The Summer Without You (54 page)

He didn’t answer. Ro thought he looked too shocked to reply, but she wasn’t going to fall for his denials. She had resisted the charm offensive; this she could handle with ease.

‘She might be taken in by you, but I’m not. I’m going to the police and to hell with proof. They can investigate you and find out what I already know, because I’ve seen
the other side of you, remember? You put on the charm to keep people off the scent – and you’re bloody good at it, I’ll give you that – but I’ve seen your temper and
how it makes you behave to people you think have crossed you—’

‘Just stop right there!’ he said sharply, grabbing her by the wrists, the same anger in his eyes that she had seen once before, that day on the beach. A moment passed as he saw the
truth of what she really thought about him for the first time and an expression of something closing down crossed his features. He looked down and saw he was holding her and he let go –
almost violently – shaking with anger. When he spoke, she almost had to strain to hear.

‘I was at the cafe that day because I had arranged to meet Florence there for lunch; and I was at the house because I was dropping off the children for her; and the reason I cared about
what happened to her grandchildren is because they are
my
children!’

‘Your . . . ?’ Ro echoed, as she suddenly felt a niggle that had lodged in the back of her mind wrest free like an air bubble and rise to the surface.
Mine heart . . .
Mommy’s bed . . .

‘She’s their grandmother! And she will always be their grandmother. That doesn’t stop just because her daughter’s dead!’

‘Marina’s . . . ?’ Ro felt like she’d been double-punched, a quick one-two manoeuvre, the blood pooling to her feet as shock after shock assailed her. ‘But she
never—’

‘What? Talked about it? No! Because she can’t! She can’t make sense of it. None of us can.’ His voice broke and he turned away, his head dropped, his shoulders pinched up
to his ears.

‘I thought you . . . you divor . . .’

He turned back to her, his eyes cold. ‘You’ve clearly thought a lot of things about me.’

‘Ted, I—’

‘She killed herself. Five weeks after Finn was born. Puerperal psychosis, it’s called, a severe form of postnatal depression. Walked out in front of a truck.’

Ro’s hands slapped across her mouth, tears streaming instantly down her cheeks at the true, unthinkable horror of what had really happened to his family, so much worse than she could ever
have imagined. The despair in Ella’s eyes mirrored in the husband’s now standing before her.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she wept, her voice cracked and hoarse. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I thought—’

‘Save it.’ He stared back at her with a contempt she found devastating. ‘I’m really not interested in what you think. Not anymore . . . I want you out of here first
thing.’

And he walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him – so as not to wake the kids.

Ro clutched the pillow, burrowing her face in it as another sob hiccupped through her. How could she have been so wrong? How could she have thrown those conspiracies and
slanders at him when he’d already been through so much?

She had been in bed for hours now and she wasn’t even close to sleeping. She had lain on top of the sheets, listening to him moving about in the living room, too ashamed to try to
apologize, to try to explain that she’d had Florence’s best interests at heart, to let him know that she’d thrown all those words at him wanting to push him away, terrified by the
feelings he aroused in her. Even when she’d thought the very, very worst of him, she’d still wanted him. It had been easier to believe the worst in him than confront the worst in
her.

She pushed the T-shirt back up to her face, smelling it, smelling him, a scent she remembered from that first day on the beach when he’d held her in the ocean and she’d twisted into
him, trying to protect her camera – something in her, then, had known, had understood the chemistry and told her to keep back, keep away from him, keep pushing back. Don’t let him
close. Don’t let him in. He’s dangerous and to be seen as such . . .

She sat up suddenly, something else dislodging in her mind from that first day on the beach. The photos. She scrunched her eyes shut . . . The children – they’d been throwing
something in the water. What was it? What was it?

The truth drifted up like a cold hand in black water . . . A white rose.

Her thoughts slowed down, clarity shining on her like a sunbeam. She had arrived at the end of May. Finn had been born on 18 April. Five weeks earlier.

Oh no. No. It had been the third anniversary of Marina’s death and . . . and she’d just casually photographed them, ‘a pretty scene’, intruded in the most private of all
ceremonies.

She threw off the covers. She had to tell him. Before she left for the last time, she had to tell him how sorry she was, that she understood now, everything. He was the man she’d feared
most after all, the man she’d seen in the home videos and in her dreams and in her subconscious when she’d tried to find Matt. He was the man she’d hoped he wouldn’t be
– because then she’d risk everything.

He would freeze her out, she already knew that, but she had to say the words anyway. Because she had to live with this night – the things she’d said and what they’d have
done.

She opened the door, peering out into the small, dark hall. The children’s door was shut. Holding her breath, she tiptoed through to the main room. It was dark, but she could hear voices,
see a dim glow coming from the other side of the sofa.

She advanced slowly, scared even to breathe, trying to find the words to put this right when she knew there were none. It was done.

A portable DVD player was sitting on a small stool; Ro saw the footage of Marina breastfeeding Ella, knew it would splice into the segment with her with the cabbage leaf and her joke about
gratitude to goulash . . . She looked at Marina moving, laughing – so beautiful, so witty, so independent. A woman Ro could never hope to be. How could she be gone?

Ted was lying on his side, his body rigid, one hand pinched over his face as he paused the footage with the other, unable to keep watching. Hesitantly, she took a step closer, a floorboard
creaking beneath her weight, and he sat upright in a sudden, fierce movement, his face turned up to hers. Before she could stop herself, though words wouldn’t come, her hand was on his cheek,
trying to wipe away the tears that had fallen tonight and so many others before. His eyes took her in – her regret, her sadness, her longing, her here in his T-shirt – and in the next
moment, he had pulled her down to him, his mouth on hers finally.
Finally.

She gasped for air, for a moment’s clarity, pushing herself up so that she straddled him. Their eyes locked and she knew this was it – the final moment, the one before no return, the
one she had been both dreading and waiting for since her first ten minutes here. And then she pulled his T-shirt over her head and tipped her head back, groaning as she felt his mouth on her
breasts. She closed her eyes, knowing she was walking off the cliff, but she let go anyway . . . and realized she could fly.

They sailed back through the Sound, drove slowly through the streets, and Ro wondered how everything continued to look the same when the world had changed overnight. She kept
waiting for reality to bite back. All night, as she’d looked into his eyes, explored him, listened to the sound of his heart beating and she knew it would catch her up sooner or later –
the magnitude of what she’d done would bear down upon her like a fury, for she had stolen this night, stepped off her own path and into someone else’s life, and it was a perfect fit.
Lying in his arms had felt like home.

They turned left off Newton Lane and right into Egypt Lane. She had only a few minutes more with them now, minutes that insisted upon racing past her, though she tried to catch them with
desperate fingers.

She turned back to look at Ella and Finn, both dozing in their seats in the back, worn out from another day that had started at 6 a.m. – before Ted and she had even
tried
to sleep.
They’d gone for a walk through the woods (Ted pinning her behind trees every time the children briefly ran ahead), had lunch at a farm and spent the afternoon on the boat, sailing round the
coastline and showing Ro their favourite bays. She’d photographed it all, but for once, she didn’t need the camera to make it real. Every memory had made an impression in her heart.

They rolled up outside the house, so slowly the engine could scarcely turn over, and she knew he didn’t want to be here yet either. She looked down at their hands, intertwined since the
children had fallen asleep. She felt his eyes on her again and she looked up at him, her heart contracting with pain that he was leaving her, leaving here and driving ninety miles away for another
week . . . when she only had three left.

He kissed her, crushing her lips against his with the same desperation she felt, making the tears fall from her eyes till the saltiness touched his tongue. He pulled back, gazing at her, and she
didn’t care if Hump could see them from the window, or Bobbi, or anyone.

‘I should go,’ she whispered, her hands over his on her cheek, her eyes refilling with the words she couldn’t quite say.

He nodded reluctantly, Ella stirring lightly in the back as the car’s new stillness lightened her sleep. She got out, retrieving her camera bag from the boot as quietly as she could.

‘Ro,’ Ted said, jumping out without even opening the door, pushing a piece of paper into her hand. ‘My number. Look, I’m talking to Julianne as soon as I get back.
There’s no turning back, not for me.’ He squeezed her hand in his. ‘But I know it’s not as straightforward for you.’ He swallowed as he looked at her.
‘It’s your decision.’

She nodded, knowing what he was saying. She had to decide this, choose their future.

He dropped her hand from his gently, and she watched as he walked back round the car. He turned to her. ‘Ro? For what it’s worth, we’re serious about you too . . .
Exceptionally so.’

‘Hello, stranger!’ Hump called, leaping up the studio steps in one bound and landing like a gymnast – arms outstretched – just inside the doorway.

‘Morning, Hump.’ Ro raised an unimpressed eyebrow, her hands wrapped round her favourite red KitKat mug, trying (and failing) to get her day started. ‘Why are you here so
early?’

‘Thought I’d better just check you actually were alive, given that none of us saw you all weekend. Figured if you weren’t here, I’d better call the authorities.’ He
winked.

‘I got my facts wrong. It was a weekend trip.’

‘You don’t say,’ Hump drawled, eyes shining delightedly.

Ro gave nothing back. After Ted had driven away, she had walked through the door, through the empty house (everyone still clearly at the beach) and had fallen straight into bed, where she had
slept solidly for fourteen hours.

‘Bobbi’s pissed she hardly saw you.’

‘Yeah?’ She sighed. ‘I’ll make it up to her next weekend.’

Would she, though? When Ted had said he was serious, what had he meant? Did he expect her to break up with Matt? How could they make such massive life decisions on the strength of one night?

Hump stared at her for a moment, taking in her lacklustre demeanour and lack of eye contact. She wasn’t in the mood for teasing. He walked over, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘You
OK, Ro?’

‘Yup.’ She slurped her tea noisily, trying to make him back off. She couldn’t cope with kindness right now – didn’t deserve it. ‘Tell me about your weekend.
What did you and Bobbi get up to?’

He jumped up on the counter, resting his feet on the wall behind her. ‘Just the usual – bumming on the beach, drinks at the Surf Lodge.’

‘Anyone good playing?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t really remember.’

‘How did Bobbi seem?’

‘Bit better. Brighter.’

‘I don’t suppose Greg showed?’

‘No, although he’s down next weekend apparently. Competing in the Classic – why am I not surprised?’

‘The classic what?’ Ro noticed one of the portraits on the wall was hanging at a slight angle. She got up and slapped his legs down so that she could walk round the counter to
straighten it.

‘It’s a showjumping thing in Bridgehampton. Very smart. About as Gatsby as it gets.’

‘Oh.’ She tilted the portrait and stepped back to appraise it.

‘Up a bit on the bottom left,’ Hump said, squinting.

‘Any idea how Greg’s been doing – apart from working himself to death?’

‘Nup.’

‘It worries me that he’s just holding it all in like this. He was
wrecked
that night. He seemed so self-destructive.’

‘I know. The old Greg.’

The Skype on her laptop began ringing and she turned, frowning. It couldn’t be Matt – he never called at this time. He was usually on the road by 7 a.m., as the group did most of
their trekking early morning and late in the evening to avoid the high temperatures and humidity.

‘Who is it?’ she asked, wandering over.

Hump grinned back at her. ‘Luvvaboy! You know we’ve never met?’ he said, reaching over and pressing ‘connect’.

‘Wai—’

‘Yo, Matt! Good to meet you at last. I’m Hump.’

‘Hey, Hump. Ro’s told me lots about you.’ Matt grinned in surprise. ‘How’s it going over there?’

‘Well, I’ll be honest, I may never give your girlfriend back. That marmalade she makes? I’m hooked! We all are.’

‘It’s the only reason we’re together,’ Matt quipped.

‘And she’s got us all drinking tea with
tea
in it. Go figure,’ Hump guffawed. ‘So how’s your trip, dude? It sounds pretty rad.’

‘We’re trekking to Angkor Wat now, which is, like, the highlight of the entire expedition. Seriously, you ever been to the Far East? Everyone should come here once in their lives.
The things I’ve seen, the people I’ve met . . .’ He gave a whistle. ‘So pleased I did it.’

‘So lucky Ro
let
you do it! Most chicks I know . . .’ Hump shook his head.