Page 103 of The Holiday Cottage

You can treat me to a day out in London sometime.

The knowledge that he was already hoping they’d see each other again gave her a dizzying buzz.

“Why are you smiling?” Miles unloaded the food and coffee from a tray and sat down next to her.

“Because I’m enjoying myself.”

“That’s a relief.”

“The last woman you dated—” she kept her voice casual “—was it serious?”

“No. Definitely casual.” He ate a mouthful of chocolate cake. “She didn’t like my lifestyle. The last serious relationship I had was three years ago. She also didn’t like my lifestyle. Nor did she like living in the countryside. How about you?”

She took a sip of coffee, wondering how honest to be. “My dating history is pretty sparse and unimpressive.”

“Tell me about your last boyfriend.”

She put her cup down. “That would be Jack.” She felt color heat her cheeks and he raised an eyebrow.

“And Jack was—don’t tell me—a successful banker with an income the same size as his ego?”

“Not exactly.” She hesitated. “Jack was fictitious.”

There was silence as he digested that. “Fictitious? You mean he doesn’t exist?”

“That’s right. I made him up. I got tired of using dating apps, but it was occasionally convenient to have a boyfriend, so I invented a guy called Jack.”

But it was time to let him go. Jack, Midas—she was clearing the fake out of her life.

“Why was it convenient to have a boyfriend?”

She stared out of the window for a moment, wondering why she was telling him this. “I wanted to fit in. I invented a life I thought would make me seem like everyone else.”

“Why would you want to be like everyone else?”

“Because growing up I always felt different. Other people seemed to have homes, and even though plenty of them had separated parents, their parents still seemed to be interested in them. I didn’t want to stand out, so I used to make things up. It wasn’t just a boyfriend.” And soon she was telling him all of it. How she’d tried to blend in when she was at school and then college, how she’d learned to present herself in a certain way in order not to draw attention. She told him about her first day at RPQ when everyone had personal items on their desk. “They all talked so openly about family and friends. What was I supposed to say? That my mother insists I call her by her first name because she dislikes any suggestion that we’re related? It was too personal. And I suppose deep down I was afraid that if they knew me they’d judge me. If your own mother isn’t interested in you, why would anyone else be?”

“I think that says more about your mother than you.”

“Maybe. But if they thought that, then they would have been sympathetic, and I didn’t want that either. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me. I just wanted to fit in and do my job.”

He nodded slowly. “So you invented a family and a dog to avoid the questions and make it easier. Did the dog have a name?”

“Midas. He was an accident, really. I mentioned him in passing one day because everyone had pets, and I thought that would be a simple way of bonding. I didn’t think for one moment anyone would expect to meet him. It escalated, and it wasn’t easy to extract myself. The email about ‘Bring your dog to work day’ was a low point.”

“Bring your dog to work day?” He smiled and she frowned at him, affronted.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No. I’m wondering if any of your colleagues understand just how much havoc a group of dogs can create. I’m also trying to picture your face when they told you they’d sent out ‘missing dog’ notices.”

She groaned at the memory. “The gods of lying certainly weren’t smiling down on me, particularly when the actual owner of the dog called the number. Next time I won’t use a photo from the internet.” But she was smiling too because he was right—looking back on it, it was funny. And it felt good to finally be honest with someone. To share it. Good, and also unnerving. She’d never been her true self with anyone before. She poked at the foam in her coffee, wondering what he really thought of her. “So now I’ve told you all of it, you can leave if you like. No hard feelings.”

His smile faded. “Leave? Why would I leave?”

“Because I just told you all about myself.” She put the spoon down. “You must think I’m batshit crazy.”

“For wanting to fit in? No, of course not. That’s a pretty human need. We’re herd animals. And as for not wanting to talk about your mother—” he shrugged “—why would you? Plenty of people have things in their lives they prefer not to share, Imogen.” He was so relaxed about it, so unfazed by her honest confession, that she started to relax.

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