marriage means that she is no longer able to live with them.
We’ve had day visits where she fell in love with the cats and the chickens, wanting to catch them. The birds weren’t too impressed by that, but the photographs are priceless.
“Daddy!” Wren waves with one arm. Under the other, she holds a soft rabbit we gave her on her first overnight stay. She carries it everywhere with her.
I swoop down and pick her up, spinning her around as she laughs. Trent joins us, and Wren holds her arms out to him. For a moment, we stay still, holding our daughter in our loving embrace.
When we break apart, we both have wet eyes and huge smiles. Trent takes Wren from me and tucks her on his hip, then turns back to Natalie. She has her phone pointed at us, and she too looks a bit teary-eyed.
“Come on. Let’s go inside,” Trent says.
Natalie turns to me. “Shall we get the rest of her belongings?”
“Of course.” My heartstrings tighten again at the sight of Wren’s meagre belongings. At least she will want for nothing now.
It’s another hour before Natalie leaves with promises to keep in touch over the next few days and weeks until we can formally make her ours. Time that, I hope, will pass quickly.
“Slow down, Wren. We’re not going to be late.” I’m sure I didn’t have this much energy when I was thirteen. We weave through the other people in the park and make it to the crossing. “Jabbing the button twenty times won’t make the traffic stop any quicker.”
“We can’t be late for Uncle Merrick’s opening. It’s got your paintings in it.” She rushes into the road as soon as the cars come to a halt.
The new gallery has been Merrick’s dream for years.
The one in Calston Cove is an enormous success, thanks to him showcasing so many new artists, through so many mediums from pottery and sea glass art to painters and glass blowers.
His gallery is now well respected and sought after by many buyers, bringing more visitors to our tiny town.
The opening of the one in Kensington has not only been a huge investment but also the culmination of so many artists coming together to support his opening.
Including me, only I have invested more than my art.
When Merrick approached me to offer me a partnership in this, I jumped at the chance.
He has made me a lot of money over the past thirteen years. As I have him, apparently.
When we reach the wide glass windows, the one picture I have never sold—the one of me in the rain—hangs to the left.
Wren moans as she looks at the other window. “Daaaad! That’s so embarrassing.”
Merlin takes my hand and laughs. “It’s a beautiful picture, Wren.”
It’s one of her leading her pony from one of the fields. She’s in shorts and a T-shirt and has her head tipped up to the sky, enjoying the sun on her face. The simple smile shows the pleasure and innocence of just enjoying life.
I step up to her and rest my hand on her shoulder. “It’s beautiful because it’s you, and we love you. Let’s go inside.”
Before we can walk inside, someone gasps.
“Trent? Is that you?”
A chill runs through me at hearing the voice of the person I haven’t heard from in years.
What are the odds of us being in the same place at the same time, thirteen years after them showing me the door?
I turn to face my mother. It’s strange that in my head they haven’t aged, but the elderly woman standing with her hand pressed to her chest like she’s seen a ghost is not what I expected.
My father stands upright next to her, his face an iron mask, but his eyes are darting between me and the two most important people in my life.
Merlin, holding my hand, and Wren, my arm around her shoulders.
Merrick and Willow stand next to us as an unbreakable wall of support and love.
Merrick’s eyes are on the two people I have no desire to speak to. His eyes flash with anger, and his lip curls up in distaste. Admittedly, my parents look shocked as well, but my mother can’t keep her eyes off the two beautiful girls. Our daughters, the ones she never accepted.
I’m surprised when Merlin speaks. “Take a long look at the grandchildren you will never know.”
My mother’s cheeks turn pink, and more surprisingly, her eyes tear up. My father snaps her out of her gaze and hustles her along.
“Who were they?” Wren asks.
“No one, sweetheart.” I drop a kiss on her forehead.
Merlin squeezes my hand.
Note to self—you owe your husband a blow job for that.