Page 36 of A Cornish Winter's Kiss

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Something inside Jude had begun shifting when he was watching Emily at Cecil’s Adventures the night before. Her utter conviction about the love story she was reading made him start to believe it too. It was listening to Emily that had made him ask the audience about what sacrifices they’d made in the name of love. He’d wanted to hear that she was right, and that love didn’t always have to be some kind of transaction. She’d already told him she thought his biological mother had made sacrifices when he was adopted – sacrifices that were out of love for him, rather than because she didn’t want to sacrifice her freedom in order to be a parent. He had no way of knowing that for certain now that Patricia was dead, but Emily had helped him believe in the possibility, and so had every answer the audience at Cecil’s Adventures had given him.

He’d wanted to tell Emily after the reading that he was sorry for the way he’d reacted on the day they’d kissed, and that it was because of how he felt about her that he’d shut down, the way he always did in order to protect himself. He might not have been quite that honest, but he’d have started with an apology at least and the admission that he wanted to keep seeing her ina way that had nothing to do with revisions to his book. He’d really wanted to talk to her about the option the intermediary agency had given him of trying to trace other members of his biological mother’s family, and to ask what she would do in the same circumstances. It wasn’t that he thought Emily had all the answers, but he trusted her to be honest with him and to tell him what was in her heart rather than what she thought he wanted to hear. That was the kind of perspective he needed when he’d got so used acting with his head rather than his heart.

Jude had walked towards Emily and her family, ready to tell her all those things as soon as they had the chance to talk on their own, but then he’d been blindsided by the conversation with Gwen. It had been dropped in his lap like a hand grenade, and suddenly all the trust he’d had in Emily had evaporated. He wasn’t surprised she’d spoken to her parents about his adoption; after all, he’d mentioned it to them himself and told them about losing his mum in the accident. But he’d specifically told Emily that he didn’t want her asking around for help to trace his biological mother, even before he’d discovered that Patricia was dead, and yet she’d still gone ahead. It was yet more proof that people let you down in the end and did the things they thought were best, even after they’d pretended to listen to what you wanted. He hadn’t trusted himself to respond. Thank God Maddie had called him over when she did.

Emily had tried phoning, but he hadn’t picked up and he’d left all her messages unread. He didn’t know what to say to her yet, but he wasn’t going to act like an idiot and ignore her forever. He wanted a clean break, a way of sayingThanks for your help, but we don’t need to meet again. Part of him wanted to tell her that he felt like she’d betrayed him, but an even bigger part didn’t want her to know she’d been able to affect him that much, because he didn’t even like admitting it to himself.

Rufus kept looking at him with disdain too. It had been three days since he’d last seen Gary Barlow and it was clear that was far too long to be acceptable. He’d had yet another message from Viv asking when he was coming over, and playing happy families was something he definitely couldn’t face.

‘Let’s go for a walk.’ Jude walked over and took Rufus’s lead off the hook by the front door just as an envelope was pushed beneath it. By the time he’d opened the door, whoever had delivered the letter was gone.

He didn’t recognise the handwriting on the envelope and, as he pulled the letter out, he realised just how much he was hoping it might be from Emily. But it wasn’t.

Dear Jude

I’m so sorry about last night. I’ve got this horrible habit of jumping into a situation with my big feet before I think it through. I’ve also got a thing about trying to fix other people’s problems, whether they want my help or not. A lot of women suffer from the same complaint, especially those of us who are mothers. I know Patsy does, but this particular faux pas was all down to me.

Patsy mentioned having met you, the fact you were adopted and where you were born. I knew who your biological mother was straight away, because I was there on the day you were born. I should have found a better way of telling you all that rather than just blurting it out and I’m so sorry if it caused you any embarrassment or pain. I’d like to have the chance to apologise properly and to tell you what I know about the circumstances of your birth, if you want to hear them. I’ll be in Mehenick’s Bakery for the next hour or so, if you want to meet for a chat, or my email address is [email protected]

If you don’t want to meet, I completely understand and I hope you can accept my apology. If not, please don’t hold itagainst Patsy or Emily. They really were just trying to help before my big mouth ruined it all.

Gwen

Jude stared at the letter until the words started to blur, an argument he remembered his parents having shortly before his mother’s death suddenly flashing into his mind.

‘Stop trying to resolve all of that boy’s problems for him before he even has a chance to try for himself.’ His father had sounded exasperated, his voice far louder than it needed to be.

‘I’m his mother, Charles. I can’t help it. I just want to make everything okay for him.’

Jude wasn’t sure he’d ever thought of those words since, but they were there, lodged in his head, and Gwen’s letter had just unlocked the memory. His mother had wanted to fix his problems, just like Gwen had said so many mothers did. Suddenly, the urge to know if that was what had driven his biological mother to make the choices she had was almost overwhelming. And no matter how angry he was about having his trust betrayed, if Gwen held any of the answers to that particular riddle, he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to find out.

Gwen was sitting at a table facing the door when Jude walked into Mehenick’s, as if she’d known he was going to turn up. But then she probably had. He doubted there were many people who would refuse the opportunity to discover information about their past, when they had no other way of knowing it.

‘Hi. Can I get you another drink, or something to eat?’ Jude greeted Gwen with the question, suddenly feeling weirdlynervous, aware that it was a delay technique to avoid what he was really here for.

‘No, let me get you something. It’s the least I can do after last night. I’ve got all the subtlety of a brick sometimes.’ Gwen gave him an apologetic smile, and some of the awkwardness he’d been feeling evaporated.

‘It’s okay, I think I was more shocked than anything.’

‘That’s my fault too. I was just so excited to meet you and to tell you what I knew. I didn’t even stop to think whether you wanted to hear it. So you’ve got to let me get you a coffee, and a slice of eggnog cheesecake. It’s new on Jago’s menu this year and apparently it’s delicious.’

‘You really don’t have to, I?—’

‘Oh yes I do.’ She cut him off. ‘What can I get you? A latte, a hot chocolate or something else?’

‘Just a tea will be fine, thanks.’ Gwen clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so he might as well give in to it. Within a couple of minutes she was back at the table.

‘Millie’s going to bring the order over.’ Gwen gestured towards the young girl standing at the counter. ‘I can’t believe she’s old enough to have a part-time job now. It only seems like yesterday that I delivered her.’

‘Is there anyone in Cornwall you didn’t deliver?’ Jude smiled as she pretended to think about it.

‘Put it this way, there are an awful lot of women I could recognise without having to look at their faces.’ That was the line that broke the ice between them, and after that, Jude felt far less apprehensive about what Gwen might tell him. She’d obviously seen and heard it all over the years, and she clearly thought the information she was about to pass on would help him, and he was more certain than ever that he wanted to hear it.

‘What do you remember about the day I was born?’

‘I rarely forget anyone I’ve helped through labour, and I certainly never forgot Trisha. That’s what she asked us to call her, because she hated being called Patricia.’ Gwen paused for a moment. ‘Did you know that?’

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