reeds that grew among the dunes. Stars twinkled overhead and the lights of the distant marine observatory tower glowed dimly red over the ocean.
Feeling demoralised and as tired as he could remember having ever felt in his life, Ben stubbed out the cigarette, tossed the smoking butt away into the sand and then returned inside and climbed the stairs.
The top floor of the house was dark except for the light shining from a door on the left, which was open a few inches. It was the guest bedroom that Jude had picked out for himself, facing towards the sea. He was sitting on the bed, silent and still. All Ben could see of him through the gap in the door was his foot and part of his leg. He was still dressed and wearing his shoes.
‘Good night,’ Ben said quietly outside the doorway.
No reply. Ben tapped lightly on the door. ‘See you in the morning.’ When there was still no response from inside, he pushed open the door. ‘Jude? Are you all right?’
Jude looked up as Ben appeared in the doorway. His face was tight and pale.
Ben stared back at him, realising that something was wrong.
And felt the blood rapidly drain out of his body into his feet.
Propped up beside the bed, next to Jude’s own rucksack, was his green canvas bag. Jude had brought it in from the car.
And in Jude’s hands was the small sheet of sky-blue paper, creased in the middle, that Ben had been keeping hidden in there. Michaela’s letter.
Ben didn’t move, or step forward to snatch it from him, or say ‘Give me that’. It was too late. Jude knew.
‘I thought I recognised her writing,’ Jude said quietly. ‘In Jerusalem. I pretended I hadn’t noticed what you were reading. Wanted to take another look ever since.’
Ben didn’t know what to say.
‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ Jude asked.
‘No,’ Ben replied. ‘I wasn’t ever going to tell you.’
‘Then you should have just burned this.’
‘I couldn’t,’ Ben said. Anger welled up inside him. Why hadn’t he had the courage to destroy it? It was stupid and sentimental and selfish to have kept it and risked letting Jude find it.
‘You’ve all lied to me,’ Jude muttered. The letter was fluttering slightly in his hands.
‘I know it looks bad. But they thought it was for the best.’
‘For the best! To believe in a lie, for all these years?
‘It’s been a shock for me too,’ Ben said. ‘I didn’t read it until we were in France. I had no idea until then. You have to believe me, Jude.’
‘You and my mum—’
‘It was a long time ago. We were young. These things happen.’
‘And he knew about it all along?’ Jude said, seething with anger.
‘Simeon?’
‘What kind of man would do that? Pretend to be the father of another man’s kid?’
‘The best kind,’ Ben said. ‘He loved you. You couldn’t have asked for a better father.’
‘Except he wasn’t, was he?’ Jude said bitterly. ‘He was a liar and a fraud. So much for the good upstanding vicar, the great Christian with all his high-and-mighty fucking morals.’
Ben stepped forward. ‘Jude—’
‘Get the fuck away from me. You’re not my father. I’ll never see you that way.’
‘I don’t expect you to. I don’t even know how to be a father.’
Jude leaped up from the bed, red-faced. He scrunched the letter into a tight ball and clenched it in his fist. ‘This is bullshit!’ he yelled. Grabbing his rucksack off the floor, he slung it violently over his shoulder and started pushing his way past Ben towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘As far away from you as possible.’
‘You’re on an island,’ Ben said. ‘You can’t go anywhere.’
‘I’ll swim home if I have to. What do you care, anyway?’
‘Hey. Come on. Don’t act this way. We can talk about it.’
‘Fuck you, Dad.’
‘I’m not your dad,’ Ben said, trying to restrain his rising temper. ‘Simeon Arundel was, is, your dad, and you should be proud to say so. The rest counts for nothing. Jude! Come back!’
But Jude wasn’t listening. He stormed out onto the landing and started running down the stairs. Ben raced out after him. He stopped at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister rail. ‘Oh, shit,’ he groaned to himself, scarcely able to believe this was happening. It was all his fault. He should never have let Jude see the letter.
But recriminations and self-blame could wait for now. After a moment’s hesitation, he plunged down the stairs after Jude. As he reached the bottom, the front door was swinging on its hinges. He flicked on a side-lamp in the entrance hall, burst outside onto the terrace and saw Jude dashing away up the beach, a rapidly disappearing running figure silhouetted against the dark sand.
Ben was about to give chase, just as he’d done back on Bodmin Moor. But then he held himself back and gave it more thought. Was it a mistake to let Jude run off like this? Or would it be an even bigger mistake to follow him and try to work things through together? Should he give him space, or rein him in?
Jude was gone now, vanished into the darkness.
Ben suddenly realised what he was dealing with. It was a parenting problem. Most parents were faced with choices and dilemmas every day bringing up their kids, and only by learning from their mistakes could they have any chance of making the right decisions. Sometimes they did, sometimes not, but after eighteen or twenty years they had at least some kind of experience to guide them through the ever-changing minefield.
Ben had none at all. He’d been thrown into the deep end with no idea of how to swim. He simply didn’t know how to deal with such a situation.
But then it hit him that he knew someone who was very well equipped to deal with it. Brooke hadn’t yet experienced motherhood herself, but she was wise in these things and her background in psychology was about as extensive as you could get. It was what had earned her her PhD., Ben figured, so she must be able to help him here.
Besides, he felt so alone and isolated that he’d have wanted to talk to her anyway. He knew that, deep down.
Remembering the card she’d given him with her new number on, he quickly dug out his wallet and found it. His phone was in his jeans pocket. As he dialled the number, he counted back the gap between the time zones. It’d be early morning in London. Brooke would still be in bed.
He
