Chapter Forty-Seven
The rest of the church service passed in a quiet, comforting rhythm, but afterwards William couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted in Lydia.
She had returned from her Sunday School slot with a tight, brittle edge to her posture.
She moved automatically, her usual easy focus missing as she guided the younger ones out into the bright July sunshine, her eyes fixed determinedly on the gravel path.
“Next week we can sit near the back again, Lydia,” Ollie announced with earnest certainty as they turned onto the lane. “My cast will be off by then, so I won’t need extra clearance.”
Lydia managed a soft, fleeting smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That will be lovely, Ollie.”
William matched his pace to hers, his hands in his pockets as he studied the rigid line of her shoulders beneath her cardigan.
“Lydia,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. “You seem a bit off. Did something happen?”
She kept her gaze pinned on the lane ahead. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said quickly, the words too light, too fast. “Just a busy morning. And the heat.”
William frowned, unconvinced, but before he could press further, she added, still without looking at him, “Richard and Sally mentioned they were heading to Lindisfarne today. They seemed quite excited.”
William blinked, a sharp prickle of surprise hitting him. “Did they? They didn’t say a word to me.”
Lydia’s smile wavered, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I think they only decided over breakfast.”
Before William could ponder his in-laws’ sudden departure, Sophie slipped her hand securely into Lydia’s.
“Lydia, are you coming for lunch?” she asked, her small face lighting up with hope. “Daddy is making roast chicken. And Yorkshire puddings.”
Jake nodded vigorously from William’s side, abandoning his toy car for a moment to point at her. “Come, Lydia! You can sit next to me!”
William watched Lydia open her mouth to decline—her expression settling into that independent, polite reserve she used as a shield—but Ethan stepped forward before she could form the words.
“You should stay,” Ethan said. “There’s loads of food. Grandad and Grandma are taking us down to the beach afterwards, and Simon’s meeting us there, so you and Dad can have a bit of peace.”
William shot his oldest son a faintly amused, highly suspicious look. “Are you now?”
Ethan shrugged, unbothered. “Yeah. We’ll be out for ages.”
The younger children cheered, and William saw the exact second Lydia’s resistance crumbled.
“Well… if you’re sure I’m not intruding,” she murmured, finally looking up to meet his gaze.
“You’re not,” William said simply. He kept his voice steady, though the sudden, soaring lightness in his chest made his throat tighten.
They walked the remaining yards up the hill together, the midsummer sun warming the grey stone walls of Cliffside House until the whole lane glowed with a soft, golden light.
Inside, the familiar noise of home took over.
William carved the chicken at the counter while Lydia helped Mia carry the vegetable platters to the table, her movements instinctive, though she still wore that strangely quiet, flushed expression.
The meal was relaxed. The children chattered endlessly, passing bowls of carrots and roast potatoes across the pine table.
William found himself looking at Lydia between mouthfuls, watching her listen to Sophie’s high-speed summary of her new reading book and laugh as Jake solemnly counted the Yorkshire puddings on his plate.
Ethan watched the table with a small, knowing smile—the kind that made William realise his fourteen-year-old was becoming far more observant than he took credit for.
The moment the plates were cleared, Sam and Jean arrived to collect the children.
“Right,” Ethan said, standing. “Beach time. Shoes on, everyone.”
The children scrambled for the entryway in a chaotic blur. The back gate clicked shut, and suddenly the house was quiet.