28. Milly
Chapter 28 Milly
Milly sat in the café, hoping this wasn’t a mistake. She’d chosen somewhere that was neutral territory, halfway between Forest Nest and the city where Richard now lived with Avery.
She nursed the single black coffee she’d ordered on arrival, and to distract herself from what was to come, she thought about the evening before.
As requested, she’d made her lemon chicken, and Brendan had opened chilled champagne (Joel had provided a chilled elderflower mocktail for Nicole), and the four of them had sat in Joel’s pretty garden, eating, drinking, laughing, talking about everything and nothing, and breathing in the sweet smell of honeysuckle until the sun dipped behind the fells.
Milly had noticed that Joel had kept calling Nicole Wendy , but when she’d asked about it they’d both smiled and said it was a private joke, and Milly had suppressed her curiosity because she was just pleased to see Nicole relaxed and happy and confident enough to share a private joke with someone who wasn’t her.
Milly and Nicole had been friends forever, of course, but by the end of the evening it had felt as if the four of them were a unit. As Milly watched Joel place his arm protectively onto the back of Nicole’s chair, she’d been sure of it.
And a few hours ago Nicole had messaged her to give her the time of the doctor’s appointment she’d arranged so that Milly could meet her there. She said that Joel had offered to go with her (earning him major plus points), but she really wanted Milly, and Milly was so excited at being part of Nicole’s baby journey that she’d agreed instantly.
And then there was Brendan . . .
“Milly?” Richard’s voice made her jump, and she almost spilled her coffee.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you arrive. I was thinking about something.”
“Something good, judging from the smile on your face.” He sat down opposite her. “I was surprised to get your message. I didn’t think you’d ever speak to me again after the other night.”
She didn’t know quite what reaction she’d expected from him, but it wasn’t that.
“What? You think I don’t know when I’ve been an idiot?” He put his phone and car keys down on the table. “I have a lot to apologize for, so do you want to go first or shall I?”
“You—you want to apologize?”
“ Want to apologize?” Richard gave a faint smile. “No. I hate admitting I’m wrong, you know that. But do I need to? Yes. But first I need coffee. Can I get you another?”
She hadn’t finished the one sitting in front of her, but she nodded, mute, and he stood up and ordered at the counter and then sat back down again.
“I suppose I should start with the other night. I didn’t expect to see Nicole. It was a shock. And I know that doesn’t excuse anything—” he lifted a hand before she could say anything “—but it brought back a lot of emotions, stresses—”
“Because she confronted you and made you choose.”
“No. Well, yes, I suppose there’s some of that in there, but mostly because I felt terrible at the time, and seeing her brought it all back.”
“You felt terrible?”
“Yes. I already felt terrible about what I was doing, and she made me feel worse, and rightly so. I behaved badly. And I knew it. I was conflicted.” He paused while their coffees were delivered. “I loved you, Milly. Maybe you don’t believe that, but I did. I loved our life. I didn’t intentionally look for anyone else. But when I met Avery at those yoga classes . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It just felt—it was powerful.”
Milly never would have thought she could have sat still and listened to him talk like this, but here she was, listening, and it didn’t feel as hard as she’d thought it would. Something had changed. She’d changed.
“So you cheated on me.”
“And I regret that every day.” His cheeks were flushed. “I should have done the brave thing and told you right away that I was having doubts, that I’d met someone. Maybe we could have worked it through. I don’t know.”
Milly sighed. “Richard, this is history now—”
“Not really, because it’s always between us. In every conversation you’re hurt and punishing me, and I’m defensive and snappy and behaving like an idiot because I’m eaten up with guilt.”
Was she punishing him? Yes, she probably was.
Bringing the past into the present , as her mother would say.
“That’s why you’ve been behaving the way you have? You feel guilty?”
“I’ve felt guilty from day one.” He muttered the words and glanced briefly at the table closest to them. “And the more accommodating and patient you were, the guiltier I felt. Given what I put you through, you were a saint.”
“I thought I was a martyr.”
He flushed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
She was trying to absorb what he was telling her. “So you behaved badly in response to me behaving reasonably. And then when that changed and I stood my ground . . .” she tried to make sense of it “. . . you’re saying you preferred the annoyed version of me?”
“The annoyed version of you is easier to handle than the sad version. The sad version breaks me up.” He looked at her then, and for a moment she saw the man she’d married. The man she’d trusted, the man she’d laughed and cried and made a child with.
It was good to know that man still existed. That she hadn’t imagined it all.
She felt an ache of sadness for what they’d once had and lost, but also a sense of peace because she knew that whatever things were like now, they’d been good once. And maybe it was time to focus on that.
“It’s helpful to know that.” She picked up her coffee and looked at him over the edge of her cup. “I thought you’d just turned into a monumental idiot.”
His eyes gleamed. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
But she had, hadn’t she? At least for a while. But she was going to forgive herself for that. She put her cup down. “I didn’t know you felt guilty.”
“Of course I did. We had all those happy years together. And we had Zoe. Our girl. And you probably won’t believe me, but Avery felt terrible too. For a while I didn’t think our relationship was going to work because the guilt kept coming between us.”
“But it did work.”
He looked at her for a long time, trying to decide whether to say something or not. “I’m happy, Milly. I know you think it was a midlife-crisis thing, and there’s the age difference, but I love Avery. And she loves me. And I’m sorry if that hurts.”
“It doesn’t. Not anymore. I’m pleased for you both, really.” Milly decided that the time had come to build a bridge so that they could both move forward. “Zoe likes Avery. And she has obviously made an effort—she has upended her life and let a teenager invade her immaculate single-person space, so she gets points for that.”
Richard reached out and touched her hand. “I don’t regret our marriage, although I’m sure you do.”
She stared down at his hand, covering hers. It was the first time they’d touched since he’d left her. And she thought about the early days. The fun they’d had. The way they’d been by each other’s sides through everything. Zoe. “I don’t regret anything. We had plenty of good years together, Richard. Maybe it’s time to celebrate those.”
He studied her face for a long moment, searching for something. “You’ve changed. Something has happened.”
Milly thought about Nicole, about all the conversations they’d had over the past few weeks. She thought about Brendan and the night they’d spent together.
Her mother had made a full recovery, and once Milly was confident that things were steady again, she’d rearranged her date with Brendan. This time she’d told Zoe about it, and that might have been a mistake because Zoe had sat with her nose pressed to the window to see whether Brendan was hot (or buff to quote Zoe exactly) until Nicole had hauled her away to rehearse her part.
And when Brendan had invited her back to his cabin she’d said yes without hesitation, relieved that she’d had the foresight to arrange for Zoe to sleep over at her grandmother’s house. Connie, predictably, had been delighted to facilitate this new development in her daughter’s sex life, and Milly had tried not to think about the interrogation she would be facing in the coming days.
They’d drunk more champagne (Brendan had no food in his fridge, but he seemed to have plenty of beer and bubbly) and they’d sat and talked in soft voices for hours, and she wasn’t sure exactly when, but at some point they’d turned to each other and then they were kissing again, only this time it hadn’t stopped at kissing.
And the whole thing had been so deliciously exciting, so breathtakingly perfect that she’d never wanted the night to end.
And now, thinking back, she remembered how romantic it had been. She remembered the whisper of breeze through the open doors of his cabin cooling her heated skin, the sound of the lake lapping gently against the reeds beneath his deck, the feel of his fingers and the skilled brush of his mouth.
And as she’d lain there afterward, her legs tangled with his, she’d felt as if everything had changed. But it hadn’t, of course, not really. The only thing that had changed was her.
“I think I’ve just moved on.” She answered Richard’s question finally. “And it was about time. We need to find a way to function well in our new relationship.” The door to the café opened again, and Milly glanced up. “Which is why I asked Avery to join us.”
Richard almost fell off his chair. “Avery?”
“Hi.” Avery arrived at the table, a wary look in her eyes, and Milly stood up.
“I’m glad you came.” The whole situation felt painfully awkward, but she kept her tone warm. “I wanted to thank you for your kindness to Zoe.”
“Oh—” Avery looked thrown “—of course. She’s a special girl. A credit to you.” Her gaze skidded to Richard, as if to check what he was making of all this.
“She loved the performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream . It made her day. And it also made her determined not to give up drama, so I’m grateful to you for that.”
Avery sat down at the table. “She enjoyed it. I saw her mouthing the words. And we talked about it a little bit afterward. She told me about her friend and how difficult it has been.”
Milly delved into her bag and pulled out two tickets to Zoe’s play. “It’s an outdoor performance, so we’re hoping the weather holds, but I do hope you’ll both come. There will be a group of us there cheering her on. I think it would be lovely for Zoe if you were both there too. United front and all that. Family.”
Avery glanced at Richard, who looked nervous.
“When you say a group of you, will that include your mother?”
“Yes.” Milly smiled. “But I’m sure you’re not afraid of my mother, are you, Richard?”
“She’s a formidable woman,” he muttered. “Are you sure she won’t try and kill me in public?”
“We’re watching a performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream , not Macbeth ,” Milly said. “There will be no murders, and I’m sure you’ll be fine. Things change, Richard. Relationships change. It’s part of life. My mother knows that.”
And now she knew it too, and not only because her blossoming relationship with Brendan had given her a glimpse of a future she hadn’t envisaged for herself.
At some point she’d finally realized that she wasn’t to blame for Richard leaving, any more than she was to blame for her father leaving. People were complicated, and often unpredictable, and sometimes what they wanted changed, and you couldn’t control that. Sometimes you needed to accept the way things were instead of wishing for something different or trying to turn the clock back.
“I do hope you’ll come.” She stood up, keen to get back to her life now that this final job was done. “I think it will be a special evening.”