Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bart struggled to look Eloise in the eye as she politely asked if she and Sarah could finish the bottle of wine left over from lunch.
He desperately wanted to retire to his room, but with the women upstairs, it seemed rude to leave Mitch on his own—especially since it was Christmas night and Mitch had done such a sterling job of evicting Sarah’s awful ex.
He hoped the man wouldn’t be tempted to come back, but felt sure that if he did, between them, he and Mitch would see him off.
“I can’t believe you told Sarah’s ex that you and her are getting married,” he said. “That was a stroke of genius.”
Mitch wore a self-deprecating expression. “It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment.”
“As I said, it was genius.” Then he added, engaging his mouth before he’d put his brain in gear, “You and Sarah look good together.”
Mitch shook his head regretfully. “It isn’t going to happen.”
“That’s a shame—especially as you’re brilliant with Toby,” Bart persevered.
Mitch stilled, his expression closed, and Bart wasn’t sure what he’d said to cause such a reaction, but Mitch definitely had a backstory, and Bart suspected he’d inadvertently touched a nerve.
Curious and hoping to distract himself from the disaster that today had become, Bart said, “Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but why did you come to Honeycombe Bay? It’s not the usual place people think of when they’re looking to spend Christmas away, even if there were a shedload of festive things laid on.
” Anyway, at the time, Mitch hadn’t known about them.
Mitch stretched out his legs, curling his toes towards the fire, and stared at the flames.
For a long time Bart thought he wasn’t going to answer, then he finally heaved a sigh and said, “It’s because of a woman.”
“So many things are,” Bart replied, thinking of Eloise.
“Her name is Florence. I’ve known her since school and thought of her as a friend more than anything.
We went our separate ways after our A levels; she stayed in the town we grew up in, and I went to university.
When I got my teaching qualification, I applied for a job in a school in Cardiff, and we saw each other now and again when I came home for a visit.
” His Welsh lilt was becoming more pronounced, the words flowing now the floodgates had been breached.
Bart got up and went into the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a couple of chilled bottles of beer, beaded with condensation. He handed one to Mitch, who took it from him with a smile of thanks.
“Go on,” Bart urged. He was invested now and wanted to hear the end of the story.
“Then I saw a job advertised in the school we went to as teenagers. It was for a second in department and was a promotion, the next rung on the ladder. When I got it, I was over the moon. I found a little house and moved back to my hometown—it’s more of a village, really—and that’s when Florence and I started dating.
At first, it was a bit of fun, but as time went on it became more serious.
We were together for two years.” He took a long swallow of beer.
“It took me a while to realise we weren’t suited; we liked different things, had different interests, different outlooks on life.
I was about to end the relationship, for both our sakes, when”—he hesitated and grimaced—“she told me she was pregnant.”
Another swig of beer. “I asked her to marry me. It was the right thing to do. She started planning the wedding, and I got excited about being a dad. I’ve always wanted kids—I just hadn’t expected to be a father just yet. It didn’t matter though, as long as Florence and the baby were healthy.”
Mitch got to his feet and went over to the fireplace.
His hands on the mantelpiece, he looked down into the hearth, firelight flickering across his face, his anguish plain to see.
Bart’s heart sank. He’d already assumed there wasn’t going to be a happy ending to this story, but now he feared the worst.
“There was one thing wrong with that scenario,” Mitch said.
“Florence wasn’t actually pregnant. She was lying.
I became suspicious when she kept making excuses for me not to attend any hospital appointments with her.
” He sighed deeply. “We split up when she admitted that there wasn’t a baby and that she’d made it up because she guessed I was about to end our relationship.
Thankfully she left town shortly after that.
She got a transfer with her job, and I haven’t seen her since. ”
Perplexed, Bart said, “So why come to Honeycombe Bay?”
“I found out she was coming home for Christmas and I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her again. Not after what she did. So I told everyone I was spending Christmas with some mates from uni. My parents were disappointed, but they understood. And here I am.”
“I’m glad you decided to come here,” Bart said.
“So am I.”
Bart risked saying, “I stand by what I said. You and Sarah do look good together.”
“It wouldn’t work.”
“Because she’s a single mother?”
Mitch looked up from the fireplace, his expression surprised. “Absolutely not. It wouldn’t work because I’m going home in a week.”
“Would you want it to?”
“It makes no difference what I want.”
“But you do like her?”
Mitch gazed at him steadily, and Bart thought he was going to dissemble, but instead he said, “Yes, I do.”
“Enough to do something about it?”
Slowly he shook his head. “There are so many problems with that, I don’t know where to start.”
“I do,” Bart said, and he took a deep breath and dived in. “You’ve been hurt before, so you don’t want to risk being hurt again. Sarah isn’t like Florence, though. She wouldn’t treat you like that.”
“I doubt she would.”
Bart heard the “but” in Mitch’s reply and forged ahead. “You’re attracted to her, but you don’t think she feels the same way.”
“Why should she? She hardly knows me.”
“You thought you knew Florence,” Bart pointed out. “But can you say, after what she did, that you really did know her, even though you went to the same school and lived in the same town?”
Mutely, Mitch shook his head.
“The amount of time you know someone isn’t always relevant. I knew I wanted to marry my Penny the moment I set eyes on her.”
“That’s rare.”
“It is, but it’s not impossible.” Bart deliberately didn’t want to think he’d only known Eloise for less than two weeks and he was in love with her. “Anyway, who says Sarah doesn’t feel the same way? Have you asked her?”
“Good grief, no!”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“Definitely not.”
“Are you worried you’ll make a fool of yourself, or make her feel uncomfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“Faint heart never won fair maid.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s an old saying. Basically, it means go for it. What have you got to lose?”
Mitch shrugged. He looked uncomfortable, but Bart didn’t care. He was going to say what he needed to say.
“What I’m trying to tell you is that when you get older, you regret the things you didn’t do when you had the chance. Don’t let this be one of them.”
Bart wasn’t telling the truth. He regretted kissing Eloise—because the distress on her face would be forever ingrained on his heart.
Eloise couldn’t sleep. The day’s events whirled through her mind, a kaleidoscope of emotions, what-ifs, and should-haves, circling endlessly like the merry-go-round in the village but lacking the smiles and the laughing excitement.
She should never have come here. In thinking to escape Christmas, she had fallen in love.
How could such a thing happen so quickly? Until now, if anyone had confessed to her that it had only taken them a few days to fall in love, she would have scoffed at the possibility. She’d have called it lust, or a silly crush.
Yet here she was.
The instinct to flee was strong. She craved her home, wanting to nurse her bruised heart in solitude. Once inside her own four walls, safe in the familiar and the routine, she could put this sorry episode behind her. Forget it had ever happened.
But even as she thought it, she knew she wouldn’t.
Forgetting wasn’t an option, not when four total strangers had wormed their way into her heart.
Anyway, she didn’t want to forget Sarah and her delightful little boy, and neither did she want to forget Mitch, who had stepped up to the mark so admirably.
Then there was Bart.
How could she ever forget Bart?
Sighing, she got out of bed to make a cup of tea, then realised she had no milk. Tea without milk was unthinkable, so she put on her thick, fluffy dressing gown, shoved her feet into her slippers, and padded quietly downstairs, certain no one would be awake at this time.
She was wrong.
A light was on in the kitchen. Not the bright overhead light, but the muted light of the cooker hood, and it illuminated Bart, sitting at the table.
Her treacherous heart skipped a beat, and she almost turned tail and ran, but he’d seen her, and she didn’t want to make a big thing out of it, so she smiled apologetically and said, “I wonder if I can have some milk? For my tea? Sorry to disturb you.” Her voice sounded clipped and formal, and she winced.
“Can’t you sleep?” he asked, not looking at her.
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“Look, Bart,” she began, deciding to get things out in the open. “About earlier…I’m sorry.”
His gaze shot to her; then he looked away again. “I believe I’m the one who needs to apologise. It should never have happened. I put you in an impossible situation.”
From his expression, she guessed he was thinking about his own impossible situation, and she glanced over her shoulder at Penny’s photo on the side table in the sitting room.
Eloise’s heart went out to him. She couldn’t begin to imagine how devastating it had been for him to lose the woman he’d loved so deeply.
Loves. Not loved. Because he still loved her, and Eloise understood that he always would. Which was why he had looked so appalled earlier.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. His grief was apparent in the hunch of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and the lines around his eyes. He looked lost and broken.
Bart cleared his throat as he seemed to gather himself. “I can make us some cocoa. Would that help you sleep?”
It wouldn’t, but she said yes anyway, not wanting to leave just yet. These would be the last precious moments she’d spend with him, and she wanted to relish them. At least they’d be parting as friends, and not the awkward strangers they’d suddenly become.
“I’ve bought Sarah a computer,” she blurted as he got a heavy saucepan out of the cupboard. “It’ll hopefully be delivered by the end of the week. Can you make sure she gets it? And don’t let her spout any nonsense about not accepting it or sending it back.”
Bart turned to her in surprise. “Why would I need to—” He broke off as the penny dropped. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. After breakfast.”
He nodded, as though he’d been expecting it, although his face had paled and he looked tenser than ever. He was probably glad to see the back of her.
Pouring milk into the pan, he said, “Toby will miss you.”
“And I’ll miss him. I’ve made Sarah promise to keep in touch, and you never know, she might allow me to visit her when she’s settled.”
“I expect she will. It’s very generous of you to replace her computer.”
“How else will she make a living? Insurance companies are notorious for taking forever to pay out—if they don’t wriggle out of it.
” Glad of the change of topic, Eloise said, “I had a long chat with her this evening.” And she went on to tell him the gist of the conversation while Bart warmed the milk.
His eyes widened. “The absolute gobshite! If I ever get my hands on that weasel, I’ll—”
“I think Mitch will beat you to it,” Eloise interjected. She was silent for a moment, thinking, wondering whether she should voice her hopes out loud.
Bart placed a mug of steaming cocoa in front of her, and she decided to go for it. “Sarah really likes Mitch, but she doesn’t see a future with him. She says she’s not known him long, and besides which, he lives in Wales.”
“He likes her, too. He said as much this evening, but he’s scared she doesn’t feel the same way. I told him to go for it—after all, what’s he got to lose? Life is too bloody short to faff about.” His eyes clouded, and Eloise supposed he’d know the truth of that more than anyone.
“Do you think he’ll take your advice?” she asked, blowing on her cocoa.
“I hope so, but he’s got baggage of his own, and I think he might have trust issues.
You see, the girl he was dating told him she was pregnant when she wasn’t, because she suspected he was about to break up with her.
He only realised after he’d asked her to marry him.
When he discovered he wasn’t going to be a dad after all, he was devastated.
Luckily, she moved away soon after, but she’s come back home for Christmas, which was why… ”
“He came to Honeycombe Bay,” she finished.
“Precisely.”
“Oh, that’s awful—and he’s such a lovely guy.
It explains why he’s so good with Toby, though.
He’d make a wonderful dad, and Toby adores him.
” Eloise met Bart’s eye, and they stared at each other.
“It’s been nice knowing you, Bart, and thank you for being such a lovely guy, too. Penny was a very lucky woman.”
And with that, she got to her feet and walked slowly out of the kitchen before her impending tears gave her away.