Page 98 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

Verity’s face is suddenly full of longing. She hasn’t stopped staring at her painted nails either. Essie suddenly wonders about taking her shopping – her clothes are horrible, plain and far too young for her – then realises maybe she’s going too far . . . and then, suddenly, the phone starts to buzz, and buzz and buzz, and Verity puts her hands flat down on the earth, because she can feel it.

*

She realises Verity is tugging at her skirts; realises she is frozen to the spot. Her brain cannot compute what she’s looking at. It can’t be. It just can’t . . . Tris’s fund . . . there is a picture of him, in the newspapers, his face hangdog. No mention of Connor’s name. But.

The moment is endless: the moment when you realise you have hurt yourself, but before the pain reaches you, before it’s reached you, that split second, when you know it is coming and nothing, absolutely nothing can stop it. She sits there paralysed, waiting for the blow.

Verity continues to pluck away, wanting to show her that Argyll will give her a paw (if she grabs it vehemently, repeatedly), but Essie can’t even see her. Oh, my God. Dwight. The cottages. Everything. Everything. Every single penny.

It’s been a week. The money will all have been transferred.

And the deeds to the properties.

Oh, my God. Everything. Of course. It all makes sense. No wonder Tris was willing to let Dwight into his fund. He must have been desperate to stop it all collapsing. And it hadn’t been enough.

They are the definition of collateral damage.

Verity goes and fetches her father.

‘Essie, what is it?’ She has gone white as a sheet, and he is very worried she is about to faint. ‘Sit down . . . you’re freezing.’

He takes her inside instead. The puppies romp along behind them, but for once he doesn’t even notice, as they trail mud from his ruined flowerbeds on to his pristine wooden floors.

‘What is it? What’s happened? Is it Janey?’

Essie just about unfreezes her head for long enough to shake it, and Lowell lets out a sigh of relief. He fetches her a glass of water and, by the time he gets back, with trembling fingers she has managed to pull up the story and shows it to him. At first, he doesn’t quite understand it – he hasn’t been following – then he looks at her.

‘This is linked to you?’

Panic flares in Essie again.

She nods mutely and breaks down in sobs. Verity creeps forward, reads the story on the phone but doesn’t understand it. Nonetheless her little paw pats Essie on the shoulder, which makes Essie sob even harder. Lowell thinks he had better call Janey, double quick, and, just as he is thinking this, Janey bursts through the door, not even bothering to knock. The puppies go nuts.

‘Essie!’

Janey is bright pink and she’s sweating and her hair has escaped from its bobble but she couldn’t care less. Lowell incontrast is rather impressed: she looks like a proud Valkyrie, determined and fierce and, frankly, incredibly sexy.

‘Darling. Darling,’ she says, unfortunately to Essie, Lowell thinks. It would be quite nice if she were saying it to him.

Verity signs frantically and Janey, anxious to lower the emotional temperature in the room suddenly – Lowell looks rather startled too, Janey can’t help but notice – crouches down and rapidly signs to her. ‘You know how your dad thinks you’re still a baby sometimes?’

Verity nods her head vehemently.

‘Well,’ she signs, speaking out loud at the same time. ‘This is my baby.’

And she sits down and takes Essie in her arms, and she meets no resistance.

37

Janey eventually glances up at Lowell, even as she’s helping Essie out to the car.

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m sure you’ve had enough drama.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Is she going to be alright?’

‘Nobody died,’ says Janey, loudly. ‘Nobody’s in hospital.’

Verity’s face relaxes as she reads Janey’s lips, and Essie feels even worse, for not explaining herself to the little girl.

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