No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [79]
Tears slid down her face but she was in no shape to argue. “I thought it was all a little too good to be true,” she muttered.
“I meant what I said. I’m glad you left. It nearly killed me but I’m glad. This isn’t about punishing you. It’s about our children. Deep down you know that to be true. You’ve been hurt enough, Norma. You’re in a terrible place but you’ll make your way back, and when you do we’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t take them, Ivan!” she begged.
“I have to,” he said, turned his back and walked away to the sound of her cries.
Outside he wiped away his own tears. I’m so sorry, love.
18. Beauty and the Beast
It was a beautiful spring day. The kind of day that instils a sense of wellbeing in even the most troubled soul – bright green grass, healthy brown bark and deep green leaves on branches that spread out against a translucent blue sky. Light shone down on the pretty town and with it came a heat that was more than the effect of global warming.
Sam had started his day with a walk down by the back of the pier. He lay on the grass and stared into the blue sky with a light heart. He had come to love this little place. He had come to feel a part of it. No journey would go uninterrupted by “Hello!” or “How are you?” No distance was travelled without a beep or a wave or a hat tipped in his direction. He was known. He was liked. And even though he hadn’t made those around him aware of his past, he was no longer a stranger to the people of Kenmare. For the most part they didn’t really care where he’d come from or who he used to be. They only cared about who he was now. Gossip mostly favours the present tense and he was grateful for that.
He had thought about coming clean with Mary. He figured she deserved to know the truth. She knew he was hiding and he knew it was only a matter of time before his past caught up with his present. The problem with enlightening her was a simple one. He had grown used to not hating himself and it felt good. That said, he was always on the verge of, and one memory away from, feeling sick. At home he was surrounded by those he had disappointed. They stood before him like mirrors reflecting his every flaw. Here it was different: he had a clean slate. If he told Mary the truth she would become another mirror he had to escape. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t bear the idea of losing sight of her – and not because he was foolish enough to believe in the possibility of a soul-mate. Neither was he stupid enough to think that because his skin tingled in her presence it meant anything more than physical attraction. His senses were often heightened in the presence of a woman he wished to invade. But he would never invade Mary. Instead he yearned to crawl inside her because someone unseen was whispering to him that in her he would find home.
It was such a beautiful spring day that Mary arranged a facial. Spring was a time for buds, lambing, blue skies and exfoliation. She was booked in for midday at Gemma’s on Main Street. Of course she was fifteen minutes early, having miscalculated the time it would take to find parking.
Patty Winslow was sitting by the window, reading a well-worn copy of The Canterbury Tales while enjoying a complimentary cappuccino. “Hello, dear,” she said, once she’d fixed her glasses on her nose.
“Hi, Patty.”
“A little restoration?” Patty suggested.
“Something like that.”
Patty dropped her book and sat back to look at her.
“What?” Mary asked, a little uncomfortable under scrutiny.
“You appear tired.”
“I haven’t been sleeping,” Mary admitted.
“I haven’t seen dark circles the like of that since Marianne Faithfull was a teenager in love.”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s not love keeping me up all night,” Mary told her.
“And of that you’re sure?”
She sighed. “We’re just friends, Patty.”
Patty chuckled to herself.
The Italian girl at the counter told Mary in broken English that the beautician was running a little late and asked if she would like coffee. Mary asked for a cappuccino.