The Unexpected Consequences of Love (27 page)

It was the bright corkscrew curls that did it; otherwise, Sophie might never have made the connection.

The baby she never would have recognized, chiefly because he was no longer a baby; two years on, he was a big-eyed toddler in a turquoise all-in-one swimsuit, sitting at one of the tables outside the café eating an ice-cream sundae. His older sister, who must now be five or six, was throwing bits of bread roll to the sparrows hopping around the table. She was wearing a green polka-dot sundress over her swimsuit, and her red-gold ringlets gleamed in the sunshine, bouncing around her shoulders as she flung another piece of bread across the cobbles.

Yes, it was definitely them, presumably back on vacation again with their parents. The father was finishing a cup of coffee and putting away his phone. The three of them were getting ready to leave the café; now he was dropping a couple of pound coins onto a saucer for the waitress. The moment to act was either now or never; if she didn't say something, they'd be gone.

“Hello!” Sophie approached the children's father. “Okay, this might sound weird, but I've just recognized your daughter. I took a photo of your children on the beach a couple years ago and I'd love you to have a copy of it.”

The man eyed her warily. “I don't think we're interested, thanks.”

“Honestly, though, it's a brilliant photo. If I say so myself. I'm a photographer…” Rummaging in her bag for a business card, she belatedly understood his lack of enthusiasm. “Oh, I'm not trying to sell you anything! I don't want any money. I just thought you might like it… I didn't expect to ever see you again. I love the photo so much, it's on my living room wall. I live just up there.” She pointed to the narrow street behind them. “Or if you'd rather just give me an email address, I could send you a copy of it.” Or maybe not. She shrugged and gave up. “But it's okay, you don't have to if you don't want to. You've probably got enough photos anyway.”

“Am I in it?” The girl with the ringlets sounded interested.

“You are. You're doing something very funny and a tiny bit naughty,” said Sophie. “You're putting a bit of seaweed on your brother's head.”

“Am I?” Delighted, she turned to her father. “I want to see the photo, Daddy. Can we go?”

He smiled at her, then at Sophie. “I thought you were selling me something. Sorry about that. I'm too suspicious by far. If the offer still stands, we'd love to see the photo. And thank you. It does sound great.”

His name was Matt, she discovered on the short walk up the hill to her flat. The children were Georgina and Jamie, and this was the sixth day of their weeklong vacation. Tomorrow they were heading back to London.

“So I found you just in time.” Sophie used the key on her silver bangle to open the front door. “Now, just up these stairs… Come on, sweetie, hold my hand… And here we are. Look, there's the photograph. And that's you!”

“Wow,” said Georgina. “Ha-ha-ha, look at me putting seaweed on Jamie's head. And he doesn't know I'm doing it, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“And there's Bingo.” Matt pointed to the little dog with the naughty look in his eye as he made a grab for the last sandwich on the plate.

“He's our dog,” Georgina told Sophie. “He likes sandwiches.”

“He likes any kind of food,” Matt said drily.

“And that's Mummy's foot there.” Georgina's arm shot up to point to the pedicured toes in the bottom right of the picture. “Look, Daddy! It's Mummy's foot!”

Matt nodded. “Yes, it is.”

Sophie had briefly been tempted to Photoshop the foot out of the picture, but had finally left it in for balance…and because Photoshop always felt like cheating. She was also wondering where Mummy was right now; she could be sunbathing on the beach or back in London. Perhaps they were divorced. They hadn't mentioned her whereabouts and she certainly wasn't going to ask.

“Was Mummy watching me put the seaweed on Jamie's head?” Georgina regarded her with interest.

“I don't know. Maybe.” As Sophie said it, she saw Matt glance down at his daughter, checking she was okay.

“Mummy's dead,” said Georgina, staring once more at the photograph on the wall.

Oh
.

Matt, who was holding Jamie on his left hip, rested his free hand on his daughter's head.

“How awful. I'm so sorry,” said Sophie. “That's very sad.”

“We miss her very much.” Matt acknowledged her words with a brief nod. “It happened just over a year ago.” Ruffling Georgina's bright ringlets, he said, “Still getting used to her not being here with us, aren't we?”

Georgina nodded too. “It's nice seeing Mummy's toes.”

“Well now, I'm even more glad I recognized you,” said Sophie, “so I can give you your photograph.” And reaching past them, she lifted the simply framed print down from its place on the wall. She turned to Matt. “Here you go.”

“Thank you. Very much indeed.” He inclined his head. “Only one problem: we don't have the car with us and I have to carry Jamie back to the house we're renting.”

“Well, I could bring it over…”

“No, no, I can come by later and pick it up. Would you be around this evening if I came by?”

Sophie nodded; was it wrong to be wondering how his wife had died? She smiled at him and said, “No problem, I'm not going anywhere. Call around anytime tonight.”

***

Matt returned shortly before eight o'clock, changed into dark trousers and a bottle-green shirt. His freshly washed hair was combed back from his face and he'd just shaved. He was also wearing nice cologne.

“Okay, so here's the thing.” Wasting no time, he launched straight in. “We're down here with my parents, who are babysitting tonight. As you can imagine, it hasn't been the easiest of weeks. Georgina was telling them about you, and my mum said why didn't I ask if you'd like to go out for something to eat this evening. Not on a date—I'm nowhere near ready for anything like that—but just as a way of thanking you for the print.” He paused, grimacing slightly. “So I'm asking you, but feel free to say no if you don't want to. Believe me, I'll understand. It's hardly the most enticing offer you can think of.”

He'd stopped, run out of breath. Her heart sinking, Sophie said, “Um…right…” This was when she really needed to be able to think up some kind of excuse, the perfect reason why she couldn't go out to dinner with this man.

“I know. God, I'm sorry. My mother just thinks I could do with getting out of the house, spending a couple hours away from them. It's okay, though, I can see what you're thinking. Really, it's fine.”

Oh
dear, what a shame. I have to stay in and wash my hair…

Oh,
what
bad
timing. I have to work tonight…

Oh
no, so sorry. I've got friends coming over; they'll be here any minute now…

“Let's have dinner,” said Sophie. It was no good; this poor, poor man, how could she do it to him? Who would have the heart to turn him down?

***

By eleven o'clock, the restaurant was emptying fast.

“And you managed to stay awake the whole evening,” said Matt. “That's going above and beyond the call of duty. Well done, you.”

Sophie grinned; it hadn't been the ordeal she'd expected. He'd promised not to embarrass her in public by bursting into tears, and he hadn't. As also promised, there'd been no flirting of any kind. Matt was still far too entrenched in his grief. His wife's name had been Louisa, and he'd thought they'd spend the rest of their lives together. Then she'd become ill and died. There hadn't been any more details than that, and Sophie hadn't asked. Now Matt was struggling to keep things going for the sake of Georgina and Jamie. Apparently one day he would begin to feel something vaguely approaching normal again, but at the moment that was as elusive as crawling toward a mirage in a desert. Every day was an effort. The bank where he worked had been great, but he sensed that some of his colleagues were starting to lose patience with him, not because they were horrible but simply because they didn't understand. They just wanted their old friend back to the way he'd been before.

“Anyway, thanks for keeping me company.” Having paid the bill, Matt said, “We'd better get out of here. Looks like they're ready to close up.”

He'd driven over earlier, leaving his car parked outside Sophie's flat, and they'd walked down to the restaurant on the harborside. Now they made their way back up the narrow, cobbled lane.

“It's been a good night,” said Matt.

Sophie smiled. “It has.”

“Isn't it weird? Tomorrow we drive back to London and the chances are that we'll never see each other again.” He paused. “Could be why it's been so easy to talk to you.”

“Probably.”

“You haven't asked me how Louisa died.”

“Not up to me to ask that. It's none of my business.”
Oh, unless you murdered her…

But he hadn't; she knew that. Poor man.

“Friends and family know. I've never told a stranger before.”

They were standing outside her flat now. Matt turned to her, a bleak look on his face.

“You don't need to tell me.” Louisa had been ill, then she'd died. Up until now, Sophie had assumed it was some form of cancer. But would that really be so difficult to say?

“I want to tell you.” She could see the tension in his jaw. “You realize I'm using you to practice on. The first time has to be the worst.” Matt paused, then said in a rush, “She had postpartum depression. I didn't know how bad it was. And then she killed herself. Oh God…” His voice began to wobble and crack. “Okay, said it now. She committed suicide, jumped off a bridge and left us, and I
know
it only happened because she was ill, but you can't imagine how it feels, knowing your wife would rather be dead than stay with you.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “With
us
.”

Dot and Antoine had bumped into some of Dot's old friends in the hotel bar and were busy catching up with each other's news, so Josh had volunteered to bring Griff out for his late-evening walk. They'd made their way along the beach and back, taking advantage of the tide being out. For the last forty minutes he'd been throwing Griff's ball across the wet sand and Griff had bounded after it, never tiring of playing his favorite game.

Now Josh was wishing he'd bribed one of the hotel staff to do the job instead.

Okay, not quite true. Knowing had to be better than not knowing, surely.

But the sight had hit him like a punch in the stomach from a pro. There was Sophie, standing outside her flat fifty meters away, locked in a clearly emotional embrace with another man. Her hair gleamed pale gold in the reflected glow of the street lamp overhead. The man who was holding her was taller, darker, and no one Josh recognized. It wasn't a normal hug between acquaintances, that much was obvious. They weren't letting go of each other.

And now, finally and with reluctance, they were. Words were exchanged; their heads remained close together, his hands still rested on Sophie's arms. Griff, suddenly realizing who it was, pricked up his ears and let out a whimper of excited recognition.

“
Shhh
,” whispered Josh, before the dog could break into a giveaway volley of barks.

Together they watched as Sophie slipped the bangle off her wrist, fitted the key into the lock, and opened the front door. The next moment she and the man had disappeared inside. Then the light went on in the flat upstairs and Sophie appeared silhouetted in the window, reaching up to pull the curtains closed.

Right, well, that told him all he needed to know. Josh turned and gave Griff's leash a tug to show him they were heading home.

Fuck. Just what he hadn't needed to see.

Also, who
was
the man spending the night in Sophie's flat?

***

“Sorry about that.” Matt blew his nose on a tissue. “So much for promising not to be an embarrassment. What a wuss.”

Sophie shook her head. “You're not a wuss. Your wife died. It's allowed.”

“Haven't cried like that in months. Pretty brave of you, letting me into your flat.” He attempted a smile, took a mouthful of coffee, and grimaced because it was now tepid.

“Do you feel better?”

“I think so. A bit. It's the guilt.” Matt sighed. “The shame. The endless wondering if I said or did something to cause it, just one stupid, careless thing that tipped her over the edge.” He paused. “And knowing that other people are wondering it too.”

Sophie said nothing. She couldn't tell him about Theo; the very last thing he needed was for her to try to compete. And how could she, anyway? His wife had died, leaving him alone to bring up two children. She couldn't begin to comprehend how that felt. All she understood was the guilt and the shame, coupled with the hideous, inescapable knowledge that she most certainly
had
done something to cause her own husband to want to end his life.

“I'm seeing a grief counselor,” Matt continued. “I told him I wished Louisa had been killed in a car crash. Anything else would have been better than this.”

“Because then you wouldn't have had to feel responsible? You probably still would, though.” Sophie shrugged. “One way or another you'd have found something to feel guilty about. It's what people do.”

Another wry smile. “He said that too.”

“You can't see it now, but things will get easier. Eventually. Sorry,” said Sophie. “I bet when people say that it just makes you want to stab them.”

“Sometimes. Not you, though. And I know.” Matt grimaced. “There's no magic pill. I just have to get through it. My mother says she knows I can't imagine it now, but one day I'll meet someone else, fall in love again, maybe even get married…” He was shaking his head at the seeming impossibility of the idea.

“She's right.” Sophie's throat tightened. “It'll happen. One day.”

Oh
God, listen to me. What a hypocrite.

He left shortly after that, heroically finishing his cold coffee and thanking her again for listening to him. They exchanged another brief hug, she gave him the framed print, and he carried it out to the car.

Sophie stood on the doorstep and waved as he drove off down the narrow street. Poor Matt. And what a lot of rubbish she'd told him. That was the thing about platitudes: they were easy to say, far less easy to put into practice.

Look
at
me, four years down the line and still completely unable to move on. What a pity I can't take my own advice
.

***

The following morning Bonnie, Jem, and Cal came to see Josh in his office.

It was decision time.

“Okay, we've stuck to our side of the bargain.” Cal had his charming face on. “We came all this way to see you, yeah? So you know how important this is to us. But we haven't hassled you, have we? We've stepped back and given you the time and space to, like, make up your mind.”

“Most generous of you,” Josh murmured.

They gazed at him uncertainly; getting to grips with the British sense of humor had always been beyond them.

“We've been nice to everyone.” Mindful of the time he'd called them ill-mannered spoiled brats, Bonnie flashed her ultrawhite smile. “Even the staff.”

“The whole time we've been here,” Jem chimed in. “Nice nice nice, signing stuff, posing for photos, even when people were being really annoying. We've been, like, so
patient
with them.”

“Sounds like you're reformed characters. That's great,” said Josh. “Good to know. Well done.”

“So?” Cal couldn't contain himself a moment longer.

“So what?”

“We want you to manage us again, man. Will you do it?”

Josh looked at them for a moment. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“Why not? We came
all this
way
.”

“That was your idea, not mine. You didn't have to come over,” said Josh. “Could have just asked me in a phone call.”

“And you would have said no.”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “I'd have said no.”

Cal's eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I've been there, done that, don't need to do it all over again. I like it better here.”

“Is there anything we can do to change your mind?” Bonnie's face had fallen; she looked as if she might burst into tears.

Feeling sorry for her, but not that sorry, Josh said, “Afraid not.”

“Oh, for Chrissake, I fucking knew it.” Cal aimed a vicious kick at the trash can next to the desk. “You selfish fucking
bastard
.”

It hadn't taken him long to revert to his old ways. Faintly amused because it was no longer his problem, Josh pointed to Cal and said, “That too.”

“You think you're such a smart-ass, don't you? Well, you can kiss good-bye to the chrome limo,” Cal snarled. “
Loser
.”

“Can I? Really?” Josh raised an eyebrow. “Thank God for that.”