One of the Girls(63)

Bella could see it all right there in Fen’s pained expression. Her stomach lurched. Her hands began to tremble. ‘Please. Just say it. Twenty-four hours won’t make any difference. It’s worse, being here with you but already feeling that distance. Be straight with me, Fen, otherwise we’re both just pretending. I’m pretending to be okay – and you’re pretending that you still care about me.’

Finally, Fen lifted her gaze, looked right at her. Those beautiful, bright green eyes pinned on Bella.

Bella squared her shoulders. Swallowed. ‘So. Are you breaking up with me?’

Fen’s face creased with emotion, eyes swimming with tears as she nodded. ‘I’m so sorry … I just … I think we’re so different … and …’

Bella’s head shook fiercely. ‘Our differences – those are what make us work!’ Heat flooded her cheeks. ‘Say what you really mean! This is nothing to do with how different we are. It’s because …’ Her throat constricted, her voice becoming strangled. ‘It’s because of the conversation at the airport, isn’t it? What I did?’

The room fell silent. Bella felt pressure building at her temples, in her sinuses.

Outside, the distant sound of laughter drifted up from the pool.

‘It’s not what you did,’ Fen replied. ‘It’s that you lied to me. It made me realise that I don’t really know you, Bella. You keep so much of yourself locked up.’

Blood roared in her ears. ‘I’m sorry. I … I was scared you wouldn’t love me if I told you …’ Her voice cracked. ‘We can talk about it though, can’t we? Work through it …’

Fen looked at her sadly. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think things have been right for a while. I just … didn’t see it clearly before.’

Bella clamped both hands to her chest. ‘So this is it. You’re breaking up with me?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Fen said, head shaking, fingertips touching in prayer. ‘This shouldn’t have happened out here. But, yes. I am.’

Bella’s eyes filled instantly with hot tears. ‘Wow. There it is.’

‘I want you to know that I really do care about—’

‘Don’t!’ Bella held up both hands. She could feel a racking sob moving through her chest, surging into her throat. She couldn’t do this. She needed to get out. Yanking down her sunglasses, she stumbled towards the door, her whole body shaking.

She burst from the room, face collapsing, knowing she’d ruined the one bright, beautiful thing she had left.





56

Robyn

Robyn lengthened her strides, enjoying the force of her heels striking the hard, dusty trail. The heat was fierce, splintering the dry earth and lifting the scent of rosemary and wild thyme.

She experimented with pumping her arms, raising her chin a fraction. A pleasing layer of sweat was building at the waistband of her shorts. She wanted to fit in a final walk, have some space to think, breathe. It was quiet out here, alone, just the light hush of a breeze through thin cypress trees and the occasional, distant bleating of a mountain goat.

She startled at the sound of her mobile ringing. Pulling it from her pocket, she saw her parents’ number.

‘Hello?’

At first there was silence. Then she heard her mother whispering encouragingly in the background. ‘Go on, Jack!’

‘Mama? Hello! Mama!’

Her heart contracted. ‘Oh, baby. Jack! I miss you! Are you having a lovely time with Nana and Grampie?’

More whispering: ‘Tell Mummy about the treasure map. What you found at the beach.’

‘Tresher! Tresher!’

Robyn smiled. ‘Did you find treasure, baby?’

There was no answer, only the pad of feet.

‘He’s gone to fetch it,’ her mother explained. ‘It’s over there, Jack. By the basket! Yes, that’s it!’

Robyn settled herself onto a sun-warmed rock at the side of the path. Closing her eyes, she pictured them all; her parents sitting on the sofa with the Saturday papers spread across the coffee table, the dog curled on the floor in a splash of sunlight, and then Jack, perhaps kneeling by the toy garage, his cars parked in neat formations. Robyn’s father never tired of raising and lowering the car lift, as Jack didn’t yet have the dexterity for the winch. God, Jack’s pudgy little hands. She wanted to press them to her lips this very moment, to pull him onto her lap, kiss the nape of his neck.

She often wondered how a parent’s love shifts and readjusts constantly: right now, all she wanted was to hold Jack, carry him, kiss him, stroke him. But as he grew older – became a teenager – would that urge naturally leave, or is it always a battle to stop yourself reaching for them? Did her own parents feel that about her, even now?

‘He’s showing you the treasure,’ her mother said. ‘Lovely gold coins, aren’t they, Jack?’

‘Chocolate tresher!’

‘Did you find chocolate—’ Robyn began.

‘For me? Chocolate, for me?’

Robyn’s mother sighed fondly. ‘Go on, then. Just a few. Ask Grampie to unwrap them.’

Her mother must have removed the speaker setting as she was close to the phone now and Robyn caught her footsteps across the tiled kitchen floor. ‘Sorry, darling. I think that’s that.’