Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
T he next morning, Dilly woke up to soft light filtering through her curtains, and the gentle sound of seagulls calling outside. She stretched, feeling the warmth of her cosy bed, and reluctantly pushed herself up. With a yawn, she put on her slippers and padded into the kitchen. After grabbing her favourite mug, she made herself a cup of tea and settled on the settee, tucking her legs underneath her. Looking out at the view never failed to take her breath away. The sea sparkled and her eyes followed the line of boats moored at the jetty towards the lighthouse. Her new home.
Hearing her phone ping, she looked and found there was a text from Clemmie.
Last night was a blast and we need to do it again soon! We just need to keep my grandmother away from the Prosecco!
Dilly could hardly keep herself from chuckling as she recalled Betty’s astonished face when the model had dramatically whipped off his clothes.
Clemmie’s second text landed.
And don’t forget to ring the doctors.
Before she could start her day, Dilly knew she had to make an appointment. Usually, she didn’t care what anyone thought about her, but she was worried about what people would say about the pregnancy. Living on a small island had its charms, but privacy wasn’t one of them. Gossip had a way of travelling faster than the island’s sea breezes.
The looming doctor’s appointment brought with it another worry: the inevitable questions about the father of her baby. She was certain that, despite the doctor’s professional discretion, the island’s residents would start wondering and speculating as soon as they found out she was pregnant. She knew she had to prepare herself for curious glances and to craft a narrative, a story she could stick to consistently, no matter who asked. It had to be believable and simple, something that would quell the gossip before it had a chance to take root. She didn’t want anyone knowing the father was Giles.
She considered her options carefully, knowing that whatever story she invented would become an integral part of her life for a very long time. It needed to be something she could live with, something that wouldn’t contradict itself over time. Everyone on the island knew about her relationship with Giles but they also thought he’d been out of the picture a lot longer than he had, and they all undoubtedly knew by now that he’d been sentenced. Dilly decided then and there that she wouldn’t admit Giles was the father. She wanted to protect her child from the stigma and judgment that could possibly follow that revelation. If she acknowledged Giles as the father, there was also a risk that as her baby grew up, word would get to them about who their father was and what he had done, before she was ready to share the information herself. Dilly definitely didn’t want that. That would be her story to tell, on her terms, and when the time was right.
Her mind raced as she pieced together the story she would tell the islanders. The tale she created revolved around a one-night stand, a spontaneous, passionate encounter that no one could easily question.
She imagined herself at an art convention in Edinburgh, a trip that had actually taken place just days after she had discovered Giles’s deceit. She’d stayed overnight at a fancy hotel, which would make the perfect backdrop for her story. In her fabricated narrative, she met a gorgeous man at the hotel bar. Their chemistry was off the charts, an instant and irresistible connection that led to a night of uninhibited fun. She imagined the setting vividly, the dim lighting of the bar, the clink of glasses, the buzz of conversation around them, and the magnetic pull between her and this fictional stranger… who looked a lot like Max, if she was being honest with herself.
Dilly reasoned that no one on the island would know she hadn’t met such a man. After all, she was an independent woman with no ties to anyone, free to live her life as she pleased. She could easily claim that she’d decided to indulge in a night of excitement, something entirely out of character but perfectly justifiable given the circumstances.
She was aware that some of the locals might have their opinions about this supposed one-night stand. There would be whispers and judgment from those who held more conservative views. But Dilly reckoned that enduring a bit of gossip was far better than her child discovering the truth about their father before she was ready to tell them. With the decision made, she felt a strange sense of relief wash over her. She had a plan, a way to navigate the inevitable questions and curiosity of the island’s residents. She would stick to her story, repeating it with unwavering confidence until it became as real as any other memory. The only person who would know the truth was Clemmie, but Dilly trusted her not to breathe a word to anyone.
After finishing her cuppa, Dilly reached for her mobile and dialled the doctor’s surgery. The appointment was made for Monday morning. The only other thing she needed to do now was decide when to tell her dad. She knew he would support her no matter what, but first she wanted just a little more time to get used to the idea of becoming a mum, especially under the not-so-normal circumstances.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Dilly emerged from the shower, feeling refreshed. She thanked her lucky stars for her dungarees. They had always been her favourite item of clothing, but now they had the bonus of being roomy enough to hide her ever-expanding stomach for a while longer. Most mums-to-be were able to keep their pregnancy a secret for the first few months, but Dilly knew that with her first scan just around the corner, she wouldn’t be able to keep the news under wraps much longer.
As she wandered downstairs, Dilly was grateful for the hour she had before the gallery opened. Last night had been a whirlwind of creativity and laughter with the best people she knew but it had left her too exhausted to tidy up. Clemmie had offered to help, and in hindsight Dilly wished she’d accepted, but as soon as everyone had left all she’d wanted to do was snuggle under the covers, so she’d made the executive decision to leave clean-up for the morning.
She looked around the gallery now. Easels were still in place, pencils scattered everywhere, and paint pots and brushes stood next to the sink, waiting to be cleaned. Despite the chaos, last night had been so much fun. Everyone had taken their paintings home, thrilled with their work, and Pierre had been an absolute sport throughout the evening. She chuckled at the memory of him completely ignoring the protective bowl of fruit. Taking an apple from said fruit bowl, she bit into it and looked across at her desk. The only task Dilly had managed before slipping into bed was to put Max’s flowers in water. The blooms were utterly gorgeous, a delicate and fragrant arrangement of roses, freesias and eucalyptus, and the soft pinks and whites of the flowers contrasted beautifully with the rich green eucalyptus, their sweet scent gently filling the room. The arrangement now sat elegantly on her desk at the back of the gallery, arranged in her favourite vase, a beautifully intricate piece of glasswork that had been a birthday gift from her mum when she’d opened the gallery. Her mum said a gallery always needed fresh flowers in a beautiful vase.
After pausing to smell the flowers, Dilly began tidying up the gallery. She laughed to herself, recalling the moment when Betty mistook Max for the life model. Despite taking over twenty-four hours to come and see her, at least he had finally shown up, and she was still curious to hear what he had to say for himself. However, it would have to wait. Saturdays were the busiest days in the gallery. Tourists flocked to Sea’s End on the ferry and often walked the causeway to Puffin Island, especially when the weather was as glorious as it was today. Dilly knew there would be no chance to slip out and see him, so she decided to text him. She needed to pin him down to a time when they could talk. Her conversation with her dad was weighing heavily on her mind. Had she overreacted about the incident at the auction? Her dad seemed to think that Max was a genuinely good guy, but if that was the case, why hadn’t he come back to her at the auction? He knew bidding for that lighthouse was a huge deal for her.
Before she could send the message, he beat her to it, her phone pinging with a text message.
Good morning. I hope you survived the evening and so did Pierre! Tonight, 7pm? Let’s chat. The boat house? I’ve moved in x
Dilly wondered whether it would be better to chat in a neutral place but then again, anywhere else they went on the island wouldn’t be private. This way they could have a conversation to clear the air and she could also have a nosey around his flat. She texted back.
See you later x
She hesitated before adding the kiss but as he’d typed one, she did the same.
As soon as there was a lull in customers, Dilly logged on to her emails and felt a flutter of excitement that the first message was from her solicitor. The paperwork for the lighthouse was all in order, and he was inviting her in on Wednesday to finalise everything. As soon as the money was transferred, she could pick up the keys. By the weekend, she would be inside her very own lighthouse! Dilly knew the first task would be to clean it from top to bottom. She quickly logged on to her Amazon account and ordered an abundance of cleaning products. She couldn’t wait to get stuck in, envisioning the gleaming floors and sparkling windows. After that was done, it would be time to paint.
With the easel already set up at the back of the gallery, she slipped on her smock before setting to work on the portrait of her mother, the focal piece for the new gallery, which, if it was possible, she aimed to open by the end of the month. Carefully she sorted out her paints and a selection of favourite brushes, and as she prepared to start she felt that familiar thrill of creativity bubbling up inside her. She took a moment to absorb the image from the photograph, then, with a deep breath, she dipped her brush into the first colour and began to paint. Each stroke was filled with love and precision as she meticulously worked to capture her mother on the canvas.
As the hours passed, Dilly found herself chatting warmly with visitors as they wandered in and out, discussing her art and the gallery, and in between visitors she focused on her painting, which was gradually taking shape, her mother’s likeness coming to life on the canvas in a way that felt almost magical. This portrait was more than just a painting. It was a heartfelt tribute to the woman who had been Dilly’s inspiration and best friend.
Just then, the door opened, and in walked a tall, smiley man dressed in a sharp suit. He looked very distinguished, with a moustache that curled up at the ends, giving him an air of old-world charm. Dilly looked up from the easel and greeted him with a welcoming smile. He wandered through the gallery, his eyes eventually landing on the painting of a whimsical lighthouse set against rugged cliffs and surrounded by puffins in mid-flight. His face lit up with genuine admiration as he pointed to it.
‘This painting is just what I need,’ he said, his voice warm and enthusiastic.
Dilly’s smile widened as she stepped over to him, thrilled by his interest. ‘I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favourites.’
‘It’s perfect. I’ve been looking for something that captures the spirit of the sea and the beauty of the coast. This does it brilliantly. I want to take it!’
Dilly was delighted; sales today had been remarkable. She continued to chat with the distinguished man as she carefully took the painting down from the wall. Together, they moved to the desk, where Dilly began to wrap the painting.
As she wrapped, the man shared a charming story. ‘Many years ago, I visited Puffin Island,’ he began. ‘I was on holiday with my friends at Sea’s End when I met a girl who was obsessed with puffins. We clicked instantly and spent hours here on the island watching them. She was also obsessed with a local band.’
Dilly knew exactly who he was talking about. Betty’s husband had been a member of that band, as was Sam’s grandfather. Though both men were no longer with them, the two other band members, Pete and John, still lived on the island. ‘The Men from Puffin Island,’ she supplied.
‘That was them.’ He paused, a wistful smile. ‘That girl is now my wife. We’ve been married for over fifty years and our first kiss happened right on that rock,’ he said, pointing to the spot in the painting.
Dilly’s eyes widened with delight. ‘Wow! That is so romantic!’ she exclaimed, genuinely touched by his story. She could feel the love and memories that the painting encapsulated for him, making the sale even more meaningful.
The man nodded, his smile broadening. ‘When I saw this painting, it brought back all those wonderful memories. I knew I had to have it for my wife and the timing couldn’t be more perfect as it’s her birthday tomorrow.’
‘Sounds like it was fate that you and this painting would find each other!’
As Dilly was taking the credit card from the man, her eyes drifted over his shoulder and locked onto a woman standing outside the window, gazing in at the paintings.
Dilly’s heart pounded in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat.
It couldn’t be…
No, her mother was dead, killed in the south of France.
But if that was true, how was it that Dilly was looking at her now?
The room seemed to spin, and for a moment, she felt dizzy with confusion, her mind racing with disbelief. Quickly thanking the gentleman and completing the sale, she checked to make sure the woman on the other side of the window was still standing there.
‘Mum,’ she whispered, the word barely audible. The woman began to walk away, and Dilly felt a surge of urgency. She bolted toward the front door, pushing it open with a sense of desperation. ‘Mum!’ she shouted, her voice faltering as she called out. But the woman didn’t look back. She got into a car and drove off, leaving Dilly standing in the doorway, breathless and stunned. Emotions surged through her body, a mix of shock and hope that her mum was alive. But why hadn’t she come inside? Suddenly Dilly was engulfed in confusion. Was she mistaken and losing a grip on reality? She stood there, her heart aching, a million questions racing through her mind.
No, it was her. Dilly was certain.
Hearing someone behind her, Dilly spun around to see Clemmie walking down the street towards her. ‘I’m just taking a breather. The tearoom is manic with this glorious weather. I thought I’d grab some fresh air and check you’ve made your doctor’s appointment,’ she said with a smile.
Dilly was trembling and instant concern etched itself across Clemmie’s face. ‘Dilly, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Oh my gosh, is it the baby? Are you feeling okay?’
‘Clem, it’s not the baby.’ She exhaled. ‘I’ve just seen my mum. She’s alive!’ Dilly blurted.
Clemmie’s expression shifted to one of shock and disbelief. ‘What do you mean, Dilly? Have they found her?’
‘She was standing right here on the pavement, looking through the window,’ Dilly explained, her words tripping over each other. ‘I came out and called to her, but she got into a car and drove off. I’m not sure why she would do that.’
‘Your mum was here, standing right here? On this street, on Puffin Island?’ Clemmie asked, clearly confused.
‘Yes, I saw her,’ Dilly insisted, her eyes wide with certainty.
‘But she didn’t come into the gallery?’ Clemmie questioned, evidently trying to make sense of it all.
‘It was her, I swear! We need to go after her but I can’t remember anything about the car.’ Dilly shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears.
Clemmie took her hands, her grip firm and comforting. ‘Dilly, are you absolutely sure? Because your mum was in a tragic accident in the south of France. It was unlikely she could have survived,’ she said as gently as she could.
‘Clemmie, I’m telling you, that was my mum. She had the same brown curls, the same big blue eyes. I know what my mum looks likes. It was her, I’m absolutely certain. What if she survived the accident but lost her memory? And something has brought her back here but she doesn’t quite know what? You read about people losing their memory all the time and leading another life until something triggers their memory,’ Dilly said, her voice rising in hope and desperation.
Clemmie’s eyes softened with sympathy, yet remained cautious. ‘I understand how much you want this to be true, Dilly, but honestly, I don’t think it possibly could. I think this is someone that maybe just reminded you of your mum.’
Dilly shook her head adamantly, her eyes wide. ‘It was her. I’m not going mad. I saw her. She was standing right there, looking at the paintings. I know what I saw.’
‘Let’s get you into the gallery,’ Clemmie suggested gently.
Dilly hesitated, her eyes still scanning the road, hoping the car would return. But it didn’t.
As soon as they were inside the gallery, Clemmie locked the door behind them. ‘Let me get you a drink,’ she offered.
‘I don’t want a drink,’ Dilly snapped, her frustration bubbling over. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ She sat on a chair, but her eyes kept flicking back to the window in case her mother reappeared.
‘I think a couple of things may have triggered you into thinking and hoping that was your mum,’ Clemmie said tentatively, her voice gentle. She perched on the edge of the desk. ‘Firstly, you’ve just discovered you’re pregnant, and I can only imagine how much you must want your mum here to share your wonderful news. It’s a life-changing moment, and naturally you’d want her support and love.’ Clemmie paused, her gaze drifting to the easel. ‘And secondly,’ she continued, her eyes now fixed on the painting, ‘you’re painting your mum.’ She reached out and picked up the photograph propped next to it, studying it for a moment before looking back at Dilly. ‘Working on this portrait must have brought back a lot of memories and emotions.’
Dilly looked at the photograph in Clemmie’s hand, her eyes welling up with tears. ‘I know what you’re saying but it was real. She was real. Like I’ve just said, people lose their memories after a severe accident. It does happen.’
Clemmie nodded. ‘It does happen, Dilly, but our minds can also sometimes play tricks on us, especially when we’re dealing with so many emotions. The combination of your pregnancy and the act of painting your mum might have made you see what you desperately wanted to see.’
Dilly’s hands were trembling as she wiped away her tears. ‘Clemmie, she was right there, looking through the window. It’s driving me crazy thinking I might have lost her again.’
Clemmie leaned forward, taking Dilly’s hands in hers, offering a comforting squeeze.
‘I’m not wrong, it was her,’ Dilly said, her voice firm despite the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Clemmie’s eyes were filled with concern and empathy. ‘What do you want to do about it? Shall I call your dad? Or even the police?’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Dilly admitted, her voice breaking as she placed her head in her hands and sobbed. The maelstrom of hope, confusion, and fear was almost too much to bear.
Clemmie squeezed her hands a little tighter. ‘It’s okay, take a moment. We can figure this out together.’
Dilly lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen. Now she was starting to question herself. Was Clemmie right? Was it just someone who looked like her mother? No, deep down, her gut feeling was telling her she was right. ‘It felt so real. I just… I don’t want to believe it was anyone else.’
Clemmie nodded. ‘How about we start by seeing if anyone else on the island saw her? Maybe someone can confirm what you saw. Every islander knows Eva so if she’s back, we’ll know about it soon enough.’
Dilly took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. ‘Yes, that makes sense. Do you think I’m crazy? Be honest with me.’
Clemmie shook her head firmly. ‘No, but I do think you’re grieving and you’ve been through a lot. Let’s just take it one step at a time. We can talk to your dad, and maybe, if you think it’s necessary, we can involve the police. But talk to your dad first.’
Dilly nodded slowly, feeling a bit more grounded. ‘Okay. I’ll talk to Dad first. He’ll know what to do.’
Clemmie smiled reassuringly. ‘Exactly. And remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m always here.’
Dilly hugged Clemmie, grateful for her support. ‘Thank you. I just need to know if my mum is really out there.’
‘I know.’ They looked at each other for a moment. ‘I’ve got to get back to the tearoom. Are you going to be okay?’
Dilly nodded. ‘I have to be, I have someone else to consider now.’ She placed her hands on her stomach.
Clemmie stood up. ‘You have, but on this island we all look after each other. If you need me, ring me. I can always come around tonight.’
‘I’m seeing Max at seven.’
‘What’s going to happen there?’
‘I’m not sure. I need to know what the hell happened at the auction.’
‘And are you going to mention the baby?’
Dilly shook her head. ‘No, I need to speak to my dad first. I might call and see him afterwards. If I’m going to tell him I think I’ve seen Mum, I think it would be better in person than in a text.’
‘That sounds like a good idea.’
Dilly watched Clemmie unlock the door and wave goodbye before walking down the street. She sighed. She knew how it must have sounded, but she saw the woman with her own two eyes. It was her mum; she just knew it.