Chapter Thirty
The walk back up Sandy Lane from the beach was a noisy affair, driven by the children’s post-match energy.
Ollie was still demonstrating a particular kick that had nearly taken out James Fellows, while Jake trotted beside him, his red toy car executing complex aerial manoeuvres off the top of the garden wall.
William walked at the rear of the procession, his hands tucked deep into his pockets, his chin buried in the collar of his jacket. The warm, late-spring sunshine was still bright, but he felt insulated from it, his mind stuck on the promenade path.
Inside Cliffside House, the routine of washing sandy feet and stowing trainers took over the hallway.
His parents weren’t there to help manage the clutter; they had taken the opportunity of his week off shift to go on a short holiday, leaving him to manage the household by himself.
He guided the boys upstairs to get changed out of their sandy socks, while Mia and Sophie headed into the kitchen to help prepare an easy evening meal.
Since they’d had a heavy burger lunch at the café, William decided cheese on toast would do for tea.
Once the hallway chaos had cleared, William walked into the front sitting room and stopped beside the broad bay window. Beyond the wild dividing hedge, The Gables stood quiet in the bright afternoon light.
He replayed the conversation on the promenade.
You don’t owe me an explanation.
She was right. He didn’t. Yet the thought of Lydia believing he had welcomed Hilary’s attention had been unbearable.
He had explained what happened, and she had believed him — he was almost certain of that. But the hurt in her eyes remained lodged beneath his ribs.
Why had it mattered so much to her?
A possibility stirred, tentative and dangerous. Perhaps Lydia cared whom he spoke to. Perhaps seeing Hilary touch him had hurt because—
William pushed the thought away before it could fully form. Lydia had history he knew little about. Her reaction might have had nothing to do with him and everything to do with someone who had betrayed her before.
Even so, she had looked at him as though he mattered.
Heavy teenage footsteps sounded on the stairs. Ethan came into the sitting room holding a printed copy of Simon’s audio-routing plan.
“Dad?” Ethan stopped when he saw him standing by the window. “Everything all right for Saturday? Simon says we need to test the microphone lines early.”
William turned away from The Gables. The excitement in Ethan’s eyes was unmistakable.
“Everything’s fine, mate. The stocks are completely dry. We’ll load them into the trailer after tea on Friday so we’re ready for the six o’clock setup.”
Ethan nodded, satisfied, and headed towards the kitchen, where the smell of melting cheese was beginning to drift along the hall.
William remained by the window for another moment. The Carnival was only days away, and there was more than enough to occupy him until then.
But as he followed Ethan towards the kitchen, one question stayed with him.
Had Lydia been hurt because of the past — or because of him?