Chapter 34
34
Astrid spilt her drink down her dress so Georgia took her inside to dry her off. While they were gone, various friends of my parents – many of whom I recognised from Mum’s eightieth – approached me to express their condolences. This time, instead of the jokes about when I was coming home, they shared how delighted Mum had been to have me back, how much she’d loved spending time with me, how proud she was of me, and how excited she’d been about me working at my beloved Willowdale Hall.
While each comment reassured me that the bruises in our relationship had healed, they saddened me too. By the time I spotted Flynn in the distance walking across the car park towards the side entrance, I was feeling extremely emotional. I needed to gather myself together before I saw him, but there was nowhere for me to go. There was nowhere to hide in the garden, the mourners had pretty much taken over inside, The White Willow was open and serving customers, and Willowdale Marina would be busy too. The only place I could think of where people might not be was the bench under the giant willow tree on the village green.
I downed the rest of my drink, slipped my jacket on, grabbed my bag and hastened out of the garden and across the car park before Flynn could find me. My stomach sank as I spotted a woman sitting on the bench talking on her phone while a black pug sniffed the daffodils. I was about to re-think when she wandered off, still chatting, so I dashed across the road and plonked myself down on the bench before anyone else could appear. I needed five minutes, that was all. Maybe ten. I’d close my eyes and try to relax.
The sound of a car horn startled me and I opened my eyes with a jolt. How had I managed to nod off sitting upright on a bench? I blinked a few times and ran my hands through my hair, trying to reorientate myself, and that’s when I saw him, standing on the opposite side of the road. He slowly, seemingly hesitantly, raised his hand in a gesture that felt like half-wave, half-peace offering.
I didn’t want Flynn to cross the road and join me on the bench. We’d be too close together if he did and it was safer to maintain some distance. I picked up my bag, paused on the footpath for a couple of passing cyclists, then joined him, keeping several feet between us.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I said, trying to channel the professional businesswoman in me to keep things civil and emotion-free. Not easy when my heart was racing so fast and thoughts of how good he looked were swirling round my mind.
‘Thanks for calling me.’
‘I shouldn’t have had to. My dad had already told you I was okay with you coming and I thought…’ I broke off with a sigh. Why was I lecturing him when a you’re welcome would have sufficed? I softened my voice. ‘Sorry. Tough day.’
‘It’s okay. Your dad said you were there when he found her. That must have been so hard.’
I could tell from the concerned way he was looking at me that he didn’t just mean finding Mum. Flynn was the one person who could truly understand how devastating it had been to go through something like that – twice in my case – and I suddenly wanted to share it with him.
‘It was like Noah—’ But my throat was so tight that no more words would come. Tears pooled in my eyes and, as they spilled down my cheeks, Flynn closed the gap between us, pulled me into his embrace and I didn’t resist.
With his strong arms around me and his head resting against mine, I had the sensation of finally being home. I used to think that there was nothing that couldn’t be resolved by one of Flynn’s incredible hugs. Until the worst thing possible happened and I was so mad with the world that I couldn’t bear for him to touch me because a hug was not going to make that better. It wasn’t going to bring our son back. So many memories flooded back of being in Flynn’s arms – everything from a welcoming good morning embrace to a comforting it’ll be all right hug to a passionate take me to bed clinch.
He tightened his hold and I responded by doing the same, my heart beating faster, butterflies swirling in my stomach. So many emotions were bubbling close to the surface, joy one moment, desolation the next and I could feel that cork inching out of the bottle. With a gasp, I released Flynn and stepped back. Not here. I couldn’t lose it here. If that cork broke free, years of grief would come pouring out and I couldn’t do that to my dad, my family, Flynn. Being here right now was meant to be a celebration of Mum’s life and an emotional breakdown from me wasn’t on the agenda. I needed to reapply my nothing-to-see-here mask and take control.
‘I need to make sure my dad’s okay so thank you for coming,’ I said, aware of how exceptionally formal I sounded. ‘Get yourself a drink. Mingle.’
Flynn tilted his head to one side, a slight frown rumpling his forehead.
‘Thanks for coming.’
‘You’ve already said that.’
‘Because I mean it. Dad’ll be very grateful. You mean a lot to him.’
‘And you?’ he asked.
The butterflies went wild as he held my gaze, an intensity in his eyes. I chose to ignore the possibility that he was asking if he meant a lot to me too. We really didn’t want to open that can of worms.
‘I’m grateful too,’ I responded before walking past him to return to the wake. When did walking away become my default mode for when things got tough? I didn’t want to be that person but, right now, I didn’t feel like I had much choice.