Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I laugh, but it’s not a laugh filled with joy. More irony and frustration. “It was the exact opposite for me. After we moved out of my home, we flew to the UK and came to stay with my aunt and uncle and cousins. It was the greatest summer ever. I missed my dad, but I accepted he wasn’t with us because we weren’t at home. It wasn’t until we flew back to America, moved into a cramped two-bedroom apartment—without my dad—and I started a new school, that I realized life would never be the same again.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t be angry, though, can I? I live a great life. I’m happy. I’m successful.”
“Of course you can be angry. And sad and…everything in between.”
I squeeze her hand, grateful she’s here, next to me, listening to me, traveling with me.
“Maybe that’s what drives you? You don’t want to be in a cramped two-bed flat.”
“Maybe,” I reply. “I think that’s why I don’t get attached to places. I’ve never lived anywhere as an adult for longer than a year.”
“Wow,” she whispers. Is she wondering how long I’m going to stick around Crompton?
Because I am.
I don’t want to say it out loud. But…maybe this time it will be different.
“What about your mum?” she asks, breaking the silence. “You never talk about her.”
“We’re not close. She remarried. Lives on the same street we moved out of when I was eight. Won’t take any money from me.”
Our conversation is interrupted by an announcement from the pilot. “Just coming in to land now.”
“That’s the house.” I point to the jumble of buildings up ahead and laugh. “My uncle will be swearing about the noise and the dog will be going wild.”
A smile blooms across her face and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m laughing or because of the situation I’m describing. Maybe both.
“Remember, if you’re freaking out, just let me know. We should have a private code or signal or something.”
“Like what? I should wink at you?”
“I might not see it. What about telling me you got a message from your granny?”
“But that might be true and not an emergency. I could do a chicken dance? Start barking like a dog? Start singing show tunes? Or—wait for it, this is radical—maybe I should ask you for a private word?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that just might be crazy enough to work. Although, you have a very pretty singing voice. You can sing to me anytime you like.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kate
I remember Carole as soon as I see her. She has a kind face and hair that stands on end from the blades of the helicopter. She’s wearing an apron covered in pictures of a man’s face, and she’s smiling ear-to-ear like the sight of me and Vincent is like spotting a double rainbow after a storm. I glance at Vincent as we cross the grass to greet them and he squeezes my hand. “I’m right here. Remember that.”
“Vincent and Kate!” She grabs my hand from Vincent. “I remember you, my dear, from the tea shop. Jacob, it’s Kate. Kate, this is Jacob, my oldest son. His fiancée has just popped to the loo. She’s spending a lot of time in—anyway, we’re so pleased to have you here.”
I smile, despite not being sure if I might throw up from the surge of adrenaline or nerves or something. “Hi, Carole. Lovely to see you again.”
She envelops me in a hug. “Let’s go inside.”
“Bloody helicopter,” a man’s voice booms as we enter through the small door to a large dining hall with red terracotta tiles on the floor and white walls.
“John, say hello to Kate,” Carole says.
“Not with this one, are you?” the man says, nodding at Vincent in the doorway.
I’m not quite sure how to react. Does he not like Vincent?
“Yes, Kate is with Vincent as you well know and we’re delighted she could join us, aren’t we?” Carole says.
“What’s another mouth to feed?” John says.
“I have something you might like,” Vincent says. Then, in a stage whisper, he says to me, “The thing about John is, he likes his wine.”
Vincent turns and speaks to someone behind him. Maybe the pilot?
“I’ve got plenty of the malbec left,” John calls to him.
When Vincent turns back, he’s holding a wooden crate. “But have you tried the pinot noir?”
John’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “You’re a naughty, naughty boy, young Vincent, and that’s exactly why I love you more than my own sons.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Bribery always helps get John in a good mood,” Vincent says, grabbing my hand.
“Carole, did we try the pinot noir when we were there?” John asks his wife.
We turn right into a kitchen. Vincent has to duck to fit under the lintel. It’s a warm, welcoming room, with a battered pine table and the smell of delicious things on the stove.
“You’re turning into quite the wine snob,” Carole says to Vincent.