Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Rita screeched away down the drive, and trying to do anything other than think, turned on the radio. It burst into Ronan Keating’s ‘Life is a Rollercoaster’.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she cried.
Instead of turning it off, hormones surging like a rogue tide, she found herself half shouting, half howling along to the chorus.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, chest heaving.
She hated the sound of her own voice, but it felt necessary, like letting some of the grief for Archie and the raw disappointment in Jago spill out.
By the time she lurched into the courtyard, she was already mid-sob. And, because life clearly hated her, there stood Imogen Hamilton-Clark, head to toe in designer workout gear, complete with matching wrist sweatbands, looking like she had been waiting to greet her.
As Imogen started walking towards the car, Rita ducked her head and pretended to rummage in the glove compartment.
She groaned. This was mortifying. So unprofessional to be snotting and wailing when she was supposed to be the very picture of calm and sophistication for her retreat guests.
And if Jago had meant what he had said about following her, he would be roaring down the drive any second.
‘Um… Rita? Hi. Hello. Are you OK?’
Rita popped her head up like a meerkat, wiping under her eyes with the heel of her palm. ‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine. It’s just…’ She gestured vaguely at the radio. ‘This is the song my husband wanted played at his funeral.’
Imogen looked bemused. ‘He… he… liked Ronan Keating?’
‘Yes. Yes,’ Rita puffed. ‘Anyway. Are you lost? Can I help you?’
The immaculate guest smiled sweetly. ‘I’ve got yoga in the barn with Teo, but I think I must have missed a turning.’
Grateful that Imogen was clearly bereft of all empathy, Rita pointed beyond. ‘You’re not far off. It’s that huge brick building back there.’
Imogen shifted into faux-casual mode. ‘I just heard on the grapevine that you’re hosting a wedding here in June. I didn’t realise this place was a venue as well… Do you have a licence and everything?’
The mood she was in, Rita felt her hackles rise. Something about Imogen’s tone felt calculated. ‘Well, not quite officially yet…’ she said slowly, studying her. Why the sudden interest?
Imogen tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. ‘Oh, just a friend of mine might be looking for somewhere to get hitched, you know. Cornwall is quite the “in” place to do it these days. Thought I’d ask, as it’s so beautiful here.’
‘Ah, OK.’ Rita folded her arms. ‘… It might just be a one-off. I’m not sure yet. Rosecliff Barns let my daughter down, you see.’
‘Oh,’ Imogen said. ‘What happened there, then? Must have been short notice, too, I guess. How very unprofessional of them.’
‘Yes. It caused a lot of upset.’ Rita’s tension eased slightly when Teo appeared. With mascara-streaked cheeks, she gave him a small, tentative smile.
‘Oh, Rita, what is it? What has happened? You look so… so sad.’
‘Life is a rollercoaster,’ Imogen added knowingly.
‘Sí, sí, it really is. But what’s the matter with you?’
‘I’m fine, Teo.’ Rita almost laughed at the absurdity, then, wanting to goad the nosy woman in front of her a little further, offered, ‘I was just having a moment about your papa.’
Teo’s bottom lip stuck out. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He tipped her chin. ‘He loved you. I love you. We all love you,’ he recited dramatically.
Rita noticed Imogen’s intrigue but before the young woman had a chance to question her further, Rita snapped back into professional mode.
‘Enjoy your yoga session, Imogen; you’ll be floating when you come out of that barn.
And Teo, when you’re done, could you check for parcels at the annexe, please?
Hilda was expecting some stuff. By the way, do you still have the Ring camera app on your phone? ’
‘Sí, sí. Is that OK?’
‘Of course. Let’s chat later.’
Rita’s phone buzzed. It was Jago.
I know the farm is busy so meet me at your bench, Seahaven Point, in 30? Please give me a chance to explain. I love you. Jx
With her stomach twisting, Rita went inside and splashed cold water on her face.
Her mother had always said words spoken in anger were better left unsaid.
Too bad, she’d already spectacularly failed at that.
And she had to know why on earth he was seeing his ex-wife when he had so clearly said he never would again.
The April breeze, still sharp with leftover rain, ruffled her hair as she drove.
She felt her shoulders drop as she pulled into the tourist car park at Seahaven Point.
The view was perfect: the straight horizon cutting the cloudless sky and deep blue sea in half.
She parked beside the telescope, which offered wide views of both Seahaven Bay beaches.
She remembered how, when they were young, the twins had loved pressing their eyes to the glass to watch ships drifting on the horizon.
If you looked closely, you could now see the yurts on High Meadow.
She took deep, steadying breaths as she walked to ‘her’ bench, the one that she’d often gone to to think, laugh, cry, and make life-changing decisions.
It had been there long before Stan put one under the Singing Tree in honour of her Archie.
It was where she’d run to last year when Jago had said they should stay apart, when they first started having feelings for each other.
It reminded her just how much their love had always been a rollercoaster.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not yet. Not for him.
Jago was already there. Sitting on the bench like a kicked dog, elbows on his knees, hair damp, wild and unruly, just like she loved it. He stood as she approached, his face a mixture of concern, guilt, and something that looked like fear.
‘Rita… please. Now, just let me speak, OK?’
She stood a couple of feet apart, heart hammering. Any closer, and fuelled on pregnancy hormones, she wasn’t sure whether she’d scream, sob, or throw herself at him.
‘I tried calling you first. You ignored me,’ Rita sulked.
‘I know. I’m sorry. I was busy looking after Buttercup until the vet came.’
She folded her arms and glared. ‘What’s going on, Jago?’
He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I should have called you. I should have told you straight away. I just… everything happened so fast.’ He glanced at the sea, then back at her. ‘Please sit and listen, just for a moment.’
After a long, stubborn breath, she dropped onto the far edge of the bench. Close enough so she could feel his warmth but not close enough for contact. His eyes stayed on the horizon.
‘I don’t want you thinking I’ve lied to you,’ he said. ‘Or that I’ve broken any promise.’
‘Jago, let me quote you again.’ Rita couldn’t stop her rant.
‘Over my dead body will I be seeing her again. And here she is, Miss fucking France, with the child of your best mate, the mate who cheated with your wife, may I add, and they are both what looks like very much ensconced in your house. Doesn’t that suggest something’s been broken already? ’
He shook his head fiercely. ‘No. No, Rita. She turned up out of nowhere. She and Donal are finished. He kicked her and Amélie out. They had nowhere to go. What was I supposed to do? Turn them away?’
Rita swallowed hard. She hated how reasonable that sounded, but her angry words still came. ‘Yes! She betrayed you so badly, Jago; have some bloody pride, will you?’ Why was he so bloody kind, right when she needed him not to be. ‘Her dad lives near here.’
‘Yes but her dad has a small retirement flat.’
‘She managed to stay there when she came down for the funeral,’ Rita spat.
‘She was on her own then,’ Jago defended. ‘A friend looked after Amélie.’
Rita’s eyes narrowed. ‘Poor excuse!’
‘Rita! Listen to me!’ His sharp tone shocked her.
‘No, I won’t. And what about her mother? Where is she? Surely she’d like to spend time with her grandchild?’
‘She… isn’t around.’
Rita raised an eyebrow. ‘Not around? Let me guess, off somewhere fabulous, sipping champagne with a Formula One driver in Monaco, is she?’
Jago felt his lips twitch. ‘… Actually, you’re not far off. Cannes with some count, I think she said.’
‘A count you say.’ Rita smirked despite herself.
‘There you go. Following in her mother’s footsteps, then.
Glamour, danger, and a complete disregard for anyone else.
I don’t like this, Jago. I don’t like it at all and well…
there’s something…’ Rita stopped. If she told him now, maybe he would just ask Elodie to leave.
The words ran through her mind: I’m pregnant. With your baby.
Jago softened. ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’
‘You scared me, Jago.’
Jago’s face crumpled. ‘Scared you? Rita, I’d never mean to do that, ever.’
‘You sent a message saying you needed to talk. No kisses. No warmth. Just that. And then I get there and she’s at your door.
What am I supposed to think?’ He reached out halfway, like he wanted to touch her hand but wasn’t sure she’d let him, but Rita was off again.
‘I don’t want her there with you. Before the other day, you hadn’t seen her for five bloody years.
Sounds like she has friends in Surrey. Or just tell her to get an Airbnb. ’
‘He’s wiped the joint account, and she has no cash of her own. She just wanted to get away from him.’
‘How convenient.’ Rita shook her head. ‘Well, I’m not happy and…’
Jago stood to hug her. She pushed him away.
‘You need to trust me, Rita, but let me see what I can do. But honestly, there’s nothing between me and Elodie now; it’s Amélie I feel sorrier for. You have to believe that. In my eyes, you are a goddess, Rita Jory. And I don’t want anyone else.’
Even his attempt at a lopsided smile couldn’t win her over. All she could think of was her getting fatter, more hormonal, and more unreasonable whilst the beautiful ex, Elodie, perched like a smug Parisian time bomb back at Hawthorn Acre.
‘I only want to hear from you when she’s gone,’ Rita snarled.
‘Put yourself in her shoes with a young child, please.’ Jago swallowed hard. ‘I’ll sort it out, but please don’t shut me out, Rita. I’m caught between a rock and hard place here.’
Wow, maybe this would be the time to say it. She took a breath but before she could speak, the crunch of tyres echoed behind them. Both their heads turned.
The red Mini glided into view. Rita’s pulse plunged.
‘Oh, perfect,’ she muttered.
The car door opened.
Elodie stepped out, glossed lips, hair that hadn’t frizzed even in the rain. Amélie unfolded behind her like a small, wary shadow.
Jago approached her. ‘What are you doing? How did you even know I was here?’
Her gaze slid to Rita, cool, dismissive, a silent I win.
Grimacing, Rita tried to walk as casually as she could back to her car, knowing full well she had already said far more in anger than any rational, non-hormonal person would.
Calling over her shoulder, she spat, ‘I’ll leave you to it.
’ Somewhere above, she imagined her mother shaking her head at her spectacular lack of calm.
‘Rita, wait…’ Jago called.
But she didn’t. She continued, head high, throat burning, heart splitting neatly in two.
If she turned back, if she even looked at him, she might say it. But not now. Not with that woman standing ten feet away wearing pity, like perfume.
Behind her, Jago said her name again, voice breaking. But Rita kept walking toward the Jimny, the increasing wind tugging at her jumper, waves crashing on the cliffs below. Not today. Not yet. Not with her back in the picture.