Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
The next morning, I wake up late. I feel like shit, as if there are splinters in my brain.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t drunk enough to forget what happened.
Freddie’s response to my stupid question is imprinted on my brain.
It will be one of those memories that wakes me up in the middle of the night to obsess over for the rest of my life.
I’ll be in my care home staring at the ceiling at two in the morning, desperate to go back and delete it.
Oh, but it’s worse than that, isn’t it? Because he is here. In this very lodge. And I have to face him this morning. There’s no hiding from it.
It doesn’t really matter that I don’t think he’d tell anyone. I know it happened. And he knows it happened.
Horrific, really.
I sit up, sliding my legs out from under the duvet.
Someone has turned the heating up because it’s baking in here.
I throw a hoodie on anyway and some fluffy socks over my pyjamas and check myself in the mirror before strolling downstairs.
I look hungover. You know, blotchy eyes, messy hair and dry lips.
Priya is making a coffee, her eyes drawn and her lips flat. It raises my heckles. “What’s up, Pri?” I ask softly, walking round the kitchen island to place my hand on her arm. She turns away from me, sniffing.
“Priya. Seriously, what’s up?”
She turns back, flicking her dark hair behind her back. “I’m a bad mother, aren’t I?” she whispers before smacking a hand over her face on a sob.
“Oh my God, no! You’re an amazing mum.”
“But I’m here and my baby is not here,” she sniffs. “I was just so delirious; I didn’t know what to do with myself. You said about getting away. I just needed a break. But that makes me terrible. I’m an awful mum.”
“No! No, that’s not true at all.”
I pull her into my shoulder, and she goes limp, resting her head right in the crook.
I can feel her sobbing silently against my neck.
Sam walks into the main living space from his room across the other side of the lodge.
He notices the interaction and freezes. He’s a great friend.
Very emotive and caring when he wants to be.
But, like most men, he has an irrational fear of crying women.
I glare at him as he steps silently back towards his room, running his hands through his soft, golden hair.
Stroking Priya on the back, I say, “I don’t know much about these things.
But I listened to a podcast recently by this girl who has babies, and she pointed out that needing rest when you’re a mum isn’t the same thing as wanting to be away from them.
And I hope that resonates with you because I have no idea what I’m talking about but I have nothing else helpful to say. ”
“I just feel so rotten and guilty. Izzy sent me a picture of him having toast soldiers this morning and I burst into tears because that’s my morning routine. I’m the one who does his toast.”
I squeeze her again. “But you’re so much less tired, right? You’ll return to Ollie ten times the mum because you’ll be rested and raring to go. You can even let Izzy take a break.”
Priya steps back, wiping her eyes, as Sara joins us. She blinks at the situation, then turns on her eldest sister energy. She comes round and asks Priya the same questions, offering a hug before working the art of distraction and asking her to help with the coffee machine.
Priya gets to it, demonstrating how to use it with her old barista skills.
While they do that, I rifle through the fridge. My eyes feel heavy, and my muscles all have that familiar post-drinking ache. Every now and again, I remind myself Freddie is in the building and have a minor panic attack, my heart rate spiking as adrenaline flows through my veins.
I need something to distract myself with, so I say, “I’m making breakfast for everyone.”
I grill bacon, eggs and halloumi, while Sara peels the avocados to mush them and Priya does the dishwasher, laying out warm, clean plates to serve on.
Sam smells the bacon and finally returns with a hop in his step.
He eyes Priya nervously before giving me a look as if for confirmation that the tears are over. I roll my eyes at him.
“Can I help?” another deeper voice asks.
My heart lurches. I look up as if I’ve been spooked to find him stood there dressed in black running gear like before. He’s watching me cautiously, clearly having been out again, his hair ruffled with sweat and wind.
I wonder if he waited for me on the step. Or whether he knew I’d be too hungover for jogging.
“No, thanks,” I say, dropping his eye contact and busying myself flipping the bread in the toaster. My face feels warm. When I look to Sara to check whether she’s got onto plating the vine tomatoes, I find her watching me with that knowing expression.
She leans across and whispers, “You’re wearing it on your sleeve.”
I glare because Freddie is still within hearing range and also because it’s something she used to tell me before. And it’s never not been annoying.
Ok, so I was drawn to Sara because of her outward strength and ability to stand up for herself.
I’ve never not felt safe in her presence.
I have no doubt she would help me hide a body.
That’s who Sara is. She’s the friend who can be mean and blunt but will be the first one at your side ready for battle if you needed her to be.
It’s very hard right now not to channel some of her energy and point out that whatever’s going on with her hasn’t only been on her sleeves these past few days; it’s been right there on her face.
Freddie clears his throat again. I think he’s trying to get my attention, but I skilfully ignore him, turning to butter the toast on the other side so I can keep my back to him. It feels unjust considering I’m the one who caused this awkwardness in the first place, but I’m not ready to face it yet.
Or ever.
Probably never.
“Have you guys seen the weather? It’s threatening snow,” he says.
Sara leaves a gap in the silence for me to reply but when I don’t, she takes the hint. “Oh, snow! That’ll be nice.”
“Not if we get snowed in.”
“Breakfast is ready,” I chime in, interrupting. “Can you guys set up? Freddie, do you like bacon?”
He too, lets the silence linger a second too long.
It’s a simple question. I don’t need to look at him for the answer.
But after a beat, I can’t help myself; my eyes drift to his.
He’s frowning but crooks his head when I stare back as if to tell me I’m overthinking it.
At least, that’s what I think he’s doing.
“Well?” I ask. “Bacon?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t eat bacon, thanks. Eggs, halloumi and avocado would be nice.”
“No toast?”
“I’ll take toast. And tomatoes.”
I nod, then busy myself again serving up as Sam walks over. “I feel like there was something I was meant to tell you, but I can’t remember,” he says, leaning on the counter.
“Wow. That’s super helpful.”
He scratches his chin. “It’ll come back to me,” he says, before strolling back to the table where the others are seated.
Freddie hovers by the sink, filling his glass incredibly slowly. I’m just trying to make my own plate up and I know it’s on purpose. I speed up my process, hoping to escape the moment.
“Hattie,” he whispers. I pause, the sound of his voice sending shivers down my spine in the most splendid way.
He’s closer now, placing one hand beside me, enclosing me against the kitchen side without touching.
I could step back now, and I’d feel what it would be like to have his whole body pressed against mine from behind.
Get a grip, Hattie.
“Would you walk with me to check on the car in a bit? See if the log has been moved? Grab some more supplies?”
“I think we can leave the prosecco,” I say. Currently of the mindset that I’ll never drink it again despite knowing that’s not really true.
“I think we should talk.”
Checking the table to see they’re all focused on their breakfasts, I turn quickly.
His face is right there. I could lean up on my heels and seal my lips with his.
My eyes trace the line of them. He steps back to give me space, but I know he’s aware of the closeness of our bodies as I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.
“I don’t know if there’s any more to say,” I murmur.
“I have more to say. I have things to get off my chest. Last night didn’t feel like the right time. Besides, I’d like to move the car in case it does snow.”
“Ok, fine,” I say, brushing it off and grabbing my plate.