Page 81 of The Art of Loving You

‘There’s a fan in the snug. Want to sit in front of it?’

She nodded.

‘I’m just going to grab a shower and get changed. I’m covered in soil. I’ll be down as soon as I can and we can have an early lunch.’ I wanted to wash away Noah’s gaze. His touch. The words he did not say. Did he see me as more than a friend? If Alice hadn’t interrupted would he have tried to kiss me?

Would I have let him? I dismissed that thought immediately. I never wanted to kiss anyone but Jack.

But still, I covered my cheek with my own hand, feeling the warmth of his palm upon my skin.

I was notably cooler, dressed in clean shorts and T-shirt, when I went downstairs but I was still feeling rough. The relentless heat and too many thoughts making my head pound. I could hear the loud whirr of the fan. Inside the snug Alice was oblivious to my approach. She had a photo of Jack in her hands and she was crying.

‘I don’t know how to tell her, Jack.’

I was hit by a bolt of fear. ‘Alice?’ My voice was so low and gravely it was unfamiliar. ‘Tell me what?’

‘Nothing,’ she said defensively.

‘It must be something. What?’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘It can’t be that bad?’

‘It is.’ She couldn’t look at me.

What? What did she mean? I ran through things in my mind; what was the worst thing I could possibly think of?

It hurt as it barged into my mind. I didn’t really believe it for a second but she wouldn’t talk and I couldn’t stop putting two and two together, coming up with entirely the wrong answer. And her silence made my treacherous mind fork over the possibility even more.

Jack and Alice.

Again I shoved the notion away; it was ridiculous, impossible and yet Alice sat before me, covering her face with her hands.

I had to be wrong though, Jack wouldn’t do that. Alice wouldn’t do that, would she?

Do we ever properly know anyone?

My mind cast back, Alice at the twelve-week scan. ‘Artistic! He’ll take after Jack.’

Faith’s text. ‘Have you spoken to Libby yet?’ She’d explained this away with the Norfolk painting but what if she were covering up for Alice? Preserving Jack’s memory.

I jumped forward again; today Alice had been strange, making me promise I’d love my niece, that I wouldn’t judge her.

Wouldn’t judge her for what? Her mother’s mistakes?

I didn’t feel the words rise from my gut, words I would never be able to take back. They formed their toxic shape on my tongue. I didn’t even know if I believed it when I asked, ‘Alice, is Jack the father of your baby?’

The very second I accused Alice of sleeping with Jack I knew I was wrong. I wanted to grab the hateful words with my fists and stuff them back into my mouth and that was before I saw her face crumple.

I’d hurt the person I loved most in the world, immeasurably, and all I could do was apologise.

Where had that come from? Why did I say it? It was like I wasn’t in charge of my own thoughts, my own words.

‘I didn’t mean that. I’ve been … It’s grief. I get these odd moods, irrational thoughts, I’m sorry.’

‘So am I, Libby. I’m sorry that you … you think that … thatJackis … that me andJack…’ She swiped away angry tears.

‘But …’ My thoughts were muddled, I couldn’t think clearly. Why wasn’t she denying it? ‘He’s not …’ I waited for her to say no. ‘Is he?’ I couldn’t stop the question bursting from my mouth again.

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