haven’t met anyone else.’ She hesitated but then ploughed on. She needed to say this. Somehow.
‘You ached to be a dad,’ she whispered, because somehow saying it aloud seemed wrong. ‘I thought … There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me who has the fertility problems. I thought you’d have met someone else by now and organised our divorce. Isn’t that why we split? I sort of … I sort of wanted to think of you married with a couple of kids.’
‘Did you really want that?’ His curt response startled her into splashing her wine. She didn’t want it anyway, she decided. She put down her glass with care and met his look head-on.
Say it like it is.
‘That’s what you wanted. That’s why I agreed to separate.’
‘I thought ending the marriage was all about you needing a partner so you could adopt.’
‘It’s true I wanted kids,’ she managed, and her voice would hardly work for her. It was hard even to whisper. ‘But I never wanted another husband than you.’
‘You didn’t want me.’
‘Your terms were too hard, Oliver. Maybe now … maybe given some space it might be different. But we’d lost Josh and I was so raw, so needy. All I wanted was a child to hold … I think maybe I was a little crazy. I demanded too much of you. I hadn’t realised quite how badly you’d been wounded.’
‘I hadn’t been wounded.’
‘I’ve met your adoptive parents, remember? I’ve met your appalling brother.’
‘I’m well over that.’
‘Do you ever get over being not wanted? You were adopted, seemingly adored, and then suddenly supplanted by your parents’ “real” son. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.’
‘It’s past history.’
‘It’s not,’ she said simply. ‘Because it affects who you are. It always will. Maybe …’ She hesitated but this had been drifting in and out of her mind for five years now. Was it better left unsaid? Maybe it was, but she’d say it anyway. ‘Maybe it will affect any child you have, adopted or not. Maybe that’s why you haven’t moved on. Would you have loved Josh, Oliver, or would you have resented him because he’d have had the love you never had?’
‘That’s nuts.’
‘Yeah? So why not organise a divorce? Why not remarry?’
‘Because of you,’ he said, before he could stop himself. ‘Because I still love you.’
She stilled. The whole night seemed to still.
There were people on the foreshore, people on the beach. The queue to the fish-and-chip shop was right behind them. Kids were flying by on their skateboards. Mums and dads were pushing strollers.
Because I still love you …
He reached out and touched her hand lightly, his lovely surgeon’s fingers tracing her work-worn skin. She spent too much time washing, she thought absently. She should use more moisturiser. She should …
Stop blathering. This was too important.
Five years ago they’d walked away from each other. Had it all been some ghastly mistake? Could they just … start again?
‘Em …’ He rose and came round to her side of the table. His voice was urgent now. Pressing home a point? He sat down beside her, took both her hands in his and twisted her to face him. ‘Do you feel it, too?’
Did she feel it? How could she not? She’d married this man. She’d loved him with all her heart. She’d borne him a son.
He was holding her, and his hold was strong and compelling. His gaze was on her, and on her alone.
A couple of seagulls, sensing distraction, landed on the far side of the table and edged towards the fish-and-chip parcel. They could take what they liked, she thought. This moment was too important.
Oliver … Her husband …
‘Em,’ he said again, and his hold turned to a tug. He tugged her as he’d tugged her a thousand times before, as she’d tugged him, as their mutual need meant an almost instinctive coming together of two bodies.
Her face lifted to his—once again instinctively, because this was her husband. She was a part of him, and part of her had never let go. Never thought of letting go.
And his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her and the jolty, nervy, pressurised, outside world faded to absolutely nothing.
There was only Oliver. There was only this moment.
There was only this kiss.
She melted into him—of course she did. Her body had spent five years loving this man and it responded now as if it had once again found its true north. Warmth flooded through her—no, make that heat. Desire, strength and surety.
This man was her home.
This man was her heart.
Except he wasn’t. The reasons they’d split were still there, practical, definite, and even though she was surrendering herself to the kiss—how could she not?—there was still a part of her brain that refused to shut down. Even though her body was all his, even though she was returning his kiss with a passion that matched his, even though her hands were holding him as if she still had the right to hold, that tiny part was saying this was make-believe.
This was a memory of times past.
This would hurt even more when it was over. Tug away now.
But she couldn’t. He was holding her as if she was truly loved. He was kissing her regardless of the surroundings, regardless of the wolf whistles coming from the teenagers at the next table, regardless of … what was true.
It didn’t matter. She needed this kiss. She needed this man.
And then the noise surrounding them suddenly grew. The whistles stopped and became hoots of laughter. There were a couple of warning cries and finally, finally, they broke apart to see …
Their fish …
While they had been otherwise … engaged, seagulls had sneaked forward, grabbing chips from the edge of their unwrapped parcel. Now a couple of braver ones had gone further.
They’d somehow seized the edge of one of their pieces of fish, and dragged it free of the packaging. They’d hauled it out … and up.
There were now five gulls … no, make that six … each holding an edge of the fish fillet. The fish was hovering in the air six feet above them while the gulls fought for ownership. They’d got it, but now they all wanted to go in different directions.
The rest of the flock had risen, too, squawking around them, waiting for the inevitable catastrophe and broken pieces.
Almost every person around them had stopped to look, and laugh, at the flying fish and at the
