know. He might not want me there.’
Tom blinked. ‘Don’t be silly. That’s all water under the bridge now. He won’t mind.’
Lydia wasn’t so sure, but then she’d never been sure of Jake. ‘I’ll see,’ she compromised.
He bent and gave Mel a lingering and tender kiss, and then went out, leaving the two sisters alone for the first time.
Mel, direct as ever, looked across at her and said bluntly, ‘You look like hell. You’re too thin, your eyes are tired and you look sad. Has it really been that bloody a year?’
And, for no very good reason that she could think of, Lydia burst into tears. In an instant Mel was perched on the arm of the chair and her arms were round Lydia, and she was being hugged and comforted by someone who really loved her. Lord, how she’d missed that! She slid her arms round Mel’s waist and hugged her back.
‘It’s good to be home,’ she said a little damply, and Mel shoved a tissue in her hand and smoothed her hair back off her brow.
‘Are you going to be OK about Jake?’ she asked gently, and Lydia shrugged.
‘I don’t know. I thought so, but seeing him just now—I don’t know any more. Has he said anything about me coming back?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really—not to me, and not to Tom, if what he just said is anything to go by. I don’t suppose you have to see that much of him, really, if you don’t want to.’
‘Mmm.’ If she didn’t. The trouble was, she wasn’t at all sure that not seeing him was what she did want. She’d missed him endlessly this last year, and seeing him now had brought it all back. She blinked back another wave of tears and straightened up.
‘Has he—um—you know—?’
‘Got another woman?’ Mel smiled understandingly. ‘No. Not that I’ve heard about, and Tom would have told me if he’d known. He’s been in London a lot, of course. He’s hardly here at all—well, nor’s Tom, of course, but I spend a lot of time in London with him when Mum can spare me, which isn’t that often. The business has really taken off in the last year—she’s delighted you’re back, by the way.’ Mel shot her a keen look. ‘I take it you are back?’
Lydia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Probably, but I don’t know if I’ll stay here. Not with Jake next door.’
‘Well, that’s not a problem; the house is up for sale. He’s moving away.’
‘What?’ Lydia felt as if the bottom had fallen out of her world. ‘He’s what?’ she repeated, shocked, and then realised just how much her feelings about coming home had been to do with Jake. He couldn’t be moving away. She’d never see him again—
‘He’s going to stay in London—like I said, he’s hardly ever here now.’
Never here? Oh, Lord. She stood up, patting Mel on the shoulder in passing. ‘I’m going out for a walk,’ she said, and went blindly into the kitchen, past the place where he’d kissed her just now in the doorway of the room where he’d proposed to her just over a year ago, the room where so many of her hopes and dreams had been formed, only to come crashing down around her ears.
She ran down through the garden, over the lawn, under the rose arch and down to the wildflower meadow by the river where the marquee would be put up in just a few days.
Her willow was there, the tips of the branches trailing in the water, and she leant against the trunk and dragged in a shaky breath, and then another.
He couldn’t go.
The river swam out of focus, and she slid down the trunk and plopped on to the damp grass, dropping her head back against the rough bark and closing her eyes. The tears slipped unheeded down her cheeks, and she wished she could turn back time and change the course of the last year.
Maybe if she’d married him, given him a chance, all her doubts and fears could have been ironed out. Maybe they would have learned to talk to each other, learned to open up their hearts and dared to share their feelings.
And maybe then, instead of a dull and endless ache inside, she would have been filled with joy and contentment, like Mel.
She turned her head and looked towards Jake’s house, and then she saw him, standing by the river on his side of the fence, watching her. He was too far away to see her tears, but he lifted his hand and waved, and turned away.
She wanted to run after him, to ask him if he’d loved her, really loved her, or if he’d just allowed himself to be manoeuvred into the whole wedding thing.
She didn’t, though. She didn’t move. Instead she sat there and watched him until the tears blinded her again and he was gone.
What was she doing there? He stood for an age, watching her leaning against the tree, her face tipped up to the dappled sun, and he ached to hold her.
You’re a fool, he told himself. She’s no good for you. She’s just a beautiful butterfly, and if you trap her she’ll die as surely as if you put a pin through her heart.
He glanced at his watch. There was someone coming to see the house at four—just an hour away. He had to go and tidy the kitchen—the kitchen Lydia had designed and installed, the kitchen she’d planned as if it were her own.
She was everywhere in it. Every finishing touch, every clever little idea screamed her name. That was one reason why he was selling up. That and her return. Watching her day after day flitting about the place, hearing that beautiful tinkling laugh, watching her run to her car with those never-ending, gorgeous legs flashing in the sun—
He’d had dreams about those legs tangling with his, entwined around his waist as he buried himself deep inside her.
He growled impatiently, and she looked up, straight at him. She was too far away to read her expression, but he couldn’t stay there in case she came over and read the yearning in his eyes.
He lifted his hand in a casual salute and turned away, walking back to the house with a heavy heart. He couldn’t let her do this to him. He couldn’t wallow in self-pity like this or he just wouldn’t survive.
He had this week to get through, and the wedding next Saturday, a week today, and then he wouldn’t have to see her again. He could leave the house. Packers could clear it and bring the things he wanted to London, and the rest could be sold.
And maybe then he could move on.
‘Lydia? Tonight?’ Jake gave what he hoped was a casual shrug, and tried to ignore the sudden lurching of his heart. ‘Sure. Why should I mind?’
‘Well, that’s what I said,’ Tom replied. ‘Anyway, whatever, you’re going to have to see each other this week so you might as well get used to it.’
‘Absolutely. It’s not a problem,’ he assured Tom, hoping it was true. ‘How are the plans going?’
‘Oh, pretty smooth. There’s a lot to do, but, having just had a dry run, as it were, I don’t suppose it’s as bad as it could have been.’
Jake winced inwardly. A dry run? Was that how they
