This Could Change Everything(42)

Essie, glad that she’d come out wearing her warm Puffa jacket, pulled out her Christmas pudding knitted gloves and put them on. ‘I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

What could she be about to hear? She watched as a robin flew down in front of them, hopping about on the frost-encrusted grass in search of stray breadcrumbs left by the previous occupant of the bench.

‘When I was seven,’ Lucas began, ‘we went down to Cornwall for a weekend. Me and my mum and dad. We spent Saturday afternoon on the beach, playing games and having a picnic. And we went swimming, too. Then, after we’d eaten, I carried on paddling in the water. Just skimming pebbles, collecting crabs in a bucket, that kind of stuff. I knew I wasn’t allowed to swim on my own, but that was OK, I was happy just messing around in the shallows. Until a freak wave came along and knocked me off my feet.’

They were both still watching the robin, but Essie heard Lucas’s breath catch in his throat.

‘The sea dragged me away from the shore, and I was panicking and yelling . . . and my dad raced in to rescue me. He swam out and managed to grab hold of me, then he passed me back to Mum, who’d followed him into the water. She got me back to shore. But there was a strong rip tide and Dad got caught up in it.’ Lucas took another audible breath, then slowly exhaled, the fingers of his left hand tapping rapidly against his right. ‘The thing about rip tides is they don’t look dangerous on the surface. But underneath, they can be lethal. And this one dragged my father under . . . it carried him off before the lifeguards could get to the beach, because it was the first week of October and the summer season was over. I mean, they came as fast as they could, but by then it was too late. He was dead.’

‘That’s just awful. Awful.’ The words caught in Essie’s throat. It was difficult enough having to hear Lucas describe what had happened; she couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him to witness the tragedy.

He nodded slowly. ‘Yes.’

The robin flew away.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Essie. If it had been anyone else, she’d have reached for them, clutching their hand or their arm and giving it a sympathetic squeeze. But she couldn’t do that with Lucas.

Oh, but how traumatised must he have been? A seven-year-old boy watching his father drown after racing into the sea to save him.

‘I know.’ Lucas shifted on his side of the bench. ‘And we haven’t got to the relevant part of the story yet.’

There was more? Wasn’t that enough?

‘Only if you want to tell me,’ Essie murmured. Although if he decided not to, she’d really regret having said it.

‘My dad had a younger brother,’ Lucas continued. ‘Max. There was only eighteen months between them, and he lived close by so we saw him all the time. He was the best kind of uncle, brilliant with kids, always up for a game of cricket or football. Everyone loved him. Just before we went to Cornwall, he and my dad had a falling-out about something and stopped talking to each other. It wasn’t the first time, apparently. But we had the weekend break booked, so we went down to stay in the holiday cottage, just the three of us. Normally Uncle Max would have come along too – sometimes he’d bring a friend or a girlfriend – but of course this time he wasn’t there.’ Lucas paused. ‘If he had been, Dad would probably still be alive. Uncle Max was a much stronger swimmer.’

Essie shook her head. What could she possibly say?

‘Are you freezing?’ said Lucas.

‘No.’ Not true, but never mind.

‘So anyway, Uncle Max wasn’t there to save Dad’s life, and he never forgave himself for that. And of course they didn’t get the chance to make up after their argument either. He blamed himself for that too.’

‘Did you find out what it was they’d argued about?’

‘Not for years. I remember realising that it had happened after Uncle Max took me to the park and put me on the monkey bars. I lost my grip and fell, and landed badly on my ankle. It was OK, but for a couple of minutes it hurt like crazy and he was worried I’d broken it. Which would have messed up our weekend in Cornwall. So for a while I thought that might have been what caused the falling-out.’

‘Oh, but—’

‘It’s OK.’ Lucas saw the expression on her face and intervened. ‘I kind of figured out eventually that it must have been something a bit more important than my twisted ankle. I asked my mother when I was eighteen and she told me it was to do with Uncle Max’s girlfriend. Apparently my dad wasn’t crazy about her, didn’t trust her, and would have been happier if she hadn’t been coming down to Cornwall with Max. That was what caused all the upset.’

‘What was she like?’ said Essie. ‘Did you like her?’

‘I was seven.’ Lucas shrugged. ‘Her name was Teresa and she was very pretty, that’s about all I remember. She seemed OK to me.’

‘And what happened to her?’

‘Uncle Max took her off to Vegas and married her a year later, just the two of them there, no other family invited. Then a year after that they split up. He was never at home, always out at the pub. He didn’t play cricket or football with me any more . . . the drinking took over his life. He lost his job, lost his home, moved away. I think he just couldn’t cope with the guilt. The last I heard, he was living in Spain, selling souvenirs to tourists on the beach.’