Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
It was seven thirty before a freshly showered and made-up Rita, in flowing sundress and denim jacket, slipped the scan envelope into her bag and headed to Hawthorn Acre. Checking herself in the mirror, she was glad Kelly had insisted she make a bit of an effort.
She sat in the Jimny for a moment before turning the key. Twelve weeks. Twelve miraculous, terrifying weeks. Was tonight really the night to tell him?
The engine coughed into life. She pulled out slowly, the hedgerows glowing a translucent green in the fading evening sun. The sea looked indecently calm to someone about to rearrange her entire future.
But Elodie had gone. The air between them could be cleared.
Maybe this was the right time. Or maybe it was reckless.
What if he’d only just got his balance back?
What if telling him tipped everything sideways again?
Babies at their age wasn’t a pastel Instagram announcement.
It was nappies and night feeds and starting over when most people were winding down.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Would there ever be a perfect moment?
She practised saying it casually. Oh, by the way, we’re having a baby. She forgot the enormity of it herself for a second. Actually, no, we’re having two babies. She imagined taking his hands. Showing him the scan. Watching his face shift from confusion to joy.
Or would it shift to panic? Her stomach fluttered, nerves? It was too early for life, surely.
She had to do it. If she waited until she felt completely secure, completely certain, completely steady in her own world she might be waiting forever.
She convinced herself that she would just have to trust love and whatever happened, happened.
Love wasn’t a fixed point. It was weather.
It changed. It tested. It healed. She’d got this!
And yet there was still a small, stubborn part of her that wanted that perfectly constructed Instagram moment.
To tell him when it felt uncomplicated. When they felt uncomplicated.
When it felt like a celebration, not survival.
When she wasn’t bracing for a wobble. She glanced at the envelope sticking out of her bag.
She had raised twins, got through the heartbreak and despair of grief.
Held other people together through storms. Plus, built a business.
So why did this feel like standing on a cliff edge?
Her thoughts then turned to Archie. They had sat planning their later years to a tee, quiet mornings, long walks, even longer holidays.
And look what happened to him… he’d literally gone right over that proverbial cliff without a choice.
But there was never a perfect moment for anything. She took a deep breath, turned off the engine, and fixed a smile on her face.
Jago was waiting outside the farmhouse and ran across to the Jimny the moment he spotted her. He opened the door, helped Rita out, and held back just long enough to see her face before pulling her into a tight embrace.
‘I’m taking you somewhere.’
‘Oh, are you now?’ Rita giggled.
Jago looked to the sky. ‘And we need to be quick.’ He led her down his garden to a wooden bench nestled beside a young buddleia bush, its first delicate purple buds just starting to open, the promise of summer lingering in the soft fragrance.
A few early butterflies flitted lazily around it, drawn to the faint sweetness.
Rita sank onto the bench, a quiet laugh escaping her. Ironic, she thought. Last time they had been here, he had told her the story about Elodie, his scumbag of a friend running off with her and the subsequent child.
Her mind drifted further, unbidden, to Zenya’s card from a few days ago. Divine timing, it had said. Your future is uncertain, but life is most of the time, so just trust the flow and embrace the miracles coming your way.
The hair at the back of her neck pricked. Shit… miracles, plural. She shook her head with a small smile. Zenya really was something special.
She glanced at Jago, sitting beside her, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
The sun was dipping low, streaking the sky with gold and rose, and the stillness of the moment belied the storm of thoughts in her head.
Somehow, it felt like exactly the right place for truth.
The sea, the sky, the tentative blooms, they all seemed to hold their breath with her.
Even the seabirds had shut up for a second.
Rita took a deep, steadying breath. ‘You know how much I love a sunset,’ she started.
‘Can I… talk first, please?’ Jago’s voice was quiet, measured.
Rita nodded, his gaze steady.
‘I’m… so sorry,’ he began, words tripping over themselves.
‘I didn’t really think how you might be feeling.
I just… I saw a woman who, I’m not going to lie, had once been my world, well, I saw her in trouble and…
a little girl, lost and sad. But she’s gone.
Gone back to Surrey. It’s all OK, for now. Rita, I promise.’
Rita’s heart dropped a notch. ‘What do you mean, for now?’
Jago’s forehead furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair.
‘She sees me as an anchor, a solidity in the storm of her life, and I can feel the tug, the uncertainty beneath it all. She’s very persuasive and I’m not very good at being cruel.
’ He grabbed hold of Rita’s hand. ‘I should have not let this go on, just come to you. Maybe could have moved in with you whilst she was here. But I did what I thought was right, and… clearly, it wasn’t.
I chatted to Stan, who in no uncertain terms gave me his Mrs Bodkin school of thought.
Us men… we don’t always get it right, do we?
’ He looked at her, his eyes pleading under his long lashes. ‘Do you forgive me?’
Rita’s voice was steady and certain. ‘I won’t pretend this is easy.
And I’m not going to sugarcoat it. But I really don’t want that woman in your life in any capacity anymore.
And that may sound totally unreasonable, but she’s trouble.
I can feel it in my gut, Jago.’ Jago lifted Rita’s hand to kiss it.
She smiled and looked into his eyes. ‘You just said yourself, you’re not always good at standing up to her. ’
Jago nodded furiously. ‘… I… I hear you,’ he murmured, voice low, careful. His fingers now flexed against his knees. ‘I understand. I…’
Rita felt her chest tighten, a flutter of nerves she hadn’t expected.
Her throat constricted with the urge to speak.
Her heart melted, softened at the sight of him like this: gentle, vulnerable, caught somewhere between relief and fear.
She was just about to tell him everything, the secret she had carried for weeks, and then… a voice shattered the moment.
‘Sorry, Jago, but I couldn’t stop her!’ Stan came running down the path, breathless, panic written across his face.
Rita’s stomach lurched. Jago stiffened as a figure appeared at the top of the garden path.
Elodie stumbled forward, hair tangled and eyes rimmed red from crying, her cardigan half-hanging off one shoulder as if she’d thrown it on in haste.
She clutched a small bag to her chest like a lifeline, and every step seemed unsteady, desperate.
Every gesture, every wobble, was so perfectly timed that for a moment Rita wondered if she should be clapping.
She deserves an award for this, she thought, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Honestly, the Academy will be calling her any minute. That level of panic… flawless.
Her French accent cracked as she called out, voice trembling with both fear and frustration. ‘Jago… Jago… C’est moi…’
Even from a distance, the raw urgency in her movements made it impossible to look away. She was a whirlwind of emotion.
‘Oh, Rita, hello…’ Elodie’s voice cracked again. ‘Jago, oh, Jago. Amélie said I had been here with you and Donal got angry. He said he’s not paying the rent on the house until the end of the year like he promised he would… you have to help me, Jago.’
Rita stood up, squaring her shoulders. ‘Most normal people would get a job.’ Rita’s mind began to whir. ‘And didn’t you say that dear Donal had thrown you out?’
Elodie glared at her. ‘You only hear second hand and it’s not your business, but I will find work.
But until I do, I don’t know what to do…
I need you to help me, Jago. I can’t stay at my dad’s with Amélie.
There’s no space. Can we stay here until I find something?
It will be quick, I promise, as Amélie must go back to school. ’
Elodie broke down, tears streaming, but Jago’s voice cut through, sharp and unwavering. ‘No. Elodie. We agreed. That’s not an option.’
Between gasps, Elodie’s voice trembled with raw urgency.
‘There’s something else…’ She shot a defiant glance at Rita before turning to Jago.
Jago’s face drained of colour. ‘What?’
‘I was afraid. I was stupid. But she is yours. Amélie… she’s really your daughter.’
Rita watched it land. The shock. The recalculation.
She had saved that card, Rita realised, holding it back until the perfect moment to trump him and every other lie before it.
‘Is this true?’ Jago asked hoarsely. ‘Why wouldn’t you tell me before?’
Elodie’s voice lowered. ‘I thought I was protecting everyone.’
Time seemed to freeze. Jago’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists, eyes wide as if he were trying to comprehend a world that had just shifted on its axis.
Rita’s mind refused to catch up. Her heart thudded unevenly, her thoughts scattering in a million directions at once: pure disbelief, shock, pity for Amélie, anger at Elodie, confusion at Jago, fear for their relationship and somehow, amid it all, a brittle, aching tenderness that she had always carried for him.
Rita looked at the mess that was Elodie, then at the still-open-mouthed Jago, and finally towards Stan, frozen at the top of the path. She drew in a steadying breath and let her voice cut through the thick, golden air.
‘You’ve got a lot to work through… and for now she needs you, so I’m going to leave you to it.’
Neither Rita nor Jago noticed the faint, almost imperceptible smirk that flickered across the Frenchwoman’s face.
Jago’s eyes glistened in the fading sunset, tears catching the light. He didn’t speak, but the look he gave Rita said everything: Thank you.
Elodie stood trembling, sobs quieting to hiccups.
She seemed smaller somehow in the long, honeyed shadows stretching across the garden.
And yet, amid the chaos, amid the heartbreak and the revelation that had splintered everything, Rita Jory knew, one thing was suddenly, painfully certain: this wasn’t the right time to tell him about the little miracles growing inside her.
In fact, with this new millefeuille of dramas added to the mix would it ever be?
Once out the front of the farmhouse, Rita looked to the steady eye of Stan. ‘Did I do the right thing, or should I have stayed and stood my ground?’
Stan put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘Love isn’t about forgiving everything or allowing people to even tiptoe over your boundaries.’ The kind farmhand pulled off his cap and scratched his bald head. ‘You can be there if they ask, yes, but don’t lose yourself in someone else’s mess.’
‘Aw, Stan, you are such a sweetheart.’ Rita sighed. She knew he’d keep her secret, but somehow it didn’t feel like the right moment to tell him. Not yet.
They walked towards the car and Stan held the door open for her.
He paused, fixing her with a steady gaze. ‘Leave him alone. Let him find his own way. You’ve got a good heart, kid. And if he’s got any sense, that man will come running back and never leave your side.’
Kelly was lounging on the sofa, legs curled up, a glass of wine in hand, when Rita stumbled into the living room, streaks from tears evident on her cheeks.
‘Oh, Reet… he didn’t take it well, then?’ Kelly asked, sitting up and raising an eyebrow.
‘He didn’t take it at all,’ Rita choked out. ‘Elodie… she just appeared and told him that Amélie, her kid, is his.’
Kelly nearly spat out her wine. ‘Well, fuck me sideways and call me Marjorie! You have to be joking, surely?’
Rita couldn’t help it; through her tears, a shaky laugh burst out of her. It came out half sob, half giggle, mostly hysterics and she shook her head.
‘Marjorie it is,’ Kelly declared, settling back into the sofa with a huge sigh. ‘Honestly, Reet… some things in this life you just can’t make up. So, what are you going to do?’
Rita sighed deeply and then quietly replied. ‘Stan said leave him be and I think he’s right. So, for now, I’m going to do absolutely nothing.’