Читать книгу Bring Me Back: The gripping Sunday Times bestseller now with an explosive new ending! - Б. Э. Пэрис, B Paris A - Страница 21

TWELVE

Before

At the end of the summer, we moved from the flat I’d been renting since my argument with Harry. I hadn’t seen him again. You begged me to apologise but I wasn’t sure he’d forgive me. Instead, I handed in my notice behind his back and then I left, collecting our stuff from the flat while he was at work. When I think about it now, I’m so ashamed of my behaviour back then. But the love I felt for you made me crazy, made me do crazy things.

I have a confession to make – do you remember that earlier that year, I took you to Devon for a week? Well, it was because I wanted to see if you liked it there. And you’d loved it. We’d toured around, staying in B&Bs, exploring the beautiful beaches and the surrounding countryside and it was all part of my plan. When I began looking in estate agents’ windows, you’d been enthusiastic about me buying a property there. Then you found the cottage, only a few minutes’ walk from the beach in St Mary’s. I bought it and let you choose the furniture, so that you would feel the cottage was yours too. Do you remember how we laughed when you ordered a double bed so big that it took up most of the bedroom? And still my feet hung out the end of it.

When I first suggested that we move there permanently you’d been hesitant, as I knew you’d be. So I promised that if you didn’t like it, we’d move back to London. Those first months in St Mary’s were so happy. We never tired of each other’s company and would walk for miles along the beach. For the first time, I felt as if I had a home. One of my greatest pleasures was seeing our shoes in the hall, your little size fives next to my enormous thirteens. I loved it when you slipped your shoes inside mine, because they easily fitted. To me it was physical proof that I was carrying you through tough times. Except that when life had got tough, I hadn’t carried you at all.

That winter in Devon was difficult for you, I know. Maybe it reminded you of the winters on Lewis, because it came in so suddenly and angrily; the wind whipping relentlessly against our faces as we walked on the beach, the sky heavy and grey. And whenever a postcard arrived from Ellen – a different view of Lewis each time – you became so sad I thought at first she was reprimanding you for staying away for so long. But when you read them out to me, I saw that she was only happy for you in your new life, and decided that what you felt was guilt at leaving her behind, not sadness.

Once Christmas had been and gone you became restless, and I began to worry that you would hold me to my promise and ask to return to London. In an effort to distract you I booked a ski trip in Megève. Harry and I had rented a chalet there several times, and I hoped the break would give you the space to love Devon again. All I wanted was for you to be happy, which is why I asked if you would like Ellen to join us.

I suggested that she came for a week, offering to pay for a local nurse to look after your father. But you said that Ellen wouldn’t come and became angry, so that in the end I wished I’d never suggested it. In an effort to understand, I asked if you felt guilty that Ellen was stuck on Lewis while you had escaped. Do you remember your answer? ‘Escaped?’ you said. ‘I escaped from Lewis and now, here I am, stuck in a backwater in Devon.’ You’d smiled, wanting to take the sting out of your words, but I heard the reality behind them and promised that when we came back from Megève, I’d take you anywhere that you wanted.

But I never got the chance.