he?’
‘It’s a bit rude to stare, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe he’s lonely and wishes he could be coming home with us.’
Chloe thought about that carefully. ‘He looked nice. We could both be friends with him.’
Could it really be as simple as that? Lucy wondered, her grip on Chloe’s hand tightening. She wouldn’t let anything hurt her. She’d take any painful blow if it would shield her from the consequences of this mess.
As they reached the corner Lucy risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Dominic was still standing there, watching, his hands thrust deep into his denim pockets and the lines of his body tense. He looked so alone.
And soon that would be her. Could she do it? It was impossible to imagine how that would actually feel. Would something in her recognise Abby as hers? Would she feel the same as she had when Chloe, newborn and angry at her difficult entry into the world, was placed in her arms? That overwhelming sense of love and responsibility. The total wonder at having created anything so perfect. That last thought twisted painfully inside her. She hadn’t created Chloe. Given her life, yes, but not created. That was something she had to concede to Dominic and the fair-haired Eloise.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, Dominic decided as he watched the pair disappear. Light ash-blonde hair and a heart-shaped face. So like Eloise, and yet not.
Chloe was tanned, energetic and healthy. Her skin glowed with vitality and her eyes sparkled. Dressed in a faded T-shirt and old shorts, with tangled hair and a grubby face, she wasn’t the image he’d held in his mind for the last few weeks. And yet this was better than all his imaginings. The euphoric feeling he’d experienced as he’d watched her balancing on the centre of the seesaw was something he’d never forget. She was happy.
Her little hand tucked safely in Lucy’s was hard to see, but the bond between them was obvious. Chloe was loved and cared for. It was what he’d wanted to know and yet now it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted his little girl to know about him. It was a spear of jealousy digging into his flesh.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. And about Lucy. In his mind the two were intricately entwined. Lucy, so different from Eloise. His wife had been many wonderful things—cultured, intelligent, with the face of an angel—but he knew she’d have crumbled under this pressure. But Lucy would cope. Even in the immediate aftermath of hearing the news, shocked and desperately hurting, she’d still seemed strong. She had an inner core of strength that kept her standing. Whatever life threw at her, she would take it on the chin and move on. And it seemed life had thrown a good deal at her. Yet still she’d managed to raise a child who smiled as though her world was completely sunny.
A picnic in the park. He couldn’t remember ever having taken Abby for a picnic. Since she’d started nursery her evenings had been filled with piano lessons, ballet classes and gymnastics. By the time he emerged from his study Abby was usually too tired to do anything but curl up against him for a story. What would Lucy make of that? She glowed with an active vitality that made him wonder whether she’d approve. Made him wonder whether he approved.
The doorbell rang at exactly eight-thirty. Even though she was expecting it, the sound still shocked her.
Lucy snapped on her wrist-watch and grabbed her handbag before opening the door. ‘Do you always do this? You’re exactly on time. To the minute.’
‘I’ve been sitting outside in the car.’
‘Oh,’ she said, slightly deflated. It didn’t seem right for him to have been doing that. She’d been so busy settling Chloe and hurrying back home to shower and change she hadn’t thought about what Dominic was going to do with the spare hour. ‘I suppose so. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘Is Chloe happily settled?’
‘She loves staying with my mum. There’s nothing so lovely as being spoiled, is there?’ Lucy tried to say it with a laugh but it sounded more like a hiccup.
This felt so awkward. It had been easier on the telephone. Then she hadn’t been confused by the tense, hurt look in Dominic’s eyes. She’d only listened to his deep voice and the words he’d said. Calm and sensible, that was how she’d come to think of him. This felt different.
‘Chloe said you looked nice,’ she said on a rush, hoping it would make him feel better.
‘She looks incredible. I don’t know what I was expecting, but she looks so…so healthy.’
Lucy heard the wistful tone in his voice. Even that must be difficult for him, she remembered. Eloise had been anything but healthy, apparently. Did Chloe look like she would have done if she’d been well?
‘I’ve booked a table at the White Horse since it’s so near. I’ve no idea whether the food is any good, but I liked the idea of sitting on the terrace and watching the water.’
‘The food’s lovely,’ Lucy volunteered quickly, glad he’d chosen that restaurant. She loved sitting where she could see water, watching the way the colour changed and shifted on the surface, but this time she liked the idea of having a distraction. Something easy to talk about if the conversation became too difficult, too strained.
They walked in silence for a time. Lucy was aware of the way he kept glancing down at her and she could feel the tension in his body. It didn’t surprise her. What they were having to do was impossibly difficult.
‘I used to go to the White Horse with Michael,’ Lucy remarked, breaking the silence.
He seemed grateful. ‘When you were dating?’
‘No. We couldn’t afford it then. Michael and I met at school and were married by the time we were nineteen. This is grown-up stuff, with grown-up prices. We went there for our last anniversary. A couple of months before he died.’
Dominic stopped and turned to look at her, the angled planes of his face pulled taut. ‘Is this difficult for you? Look, if you’d rather go somewhere else please say so. This is awkward enough as it is.’
‘It’s fine, really. It’s a happy place. I’ve really good memories of coming here.’
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘Excellent.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Michael?’ She saw the slight inclination of his head, saw his reluctance to ask the question in case it hurt her. Strangely, it didn’t hurt to talk about Michael. What hurt was not being allowed to. Being widowed made other people uncomfortable, and sometimes it felt as if Michael had been erased. ‘He was a lovely man. Very sporty, loved sailing. Always wanting to do the next thing, take on the next challenge. It was an incredible shock when he was diagnosed with the tumour. Of course he’d left it far too late. Wouldn’t go to the doctor. He was the last person you’d ever have thought would…’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No, it’s fine. I like to talk about him sometimes,’ she reassured him quickly. ‘We were really happy together. So many of my friends are splitting up now, getting divorced. I know I’ve already had more than some people have their whole lives. If he hadn’t died he wouldn’t have left me, and I know he loved
