Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
The gorgeous weather of earlier had suddenly broken without warning, and a sharp April shower hammered against the kitchen windows.
As Rita unwrapped the new books onto the table, a fractured voice note from Hilda pinged into her phone.
The rain was drumming so loudly, she could barely make out the words.
‘Rita, love… you need to get out here… it’s amazing…
anyway… it’s probably nothing but… well…
the Ring doorbell picked something up last night.
A shadowy figure round the back of the annexe.
This person had a scarf over their mouth and a hat pulled down so low you could only see the eyes.
As much as it irks me to say this, maybe you should tell Jago and Stan.
Last thing we need is a break-in… anyway… thought you should know.’
Rita smiled despite herself. Hilda was as spiky as a hedgehog, but beneath the bristles she cared, deeply, more than she would ever admit aloud.
And that, Rita realised, was the problem. Care made you speak up. Care made you share things before they calcified into secrets. A worry shared is a worry halved, people said, though she’d sometimes suspected it also doubled the risk.
She knew she should be telling Jago more than just about a shadowy figure in the night. She should be telling him about the quiet thrum inside her, the future knocking so softly she could almost pretend it wasn’t there. But it was very much there, and it was his future too.
But once spoken, it couldn’t be unsaid. For now, she kept it tucked close, like a breath held just a moment longer than was wise. She knew she couldn’t keep this secret forever, but it had to be the right time.
‘Probably just a delivery man going to the wrong door,’ Rita muttered, brushing it off as Hilda had told her packages were expected. She would send Teo to check later.
Another message buzzed in and with a jolt she saw it was from Jago.
I really need to talk to you later
No kisses. No warmth. No smiley emoji. Just eight little words that made Rita’s stomach do a sudden, terrifying flip.
Surely he doesn’t know. He can’t know. He wouldn’t…
Then a tiny, insecure part of her whispered: Maybe he’s already changed his mind.
Maybe he’s not the same Jago who promised me that some space would make us stronger.
She called him. Twice. Each time it went straight to voicemail.
‘Jago, it’s me. Call me back.’
Second try: ‘Please, can you just… phone me?’
Nothing. And she certainly wasn’t waiting until ‘later’.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink, the tired lines around her eyes, the unruly mop she had left to dry naturally that morning. She grabbed her bag, pulled on her rain mac, swiped her hair into something resembling order, and smeared on a glimmer of lip gloss.
With trembling hands she started the car, her mind racing at every corner and spiralling into every ‘what-if’. What if he’s found out? What if he’s already decided not to care? What if I say it too soon and ruin everything?
By the time she turned into Hawthorn Acre, her heart was hammering. And then she saw it, the Mini. Her throat tightened. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel. What the higgidy hell is going on here?
She knocked loudly. The door swung open. And there stood Elodie. Even in comfies, without make-up, and her hair in a loose knot, she had the effortless poise of a chic French film star. Before Rita could find words, Jago came tearing over from the barn, boots muddy, hair wind-tousled and damp.
He was breathless. ‘Rita? I was coming to see you once the vet had been. One of the cows caught her leg in the water trough and…’
‘That’s awful, Jago,’ Rita snapped, ‘but why is this cow in your house? And not just in your house, but answering your door as if she owns the bloody place?’
‘I… Rita, calm down.’
Elodie stood there, wide-eyed, lips twitching with barely concealed delight.
Rita noticed. ‘Calm down? Oh, come on.’ Rain was running in streaks down her face.
‘I can explain,’ he tried again, hands open, palms up. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’
‘It’s exactly what it looks like, Jago! You said, and I quote… over your dead body, that you would never be seeing your ex-wife again!’
‘I’m not seeing her again! Elodie isn’t here… not like that anyway…’
‘Oh really? And who’s this then? A fricking AI robot?’
Elodie blinked, properly offended. ‘I can hear you, you know.’ Behind her, a little girl with enormous brown eyes and the same long dark hair as her mother appeared, clutching a soft toy.
She stared up at Rita as if she were a brightly coloured visitor from another planet.
‘Go and watch TV, Amélie.’ Elodie’s voice was far too sharp.
The child started to cry. Elodie harrumphed.
‘But Rita, be a good girl, listen to Jago; it’s not what you think. ’
Rita raised an eyebrow, heart hammering. Be a good girl! Her mouth took over her mind. ‘Oh yes, totally, Madame Bonjour-I-Swear-It’s-Not-What-It-Looks-Like,’ she said, her words tripping over each other in a mix of French imitation, fury and panic.
Ignoring Rita’s outburst entirely, Elodie turned and followed her grizzling daughter through the kitchen. Jago stood shaking his head as Rita marched off towards her car.
‘Come back.’ Jago was now in pursuit. ‘You know I will follow you.’
‘Just leave me alone!’ Rita shouted, eyes burning, her stomach tight with fear and confusion.
She braced herself, ready for the excuses, the pleading, knowing that whatever he said next wouldn’t change a thing.
But he didn’t say anything. And that silence told her everything.
Baby father or not, she was done listening to Jago Jenken’s lies.