22. Connie
Chapter 22 Connie
I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness. Bringing me home. I’m not used to being a burden on anyone.” Connie poured wine into a glass and handed it to Brian. Her whole body ached. She felt like a walking bruise.
“You’re far from a burden. And I would rather have taken you straight to the hospital.” Brian took the glass from her and settled himself at the kitchen table. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind and take you to have a checkup? It would put my mind at rest.”
“Definitely not. I don’t want to waste precious hospital resources. It’s just a few scratches and a little bump on the head, that’s all. Fortunately I was wearing a helmet, so no real harm done.”
Brian gave her a long look. “It was a nasty fall, Connie. Helmet or not, you hit that rock with force.”
And didn’t she know it. Her head hitting that rock had sounded as bad as it had felt.
“The poor rock. Was it hurt? We should have checked.” Connie made a joke of it. “Not the horse’s fault. The dog ran out from the bracken and made me jump too. And I’m sure I’ll ache from head to toe tomorrow, but nothing that won’t mend by itself. If you can put up with looking at my bruised lip and my messy hair, then we’re fine.”
“You’re a stubborn woman, Connie.”
“I think you mean I’m independent .” She wasn’t the sort who needed care and sympathy. She looked after herself, and she preferred it that way.
“Call it what you like, but everyone needs a little help now and then.” His gaze was fixed on her face, which she was sure looked as bad as it felt. “Can I at least persuade you to call your daughter?”
“Milly? Goodness no. I don’t want to bother her with this. But talking of daughters, tell me about Annie. Any news?” She poured herself a glass of ice water from the fridge. Her head was throbbing too badly to even think about wine. She felt a little sick, but presumably that was the shock of it all. “You must be so worried, you poor thing.”
“I spoke to her first thing this morning. She’s recovering from the surgery, and they’re saying that she should be discharged in the next couple of days.”
“That’s good.”
“I wish I wasn’t so far away, that’s all. I can’t exactly pop over to Australia. It’s not easy when your children decide to settle in faraway places.”
“Particularly when that child is your only one.” She felt relieved that Milly had never expressed any desire to live anywhere but the Lakes and that she’d been as enthusiastic to work in the family business as Connie had been to have her there. Not that she would have stood in her way if Milly had chosen to move somewhere distant. She believed strongly that people should live the life that felt right for them. “I admire you for being so encouraging and endlessly supportive of her, particularly when you were dealing with your own loss. You have great courage.”
“I’m not sure it’s courage. I wanted her to be happy, that’s all. Isn’t that what every parent wants for their child? Would part of me have liked her to stay here and move in next door? Yes. But that wasn’t how things worked out, and I learned to make the best of it. Sometimes that’s all you can do, isn’t it? You keep busy and build your own life.” He took a mouthful of wine and set the glass down. “But thank you for listening. You’ve been a good friend, Connie. I don’t know what I would have done without you over the past week. It makes me even more embarrassed to remember how rude I was the first time we met a few weeks ago.”
Her laugh turned into a gasp as pain jabbed her ribs. Wincing, she sat down opposite him. Who would have thought that falling off a horse could be so painful? “No need to be embarrassed. I understand. People in our position are always being encouraged to look for romance. I’m sure you’re quite the catch for a woman who is interested in catching someone. Fortunately for you, that’s not me.”
He toyed with his glass. “After Paula died, everyone kept saying to me, ‘You need to get back on the horse.’”
“We did get back on the horse,” Connie pointed out, “but we did it literally, rather than figuratively. And then fell off it, in my case.”
They’d been riding daily, and she couldn’t remember precisely when their polite greetings had turned to conversation. One day they’d exchanged a few words, and the next they’d gone for lunch in a pub garden. During their many conversations since then she’d discovered that he’d worked in construction for many years, been a widower for twelve years, that he had a thirty-year-old daughter in Australia (currently suffering from appendicitis) who was married with a five-year-old, and that he had no interest in finding anyone else.
Assuming that he was sharing that detail to ensure she didn’t harbor fantasies about a romantic future, Connie had assured him that she had no interest in giving up her lovely independent life.
Neither of them was looking for love, but they both agreed that their new friendship was something to be treasured.
She raised her water glass. “To being happily single. And to getting back up when we fall off the horse. Preferably without broken bones.” Had she broken a rib? No, she was sure it was simply bruised. Like the rest of her. Nothing that time wouldn’t heal.
Brian lifted his glass in response. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Connie.” He broke off. “Did you hear something? Footsteps?”
The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house, and Connie turned her head.
“Now, who can that be on a Sunday evening?”
She didn’t feel up to visitors. Maybe Brian was right. She should have gone to the hospital for a checkup. She was going to have an early night. But first a hot bath to ease the aches and pains.
“It could be Prince Charming.” Brian put his glass down. “I can hide under the table if you like so that I don’t ruin your chances.”
“I’d be more interested in his horse. You know that about me by now.”
Brian laughed. “I do.”
“It’s probably someone selling something. Hopefully if we ignore it, they’ll go away.”
But they didn’t go away. The bell went again, and then Connie heard the sound of a key in the lock.
“That must be my daughter.” She stood up and immediately wished she hadn’t as pain tore through her skull. Once Brian had gone she was going to put an ice pack on her head.
Seconds later, Milly appeared in the doorway.
Connie automatically pulled her hair forward over her face to try and hide the bruise that was fast developing. She angled her body so that Milly wouldn’t notice the rip in her shirt. Fortunately for her, Milly was distracted.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her eyelids red and puffy. Connie felt her stress levels soar.
Now what?
Zoe had been with Richard this weekend, and Milly always found it hard. Was that what this was?
And then she saw Zoe hovering behind Milly.
Her emotions started to churn, and she took a slow breath. Whatever had happened (no doubt something thoughtless Richard had said or done), whatever the problem, nothing would be solved by her getting in a state. If there was one thing her conversations with Brian had reinforced, it was that you were of much more use to your child when you were calm and supportive. An emotional response simply escalated everything.
“What a lovely surprise,” she said. “Come in, both of you. This is Brian, a friend.”
“And I was just leaving.” Brian stood up. “Good to meet you, Milly. I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things, in case you were wondering.”
Milly produced something close to a smile and shook hands with him.
Brian reached for his jacket. “I’ll see you next week, Connie. And please take care of yourself.”
“I will.” She was grateful that he didn’t mention her accident in front of Milly. “Keep me updated on news of Annie.”
He gave her a nod and a warm smile, and a few seconds later she heard the front door close behind him.
She felt an immediate sense of loss and wished he hadn’t rushed off.
“I’m sorry.” Milly dropped the bag she was carrying. “I should have called first, but—” She stopped and stared at her mother in horror. “What happened? There’s blood on your lip and on your shirt. Your elbow is scraped. Did you fall?”
So much for hoping Milly wouldn’t find out.
“I had a little tumble from the horse, and Brian kindly brought me home. I’m fine.”
“But—”
“Don’t fuss, Milly. I really am fine.” She didn’t feel at all fine, but she had to hope it would settle in time.
“I interrupted you. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“It’s not a problem. Brian was about to leave when you arrived.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but she didn’t want Milly to feel worse than she evidently already did. “He teaches a wilderness-survival course first thing on Monday, so he doesn’t like to stay out too late.”
“How long have you—”
“Been friends? A few weeks. We met horse riding.” And bonded over the stresses of parenting adult children. “Tell me what has happened. You don’t arrive at my door with Zoe and an overnight bag unless something is wrong.”
The room started to spin, and Connie sat back down at the kitchen table.
Something was very wrong.
Milly turned to Zoe. “It’s getting late. You should probably get to bed. Is it okay if we stay here tonight, Mum?”
Stay? She’d been hoping to crawl into bed via a hot bath, but that wouldn’t happen now. She resolutely ignored how bad she felt and focused on her daughter.
“You know you’re always welcome. Have you eaten? Can I make you anything?”
Zoe shook her head. “I’m okay, thanks. Dad and I stopped for burgers on the way home. I’ll go straight to bed. But, Mum—”
“I’m fine, honey, honestly.” Milly reached out and hugged her. “Just a bit tired. It has been a long week. Don’t worry about me.”
“Right.” Zoe hesitated, as if she had something more to say, but then seemed to change her mind and instead headed upstairs to the bedroom she used whenever she stayed, her feet clomping heavily on the stairs.
That is someone carrying a heavy burden , Connie thought.
“She was with Richard this weekend.” She poured Milly a glass of ice water. “Did something happen?”
Milly sat down at the table, and her face crumpled. “Sorry. I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Connie put the glass on the table and sat down next to her daughter. Milly’s anguish transferred itself to her like an electric current. She grabbed the box of tissues from the end of the table and handed one to Milly.
Milly blew her nose. “Richard insisted on bringing Zoe right to the door, and he came into the house with her bag. I couldn’t stop him.”
Connie had always thought that Milly’s desire to keep the boathouse a Richard-free zone was understandable but impractical in the long term. “Does it matter that he has seen the boathouse?”
“Unfortunately the boathouse wasn’t the only thing he saw. Nicole arrived back while he was still there.”
“Oh dear. So now he knows she is here. Well, presumably you asked him not to say anything to anyone. Is that what is wrong? You’re worried he might tell someone Nicole is hiding out with you?” She didn’t see how that worry could have caused Milly to look as if her world had ended.
“That’s not what’s wrong.” Milly blew her nose again. “There’s something I haven’t told you. About Nicole.” She scrunched the tissue into a ball. “We had a sort of blip in our friendship. We lost touch for eighteen months.”
Whatever Connie had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.
The two girls had always been such good friends. Inseparable, she’d thought. She’d honestly believed that nothing would ever come between them. There had even been occasions when she’d envied their friendship and wished she could have found something similar in her own life. She had friends, of course, plenty of friends, but nothing that came close to the bond that Milly and Nicole shared.
“When I say we lost touch, what I really mean is she ghosted me.” Milly slumped over the table, the misery rolling off her in waves. “She didn’t answer my calls or messages. From the moment I mentioned that Richard had walked out and that he was having an affair, she stopped responding. We have been there for each other through thick and thin, and then I hit the lowest point of my life and she wasn’t there for me.”
And Connie knew how that would have made Milly feel.
She put her arm around her daughter.
“I had no idea. I assumed the two of you were talking all the time.” And she couldn’t begin to imagine why Nicole would have done that. It didn’t make sense to her. But it helped to explain why Milly had leaned on her so heavily since Richard had left. She hadn’t had her friend supporting her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want you to worry. And I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. And then out of the blue she called and begged me to let her stay for a while so I said yes—” Milly sniffed and pulled another tissue from the box.
“Because you have a long and wonderful friendship that is worth hanging on to.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just an idiot.” She took a shuddering breath. “But tonight, finally, I found out why she’d ghosted me. It wasn’t that she was too busy or just wrapped up in her own life. It was all to do with Richard. The moment he saw her he went ballistic.” Milly related what had happened, and Connie listened, trying to mask her own reaction.
“So Nicole overheard his conversation with Avery?”
“Yes, and it’s worse than that.” Milly told her the rest of it, and it took Connie a moment to digest what she was hearing.
Nicole had known about the affair. Nicole had confronted Richard and told him to choose.
Being a good friend, Connie thought. Trying to protect Milly.
“That’s terrible.”
“I know!” Milly’s eyes filled again. “It really is terrible. I still can’t quite believe it. It’s all such a shock.”
Connie was grateful she’d never been in the position Nicole had found herself in. What a dilemma.
“I’ve always thought that must be the very worst situation to find yourself in as a friend. Knowing something big that could hurt someone you love. How do you handle it? Do you tell or do you keep it quiet? She was brave to confront him, but for him to then leave you afterward—just timing, of course, but I can see how that must have made her feel. Presumably that’s why she found it difficult to talk to you. She must have felt awful. Poor Nicole.”
There was a tense silence, and then Milly pulled away from Connie and looked at her with hurt in her eyes.
“Poor Nicole? You think it’s terrible for Nicole ?”
“Of course.” And only then did Connie realize that Milly didn’t see it the same way.
She looked so wounded by her mother’s unexpected defense of Nicole that Connie almost snatched the words back.
“Milly, honey—”
“You’re feeling sorry for Nicole ?”
Should she lie? No. Milly was evidently too upset to see things clearly. Her job here was to present a balanced view. Sometimes being the best parent to a child meant helping them accept difficult truths.
She cleared her throat and tried to do that. “I feel bad for both of you. You’ve been through so much, and I hate to see you suffer. But this has to have been hard for Nicole too. She found out information she would much rather not have known and had to make some hard decisions. I think that’s a horrible position to find yourself in, don’t you?”
It was obvious from Milly’s expression that she hadn’t given any real thought to that question.
“I can see it was difficult, but she should have told me. I never would have blamed her for something that was so obviously not her fault. And then she should have been there for me, but she basically dropped me, and I don’t understand how she could have done that because I would never have done that to her. There were no circumstances in which I wouldn’t have been there for her.”
Connie was hit by a wave of dizziness, and she took a sip of water, hoping it would pass.
She was feeling increasingly unwell.
She would have liked to have suggested they both go to bed and pick up the discussion in the morning, but she could see Milly was too upset, and she didn’t want to worry her daughter by admitting how bad she felt.
“I’m sure she did it because she was afraid, honey. She blamed herself. I expect she thought she’d been a bad friend. She was afraid she was the reason Richard left.”
“Obviously she wasn’t.”
“Nothing is obvious when emotions are heightened, Milly. Thoughts are just that—thoughts—but they’re all too easy to believe when you’re in a spiral.”
Milly sniffed. “So, you’re saying it was fine for her to ghost me?”
“None of this is fine. But I think, sometimes, it’s good to try and understand why a person might have done what they did. The way she saw it, she’d let you down. Been a bad friend.”
“That wasn’t the part that made her a bad friend. It was ignoring me. Not being there for me. She should have known that. We’d been friends for long enough.”
Connie was starting to feel distinctly odd. Everything seemed far away, and objects in the kitchen seemed blurry. “Think about it from Nicole’s point of view. She grew up feeling as if she had to earn affection. She didn’t trust that love could be unconditional because that wasn’t her experience.” And she’d worried about Nicole. Unlike many, she’d always seen Nicole’s fragility and vulnerability. She’d felt it in her hugs and seen the longing in her eyes when she’d talked about her mother.
Remembering it made Connie angry. Alexandra Walker had a great deal to answer for in her opinion.
Milly took a sip of water. “It wasn’t her experience at home, but I’ve always loved her unconditionally. She knows that.”
“Maybe. But I’m guessing her childhood made her feel she had to earn that love, and that it wasn’t unconditional. We all bring the past into the present, whether we are aware of it or not. Your friendship was all fine when things were going well, but this was something different, and she knew it. Perhaps she felt that bond between you had never been tested.”
Milly frowned. “But when she called me asking for help I was there for her, despite the fact she hadn’t been there for me. I showed up, even though I was hurt. She’s been living in my house, and there have been plenty of occasions over the past few weeks when she could have told me the truth, but she didn’t. I’ve been a good friend to her—” She broke off and stared at the table for a moment. Then she gave her mother an agonized look.
“What’s wrong?”
“I picked her up and I gave her sanctuary, but I wasn’t warm. I didn’t—” Milly shredded the tissue with her fingers “—I didn’t hug her or anything. I couldn’t. I was so hurt. I wanted her to know I was upset. Or maybe I was just afraid of being rejected again. I don’t know. But I wasn’t approachable.”
Connie felt sorry for both of them. “And she knew you were upset, and knowing that—”
“She wasn’t going to risk making things worse by telling me the truth.” Milly finished her sentence, and her body seemed to droop. “I did punish her. I didn’t mean to. At least, I did mean to, but I didn’t really think through the impact it might have on her.”
“You were hurt. Nicole ghosting you felt like a rejection. And that probably reminded you of your father.” And Milly’s father was someone she definitely didn’t want to think about right now.
“Bringing the past into the present again.” Milly blew her nose. “Since when have you been a psychologist?”
“It’s called age, dear. It brings wrinkles and aching joints but also a degree of wisdom.” The throb in her head was worse, and Connie took another sip of water. Should she take some headache tablets?
“Do you think I have unrealistic views of friendship? Do I expect too much?”
That was a difficult question to answer even without a headache. “I think all relationships are complicated. People aren’t mind readers, and no one can always do or say the right thing in every situation. And no friend, however good, can be everything to you.”
Milly reached for another tissue. “I know, but I suppose I would have liked her to show up even if she said the wrong thing. Saying the wrong thing is better than saying nothing. It would have been a comfort just to know she was there for me.”
“You have a long and loyal friendship. I’m sure you two will sort this out. Where is Nicole now?”
“Back at the boathouse.” Milly glanced at her phone. “Maybe I should call her. But I don’t really know what to say.”
“Why don’t you both sleep on it and talk about it tomorrow?”
Milly swallowed. “That’s good advice. Thanks for listening. You always make so much sense.” She glanced gratefully at Connie and then frowned. “Mum?”
“What?”
“You looked a little strange, that’s all. Unfocused. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I have a bit of a headache, that’s all.” Connie waved a hand dismissively. “I managed to hit a rock when I landed.”
“What?” Milly looked appalled. “Why didn’t you call me? Did you go to the hospital? What did they say?”
“I didn’t need the hospital. Brian very kindly brought me home.”
“He should have taken you to the hospital.” Milly stood up and gently angled her mother’s face so that she could take a closer look. “You have bruising around your eye. How did I not notice that before now?”
“It’s probably only just appeared. Or maybe it’s the light. Don’t fuss, Milly. I’m fine. I was wearing a helmet.”
“You should have said something and not let me go on and on about my problems. I’m going to drive you to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to the hospital. But I think I will have an early night.” Connie stood up, and the room started to spin. She reached out to grab the table.
“Mum?” Milly grabbed her arms firmly and guided her back down to the chair.
This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
She felt very strange. The world around her was blurred, and she could hear a voice talking to her urgently, but she had no idea where she was or what was going on.
She heard someone saying Mum, Mum!
And then everything went black.