Page 89 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

‘I know,’ she says. ‘I have no moral consistency anywhere. I’m worse than Essie, and sometimes she pretends she’s a vegan.’

‘Do you kill spiders?’

‘No! Oh, my God, only monsters would do that.’

‘And you won’t even pick a bluebell.’

There is a long silence, and now there are only the birds chirping, noisily, in the woods far above their heads, the rustling of leaves with gentle breezes making their own sweet way, and just for a second, for the tiniest of seconds, Janey isn’t thinking anything at all. Isn’t making a list in her head of what she needs to be doing that day, what needs to be done, laundry and shopping and dinner and her children and work and the car and that wobbly banister that keeps catching everyone out and the state of her neck and the nice coat she has been meaning to take to the dry-cleaners for eight months . . . all of it evaporates, on a cloud of pale purply blue.

And she feels it once again, like a surge of sap that comes when she’s with Lowell: that tearing excitement – how can she have forgotten it after all this time, forgotten what she had spent so many of her teenage years dreaming of, fantasising about; somuch of her twenties searching for and fumbling about with; what she had found, or thought she had, once or twice, then lost it, or been disillusioned, sometimes quickly, and finally very, very slowly, a deflating balloon of years and years and years until she had felt completely shrivelled.

The back of her neck prickles. Lowell looks at her for a long, steady second and this time she holds it, bathes in it, moves closer towards him.

‘Ah!’

Verity appears, Felicity bounding beside her, great armfuls of bluebells in each hand. She ceremoniously presents them each with a huge bunch.

‘Thank you,’ signs Janey, rather clumsily. The spell is broken. ‘And I’ll bring you the things we talked about and show you how to use them. But honestly, I think you’ll be fine.’

Verity nods.

‘Oh, yeah,’ says Lowell. ‘Um, and is your girl going to help me with the pups?’

‘I think so,’ says Janey. ‘If she ever speaks to me again.’

33

The house is tidy – that’s something. Janey walks in quietly, once she gets home from work, incredibly anxious, which is a ridiculous way to feel about walking into your own home. Although, after years of walking on eggshells with Colin, not a new experience.

Essie is in the kitchen. The kitchen is clean. Essie has been scrubbing, something she thinks is not without irony. She is trying to distract herself. She can’t make nice chat with Connor and she can’t listen to the hammering and whistling going on next door, so the vacuum cleaner seemed the best thing to drown everything out, including the commotion in her own head. Today was startling, astonishing in so many ways. She cannot repeat it.

‘Hey,’ says Janey.

‘Hey,’ says Essie, staring at the floor.

‘I’m . . . I’m sorry we shouted,’ says Janey. ‘I’m sorryIshouted. I don’t want us to shout.’

‘I’ll . . . ’

Essie had called Connor, terrified of herself, absolutely terrified he’d be able to tell she’d cheated just from her voice. He had asked what had brought it on and she had just said it was her time of the month. He went to an all-boys’ school; he’s scared of periods. ‘Yeah, that’s just what Tris thought,’ he’d said. Then a pause.

‘I’m sorry,’ Essie had said again, heartfelt and guilty.

‘That’s alright, babes. Tris is really happy he’s taking over this deal from Dwight.’

‘I think Dwight is too.’

‘I think there’ll be some consulting work in it for you,’ says Connor. ‘If you like.’

And, all at once, her heart had leapt. And it had leapt even more when she’d checked her email, which she’d almost given up on, to find out she had an interview in the city for the Mergers and Acquisitions job. She had put her noble thoughts about serving Carso to the back of her mind immediately. She could make it okay. She could find her way back. Back to the city. Back to her life. And her very suitable boyfriend, who did not live with his (delightful) parents; who was sweet, and thoughtful, and appropriate. And okay, could not . . . could not . . . she flushed even to think of it. Could not make her feel what Dwight had made her feel. But that – that wasn’t everything. And if she is working on the project still, doing some consulting, well, she can oversee it, can’t she? Make sure it goes somewhere good . . .

‘I’ll be gone soon,’ she says now.

Janey’s heart is breaking. Her darling girl. And this gulf she cannot cross.

‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘Doesn’t feel like that,’ says Essie, shortly, her mind still beavering away. She has so much going on now. Her mum is still bleating about the car and this morning’s argument, not even noticing the seismic changes in Essie’s life.

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