Page 98 of The Holiday Cottage

Patrick didn’t look reassured. “I understand, but up until a few weeks ago you refused to think about Tina, or talk about her.”

“And in the past few days I’ve been forced to do both.” She took another sip of wine and then put her glass down next to his. “I used to think I’d handled the whole Tina situation well by blocking it out. Ignoring that part of my life. Moving on. I was proud of myself—can you believe that? I was frustrated that my mother couldn’t do the same.”

“You have every reason to feel proud. You moved on from a horrible situation.”

“No, I didn’t. Not really.” She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck. “It was avoidance, Patrick.”

“Avoidance is a perfectly legitimate coping mechanism.”

“Maybe. But it’s a fragile coping mechanism. When it all came out yesterday and I was forced to confront it, I almost had a panic attack. That whole time was so difficult that the idea of reliving it terrified me.”

“So feeling that way, why would you want to see Tina?”

“That’s just it. I don’t feel scared anymore. I keep telling my mother that she should stop blaming herself and just accept what happened, but today in the forest when I was talking to Imogen, I realized that I need to do the same thing. Not avoid it, but accept it. Imogen has lived with this her whole life. She hasn’t had the luxury of being able to block it out, or run away from it, and nor has she had the comfort of family support. She did what needed to be done, and she did it alone and with great courage, it seems.”

“It sounds as if she has inspired you.”

“Maybe she has. I certainly felt humbled. And a bit cowardly, if I’m honest. Talking to her made me think about the person I am, and the role model I want to be to our girls. I want life to be smooth for them, of course, but we both know that’s not likely to happen, because life is so rarely smooth. I want to give them the confidence that they can navigate whatever challenges come their way. I don’t want them to hide from things, the way I have.”

“I think you’re being hard on yourself.” He reached out and brushed his thumb across her cheek. “You were young, and it was a tough time. Not surprisingly it had a huge impact on you.”

“Imogen was young too. But she handled it.”

“So are you going to suggest it? Seeing Tina?”

“No, I’m going to take my lead from her. Maybe she’ll decide she doesn’t want to talk to her mother. But if she does, then I want her to know I’m there to support her. That’s what families do, isn’t it?”

She was determined to make up for all the years Imogen had been forced to face life on her own.

He let his hand drop. “If you do this, then I’m coming too.”

Her insides softened. “I appreciate that, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Indulge me. If you’re going within a kilometer of Tina, I want to be there.”

“Why?”

“You need to ask? Because I love you. Didn’t you say a moment ago that words don’t mean anything without actions? Call this an action.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. “I’m a lucky woman.”

“You are.” His mouth lingered on hers. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you how lucky.”

It was the perfect end to an almost perfect day.

21

Imogen

“You haven’t told me where we’re going.” Imogen grabbed her thick coat and her hat and gloves. Miles was leaning against the front door, waiting for her.

“I thought you’d be ready. Am I early?”

“No, I’m running behind. I overslept. Again.” The sun was shining, but she knew it was bitterly cold outside. “It’s becoming a habit.”

She’d gone from barely sleeping at all to sleeping deeply. And she’d started to wonder whether Rosalind might have been right. Maybe she had been on the edge of burnout. Over the past few days the knot of tension in her stomach had eased, and that feeling that she was running full speed ahead with nothing in the tank had disappeared. She no longer had thoughts of work racing around her head. She didn’t scribble on notepads in the dark or send herself emails at three in the morning. There was no one to manage, no deadlines to meet and no to-do list waiting for her. She switched her phone off in the evening and didn’t look at it again until the morning.

And she slept. She didn’t know if it was the comfortable bed, or the way the soft down duvet wrapped itself around her, or the lack of city noise, but it felt as if she’d had more sleep over the past few nights than she had over the past year. Even the two missed calls from her mother hadn’t been enough to keep her awake.

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