Chapter 40
THEN
Mid August
‘Where do you want to go for dinner tonight?’ Ryan asked as we got ready for work.
I glanced up at him, doubt creasing my brow. ‘Are you sure you want to go out?’
‘We agreed we would, didn’t we?’
‘Well, yeah, but you’re so busy and tired—’
Ryan sighed. ‘Just pick somewhere.’
I froze.
‘Erm…’ My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of a single restaurant. ‘That Italian we like,’ I muttered finally.
Ryan grunted but didn’t look impressed. Had I picked the wrong place?
‘Unless you’d prefer somewhere else?’
‘I make decisions all day, Kirsty. Can’t you just make one?’
I drew back.
‘Italian,’ I repeated quietly.
He turned and walked out of the kitchen.
I stared at his back, a familiar feeling pressing against me.
I’d made the wrong choice. I’d irritated him.
Again.
Two Years Ago – Mid September
‘Which way do you want to go?’ Ryan asked as we stepped off the ferry and wandered past the visitor centre. We stopped at the signpost where the path split in different directions.
I smiled. ‘I don’t mind. I’ve never been to Brownsea Island before. Everything looked beautiful online.’
His gaze flicked between the signs, his jaw tightening as he weighed up the options, as though the choice mattered more than I realised.
‘How about the bird reserve?’ I suggested, pointing towards the path on the right. ‘I think it loops around the lagoon before rejoining the woodland path again,’ I said, recalling what I’d read on the website.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Let’s do that.’
We fell into step, our hands automatically finding each other as we followed the dirt path towards the wooden boardwalk.
‘It’s so quiet,’ I whispered, conscious of the slight creak of the boards beneath our feet. I didn’t want to disturb the birds. Not that I was really interested in birdwatching. I hadn’t chosen this route for them. I’d chosen it for us.
The boardwalk winding through the marsh, between tall grasses and reeds had looked so serene and romantic online. I’d imagined us meandering along it, talking about everything and nothing. Simply reconnecting.
And now, we were here. Away from Blackwater. Away from Ryan’s family. Away from Charlotte.
Just us.
The moment the ferry had pulled away from Poole Quay, I’d felt the tightness inside me loosen. Only then had I allowed myself to believe we’d have the whole day to ourselves. Ryan couldn’t get off a moving boat.
I knew my logic was flawed. His parents or Charlotte could still call. He could catch the next ferry back if he wanted to. But maybe the phone signal out here would be weak. Maybe, for a little while, he’d just be with me.
I needed that.
Needed him.
Ryan didn’t say anything. Part of me was disappointed. I’d wanted us to be how we were before. Chatting. Laughing. I took a deep breath, the stillness of our surroundings felt calming. Maybe it was okay to be quiet for a while. To share this together.
I felt strangely conflicted as we reached the end of the boardwalk and rejoined the dirt path through the woodland. Perhaps we would talk now. Or perhaps we wouldn’t…
‘Hungry?’ Ryan asked as we reached a clearing overlooking the beach below. ‘This would be a good spot for our picnic.’
‘It’s perfect,’ I replied, smiling up at him. It was the most he’d said since we’d arrived.
I stood back as Ryan laid the blanket on the grass, straightening the corners that lifted in the breeze.
‘There,’ he said, sitting down on it.
I handed him the cooler bag as I crouched to join him.
A flash of movement passed close to my face, accompanied by a sharp buzz.
I leapt back up to my feet.
‘Now what?’ Ryan snapped.
I flinched, his tone stinging more sharply than the wasp I’d been trying to avoid.
‘It’s a wasp,’ I said, dodging to the right as it flew at me again.
‘Just keep still.’ His voice was quieter now, but the impatience was still there, thin and taut.
My body tensed as I fought to comply with his instruction and remained frozen in place.
Ryan turned away, unpacking the picnic as though nothing had happened.
Finally, the wasp drifted away and I sank back onto the blanket.
‘Thanks,’ I murmured as Ryan handed me a sandwich.
He used to laugh when I did that. He called it my wasp dance. He’d mimic me flailing and twirling, teasing me until we were both breathless with laughter.
But now his expression was tense and strained.
Had he ever really been okay with it?
With me?
Maybe he’d only tolerated the parts of me that didn’t fit his world. The clumsy, nervous parts. The ones that didn’t look calm or capable, especially outdoors.
Maybe he’d told himself it was just part of the package.
But tolerating someone wasn’t the same as accepting them, was it?
And shouldn’t that have been the foundation?
I stared at the sandwich in my hand, my appetite gone.
I’d read somewhere that behaviour was a language. The thought lingered, nagging at me no matter how much I tried to ignore it.
Ryan always made promises.
But his actions…
‘I’m leaving now,’ Ryan called from the hall.
I slid my breakfast bowl into the sink and hurried out of the kitchen.
His arms opened as I reached him and I stepped into his embrace without hesitation.
I breathed him in, his coconut shower gel familiar and comforting. I lingered for a moment longer than usual.
This was us.
This was what I’d been holding on to.
I pulled back slightly, tilting my chin up, my lips brushing his.
His arms loosened and he stepped back.
I swallowed, withdrawing as cold, sharp disappointment settled over me. That was familiar, too.
I forced a smile. ‘Have a good day.’
Ryan was already pulling his phone from his pocket, his attention shifting elsewhere as he reached for the door.
‘You too,’ he said, without looking up. ‘See you at the restaurant at 7 p.m.’
I paused, wondering whether it was too late to suggest something else? Something he’d actually want?
My chest tightened.
But what did he want?