Chapter 8 #3
‘You’re offering to fix my roof when you can’t even meet me eye to eye?’
I glance at the damage to the ceiling again. Bloody hell, one more heavy hit of rain and the whole thing could come down. I shake my head. What the fuck am I doing here?
I don’t actually know.
‘You didn’t just come here to look at my renovation needs?’ Isla peeks up at me through long lashes, the shadows of them too long on her too thin face.
‘No.’
‘Then why?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit.
A movement within the house catches her attention. Piper, the woman who was with her earlier is leaning forward, watching us. Isla steps closer, moonlight catching in her damp hair, pulling the door behind her. ‘You don’t know? Or you don’t want to say?’
‘Both, maybe.’
She wraps her arms around herself, the oversized sweatshirt making her look smaller, more vulnerable. ‘You know, I keep trying to figure out what I did that was so unforgivable.’
I look away. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Then explain it to me.’ There’s frustration in her voice now. ‘Because I’ve spent days being treated like I’ve committed some terrible crime against you, and I don’t understand why you’re so angry.’
‘I’m not angry.’
Her laugh is short, disbelieving. ‘Right. That’s why you can barely look at me. That’s why you dragged Maisie away like I might contaminate her.’
I turn back to her, something hot and uncomfortable rising from the pit of my stomach. ‘She’s my daughter, Isla. I’m trying to protect her.’
‘From what? What exactly do you think I’m going to do to her?’
‘Leave.’ The word comes out before I can stop it. ‘That’s what you do, isn’t it? You show up, make people care about you, and then you leave and don’t come back.’
She flinches like I’ve slapped her. ‘That’s not fair. If you’d just let me expla—’
‘Isn’t it?’ I step closer, close enough to see the slight tremble in her lips. ‘You left this place, these people, without a backward glance. Why should I believe this time is any different?’
‘People leave for all kinds of reasons, Kit.’ Her voice has gone quiet. ‘Sometimes they’re running away. Sometimes they’re running towards something. Sometimes they don’t have a choice.’
‘There’s always a choice.’
‘You don’t even know if that’s true, because you’ve never asked.
’ She looks up at me, eyes reflecting the moonlight, a frown channelling its way between her brows.
‘You made choices too, you know. You got married. Had an amazing child. Built this whole life here while I was gone. Why are you the injured party in this scenario?’ Her small hands tighten into fists.
The question hits me harder than I expect.
If the headlines are to be believed there’s a chance she’s been injured too, I just don’t know how.
Don’t even know if I want to know, because it’s the sort of thing you can’t forget.
In my head it’s easier if I believe she left, fell out of love with me, and never came back.
That’s easier.
Safer.
‘That’s different,’ I say.
‘Is it?’ she asks, edging into my space. ‘Because from where I’m standing, it looks like we both moved on. The difference is, I don’t hate you for it.’
‘I don’t hate you.’ The words come out rough, almost against my will.
‘Then what is this?’ She gestures between us. ‘This … coldness. This anger. If it’s not hate, what is it?’
I don’t answer.
She sighs, running a hand through her damp hair, shoulders high. ‘You know what? Never mind. Thank you for the welfare check. Go back to your life, and I’ll … figure out mine.’
She turns towards the cottage, and something in her defeated posture breaks through my defences.
‘Jess was dying,’ I say, the words scraping my throat. ‘She was dying, and Maggie said she was going to contact you. She thought … she thought you might help. Even just a phone call. Just something. Because we were friends, right? Before everything else, above everything else, we were friends?’
Isla stops, her back to me, perfectly still.
‘But you never came.’
She turns slowly, her face pale under the night sky and net of stars hanging overhead.
‘Kit, I never knew. I found a postcard from Maggie when I got back here – this totally Maggie-appropriate postcard that I’ve only seen for the first time a matter of days ago.
I swear to you, Marcus…’ She breaks off, shaking her head.
I’m desperate for her to carry on, to tell me, to stop the thoughts sneaking into my head since the news broke about Isla and Vale.
JUST TELL ME WHAT HE DID TO YOU … I want to shout. But I don’t.
She stops. Lips pressed tight. And I won’t ask.
‘Would it have mattered if you’d known about Jess?’ I ask instead. ‘Would you have come back if you knew what was happening here?’
Her eyes fill with tears. ‘Yes,’ she whispers, and her body slumps like I’ve kicked her. ‘It would have mattered. I would have come back in a heartbeat, Kit.’
We stand there, the night air cool between us, years of misunderstanding and hurt stretching like a chasm.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says finally. ‘About Jessica. About not being here. I’m so sorry, Kit.’
The sincerity in her voice scratches deep in places I try not to access. ‘Yeah. Me too.’ I nod, not trusting myself to say more.
And yet, when our eyes meet, it almost feels like the years never happened at all.
‘Goodnight, Isla.’
I walk away before I can make a mistake. Before I can let the past back in. I have Maisie to think about now.