Page 107 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

Lowell nods. ‘He needs to sign the withdrawal letter.’

‘And then . . . ’ She can’t let herself believe what this might mean if Essie doesn’t make it. Or even if she does . . .

‘We’ll see,’ says Lowell. ‘Don’t . . . let’s just wait and see for now.’

She can’t help it. She hugs him, his big scratchy jumper, the comforting heft of him; the pleasant smell of graphite and flowers from the garden, and just a trace of puppy. He puts his armaround her. It is suddenly alarming to them both how comfortable and comforting this is; not embarrassing, not strange. Not strange at all. And suddenly something shifts in the air between them as she rests against the large bulk of him she has dreamed of, the adrenaline still in their bodies, caught up in the excitement of the moment, and for once she isn’t thinking about her wrinkles or her breasts or her to-do list or her family. She isn’t thinking about anything apart from how much she wants to kiss this man’s soft lips, and she wants to kiss them now.

The laundry door opens without a sound. A small, exasperated person is standing there signing furiously. ‘What are you doing?’

They both freeze. Janey disengages herself, as the puppies run up to Verity to rasp at her with their little tongues and bite her shoelaces. Verity’s giggle is curious; startlingly loud and deep. It is lovely to hear it.

Janey steps outside and opens up her hands.

‘Your dad,’ she signs, even as he moves ahead and opens the door and they all tumble out into the garden, the sea in the air, the early afternoon sun with warmth in it, as the meadowsweet blows. ‘Your dad did something very brave and kind to help my daughter.’

‘Essie?’

‘Yes. It was brave and kind and possibly a bit stupid.’

Verity lets out a giggle again, eyeing her dad curiously. Then she pulls Janey down so Lowell can’t see them or make out what she’s saying.

‘Is he a good dad?’

Janey nods. ‘I think he is a very good dad,’ she signs as emphatically as she can. ‘And I think he loves you very much.’

‘Mum says . . . ’

‘Your mum is a very clever person. But also . . . ’

This is a lot to sign. She’s more used to discussing treatment options, or discussing Frisko the Bear with very small patients.

But somehow, in this other language, she feels freer. Her hands can express so much more, than even saying it. As she says it to Verity, this solemn child caught in the middle of something nobody understands, she wishes she were saying it to Essie – realises she should be.

‘Sometimes if people love a child but not each other . . . it can make things very difficult.’

‘Like when Daddy gave Felicity away because he was so sad?’

‘Exactly like that.’

‘Does Mummy hate Daddy?’

Janey thinks back to her own feelings. Well. Yes. Maybe. But children don’t need to know that; shouldn’t have to inherit it. They should be protected in every way possible.

‘She’s just sad. Sad that you don’t all live together and that it has all happened. Sad. That’s what it is.’

Verity nods. ‘It makes me sad too.’

‘I know.’

‘Does it make Daddy sad?’

Janey thinks of him in the bluebells. ‘So sad.’

‘Does he hate me?’

‘Never. You are his best thing in the world.’

Verity looks at her, frowning. ‘Should I cuddle him?’

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