Читать книгу The Atlas of Us - Tracy Buchanan, Tracy Buchanan - Страница 9

When Claire and Milo got back to the inn, they were separated among the back-patting and gasps of horror as Matt regaled a hero’s story that made the two of them sound like Greek gods. He even insisted they join the family for dinner that night, and extended an invite to his wedding reception.

As Claire was talking to Matt, Henry came out, face incredulous as he took in all the attention his brother-in-law was getting.

‘Ready for our lunch, Claire?’ he asked her, frowning slightly. He’d clearly heard she’d gone on a walk with Milo and disapproved.

‘I have a bit of a headache actually,’ she said. Last thing she needed was to sit across from his judgmental eyes. ‘I might just go back to my room. Sorry to be a bore. I got some great pictures though, and I still have two days here. Maybe we can meet for a drink or dinner later?’

He looked over at Milo then turned back to Claire, smiling. ‘Yes, of course. You can try our taster menu. Just come down when you feel like it.’

Claire headed back to her room, sinking into a deep sleep with Archie curled at her side. When she woke, the first thing she smelled was the bell heather she’d placed on the table. It instantly brought back memories of Milo’s big calloused hands clutched tight around the rope; the smell of him so close, bonfires and musk; the way his eyes had lifted to meet hers.

No, it wasn’t right. She needed to drive those thoughts away.

She pulled out her dad’s old postcards and flicked through them. Kangaroos and Niagara Falls; golden temples and bone-dry deserts, scenes from all the countries they’d visited as a family: Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Namibia, Iceland, Paraguay, India … the list went on, all jigsaw pieces of her childhood that she carried with her wherever she went. Her dad had scrawled on the back of some, messages like ‘Littlest Hobo, do you remember the sun rising over that rock? Daddy Bo, xx’, every word still scorched into her memory.

But still, she saw Milo.

So she strode across the room and grabbed her phone, flicking through loving texts she’d received in the past from Ben, trying to find an anchor in him too. When that didn’t work either, she reached for her book. It took a while but, eventually, her shoulders relaxed, Milo’s face disappearing as she sunk into pre-war Japan.

When darkness fell, she put her book aside and walked to the window, peering out across the valley. The skies were clear, stars scattered all over, their bright white orbs lighting the night sky and turning it violet. Claire thought of Ben. What would he be doing right now? Probably watching the news or looking over some documents from work. Would he be wondering what she was doing? When she’d told him there’d be no reception, he’d said that was a good thing; that it would give them proper space from one another. But she yearned to pick up the phone now, hear his voice, have him tell her he’d made a mistake. Her stomach plummeted as she remembered their conversation again and the look on his face that spoke volumes. He was exhausted with the charade, she could see it in the bags under his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks.

She put her fist to her mouth, stifling a sob. Once again, she felt as though she were falling, her body twisting and turning in the westerly wind as she tumbled down that valley into nothingness. What was there for her without Ben and the security he offered?

Thirty minutes later, she was standing in the shadows of one of the cream-painted alcoves in the restaurant, pulling Archie back as he strained to find the source of the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. There was a large table at the back and she could already see Matt sitting at it with the pretty blonde girl she’d seen the day before, presumably his fiancée Sarah.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Henry looking down at her, face red and sweaty. ‘So sorry, Claire,’ he said. ‘Two of our staff have called in sick. Hangovers no doubt. They certainly won’t be invited back. Means it’s all hands on deck. Can we do lunch tomorrow? I’ve set a table aside for you and have instructed our chef to prepare our famous taster meal. And a sausage for Archie, of course,’ he added, leaning down to ruffle Archie’s head then snapping his hand back as Archie let out a low growl.

She followed his gaze towards the solitary table overlooking the valley. She was used to dining alone during media trips. But tonight it scared her, made her see more nights like this mapped out before her without Ben by her side.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Henry, sounds lovely.’

When he rushed off, Claire took a deep breath and looked down at Archie. ‘Looks like you’re my dinner date tonight, boy.’ She headed towards the table then noticed Matt look up.

‘Don’t tell me you’re dining alone?’ he called out to her. ‘I said you can join us tonight.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to impose.’

‘I insist,’ he said.

She looked at her lonely table then took in the large table buzzing with chatter and laughter. She yearned to sit with them all, have her head filled with other people’s lives and stories so she didn’t have to think of her own. Milo wasn’t there, maybe that meant he had to help out in the inn – Henry had said it was all hands on deck?

‘Okay, if you’re sure?’ she asked.

‘Of course.’ When she walked over to the table, Matt pulled out a seat next to a blond man. ‘This is Jay Hemingford, my best man,’ he said as Claire sat down. Archie darted under the table as Sarah threw a piece of bread for him. ‘And this is my animal-loving fiancée, Sarah,’ he said, gesturing towards her.

‘Very grateful fiancée too,’ Sarah said. ‘Thank you for saving my foolish husband-to-be.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard all about your heroics, Clara,’ the man sitting next to her said. He was wearing a dark Victorian-style suit, an expensive gold watch around his freckled wrist.

‘Jesus, Jay, her name’s Claire!’ Matt said, shaking his head.

Jay pulled a face. ‘Christ, sorry, I’m terrible with names. Claire, Clara, whatever, you’re still a hero.’

‘Ha, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing,’ Claire replied as Archie tried to jump up at Jay’s trousers. She pulled him away. ‘Sorry, he has a thing for ruining expensive-looking trousers.’

‘And expensive-looking dresses,’ Jay said as Archie turned his attention to scrabbling at Claire’s long print dress. ‘Is that an Alexander McQueen?’

‘Alexander who?’

Jay laughed. ‘Maybe not then.’

‘I got it from Singapore.’

‘Very nice. So, Matt tells me you’re a journalist?’

‘Yes, I write for a travel magazine.’

‘Splendid. Which one?’ he asked.

‘Travel Companion? You won’t have heard of it. It’s a trade magazine.’

‘Ah, no.’ He took a sip of the champagne he’d been nursing. ‘I’m a journalist myself.’

‘Who do you write for?’

‘Daily Telegraph. I cover the European markets.’

‘That’s impressive.’

‘Honestly, my dear, if you caught sight of my pay cheque, you wouldn’t think it impressive at all.’

Claire looked at his expensive suit. She knew exactly how much national newspapers paid. If the Daily Telegraph hadn’t paid for that, she wondered who had. A gust of cold air drifted in as someone opened the entrance door. She peered towards it – still no sign of Milo. She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.

But once the starters arrived, he appeared, no wax jacket and wellies this time. Instead, he was wearing a dark grey shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms, his hand wrapped in a bandage. His hair looked newly washed, and he’d shaved.

He paused at the entranceway to the restaurant and fixed his eyes on Claire, making her stumble over her sentence.

‘Finally,’ Matt said, jumping up and placing his hand to his heart. ‘My hero.’

Everyone laughed and Milo’s gaze broke from Claire’s.

‘He even looks like one, doesn’t he? Tall, dark, handsome,’ Matt said, striding over to him and shaking his hand. Milo flinched. ‘Jesus, of course, sorry. How’s your hand?’

‘I’ll survive. How’s the ego?’

Everyone laughed as Sarah clapped her hands.

‘Bruised,’ Matt said, leading Milo to the chair across from Claire’s.

Claire didn’t remember much about the start of that dinner, just the way Milo looked, his lips red from the wine, his dark fringe in his eyes. And how, each time he caught her eye, she felt her skin turn warm. So she avoided his gaze by watching the happy couple instead. Had things been like that with Ben before they married? She thought so, despite how stressful it had been balancing her job with organising caterers and florists and God knows what else. Was it natural, this gradual abrasion of feeling? Or was the infertility just the death knell for a marriage that had been weak from the start? She took a quick sip of wine. Why was she being so bloody negative? She should be fighting for her marriage, riding the good waves and the bad, as her sister Sofia would say.

Milo caught her eye again and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Did fighting for her marriage mean blushing every time a handsome farmer looked her way?

Sarah shot Claire a knowing smile as she looked between them. Claire wanted to shake her by the shoulders, tell her she’d got the wrong end of the stick, it was just the emotion of the day, the drama.

When pudding arrived, so did Milo’s brother Dale. He pulled a chair up next to Claire. ‘I hear my brother nearly shot you yesterday,’ he said, pouring himself a glass of red wine, some of it sloshing over the sides. His eyes were like Milo’s: penetrating, intense. But there was something else there too, a detachment that unsettled her.

‘Not quite,’ Claire said. ‘It’s all a bit embarrassing now really.’

‘It’s just the way it is. If an animal needs to die – for food, to put it out of pain, to save a younger animal – you kill it. That’s what our father used to say.’

Claire laughed nervously. ‘You make it sound like Milo was trying to put me down.’

Dale didn’t return her laugh, just stared at her with that dispassionate look in his eyes. Then he turned his gaze to his brother. ‘Milo’s too soft, you know. When he was sixteen, one of our bitches had a mongrel litter and Dad was about to shoot them all and who turns up but my little brother, the sap. Just goes and stands right in between that gun and those pups, kicks up a stink, saves their lives. Dad told me he beat him black and blue after,’ he added, laughing. Claire moved away slightly, feeling uncomfortable. She could see what Henry meant now about Dale. Maybe seeing all he’d seen in the Falklands had made him like this? ‘Five of the pups died anyway,’ he continued in a bored voice. ‘Only Blue survived. Milo reckons it was worth a broken rib to save that mongrel.’

‘He does adore Blue,’ Claire said, not sure what else to say. Dale gave her a cold smile in response, his gaze holding hers for a beat more than was comfortable.

Claire looked over at Milo. He was talking to Sarah, his face animated as he tried to explain something to her. How different your first impressions can be of someone. When he’d killed that stag, she’d thought him heartless, violent. But it appeared he was very far from that, just a man who cared deeply for his family and the animals in his care. His brother, it appeared, was a different story.

Dale followed Claire’s gaze. ‘He’ll be gone soon enough. He’s got the travel bug like our grandfather, always going on about running a farm in another country.’ He laughed. ‘Wonder if he’ll end up putting a gun in his mouth and blowing his brains out like our grandfather did?’

Chills ran down Claire’s spine. How could he say things like that so flippantly?

He slugged back more wine, some of it spilling from the side of his mouth, leaving a trail of red down his chin. ‘He’s definitely got the bug all right. Just needs to save enough money. Then I’ll be left alone to deal with all the crap.’

Claire looked towards Jay as a way to escape but he was deep in conversation with the man to his right. She could make her excuses and go to the toilet but what about Archie?

‘Ah, the blushing bride,’ Dale said, leaning back in his chair and watching Sarah over the rim of his glass. ‘They’re never as innocent as they look, you know, especially the pretty ones. I told Henry to stop doing the weddings, makes us look like a bloody chain hotel. Makes me sick, every one of them.’ He slugged back another mouthful of wine, his face stony, shoulders tense. Milo peered over at his brother, his face clouding over as though he could sense the tension.

‘All right there?’ he asked, looking between Dale and Claire.

‘Just saying how tedious it is,’ Dale said in a loud voice, ‘seeing one wedding after another here. They all blur into one after a while, one boring sentimental mess.’

The table went quiet and Sarah’s blue eyes widened. Milo’s face flushed. ‘Dale, why don’t we—’

Their sister Jen appeared then, exchanging a look with Milo. ‘Dale, can you help me get a keg from the cellar? I can’t find Henry anywhere.’

‘Maybe that’s because he’s hiding in the waitress’s knickers,’ Dale said under his breath, his lip curling. Jay raised an eyebrow and Claire looked at Jen to see if she’d heard but her expression remained unchanged. Dale stood up, nearly knocking over Claire’s drink. Milo leaned forward and grabbed the glass before its contents spilled all over Claire’s dress, mouthing a ‘sorry’ to her as Dale stumbled off after his sister.

‘What a romantic soul your brother is,’ Jay said to Milo.

Milo swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. ‘He gets a bit cynical after having a few.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Sorry, he didn’t mean any of it, not really. He’s had a lot of stress recently.’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘I completely understand, must be very difficult for farmers.’

‘What about you, Milo?’ Matt asked. ‘Are you cynical about love? Or have you managed to find yourself a farmer’s wife in between all that muck-clearing and cow-milking?’

Milo dug his spoon into his apple crumble, his expression unreadable. ‘No time to look for anyone really.’

‘Surely they come searching for you?’ Sarah said.

Milo’s cheeks flushed.

‘You better get a move on,’ Matt said. ‘Every man needs a good woman to look after him.’

Sarah flicked her napkin at her fiancé. ‘Since when did you turn into a chauvinist pig?’

‘Damn, I was hoping to keep that bit hidden from you until after the wedding.’ He glanced back at Milo. ‘So?’

‘You don’t need a wedding ring on your finger to look after someone. A couple can be just as secure without a piece of paper binding them.’

Claire stared at her wedding ring. She’d actually been the one who wanted to get married quickly after Ben proposed. He’d wanted to wait, save more money. But she’d needed that piece of paper, that ring on her finger, to prove she wasn’t like her dad and to start on her road to security.

Jay turned to Claire. ‘Do you agree?’

She glanced up, noticing everyone’s eyes on her. ‘I don’t know what I think really. But my dad’s old friend gave his wife a ring made from goat’s hair,’ she added, hoping to lighten the conversation. ‘That sounds fun.’

Everyone around the table laughed but Jay frowned. ‘How strange, my friend’s father was a bit of a hippy and did the same with his wife too. His name was Josh Pyatt, he worked for the Independent. Maybe it’s the same guy?’

‘I don’t recognise the name. But my dad wrote a travel column for the Indie so chances are it’s the same man.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Jay said, his blue eyes bright with excitement. ‘Don’t tell me you’re Bo Shreve’s daughter?’

Claire looked down at her food, wondering why she’d been stupid enough to bring up her dad. Now she was going to have to keep her emotions in check. Milo’s brow puckered as he watched her.

‘Yep,’ she said.

‘He was a wonderful writer, my mother adored his stuff,’ Jay said. ‘I was sorry to hear he passed away.’

Claire blinked, trying to stop the tears. ‘He was a good writer,’ was all she could manage. ‘It’s getting pretty late, thank you so much for inviting me to join you all,’ she said, suddenly feeling exhausted with it all. She peered at Archie who was curled up at her feet under the table. ‘I better get this little one to bed.’ Jay raised an eyebrow and she laughed. ‘Yes, he’s my little fur baby, what of it?’

He looked at Archie in mock shock. ‘That is one hairy baby.’ His face grew serious. ‘It’s very dark out there, I can join you, if you wish?’

Milo stood up too. ‘I’ll go out with you, Claire. I ought to head back anyway. Yet another early start tomorrow thanks to those pre-menstrual cows.’

She smiled. ‘You won’t want to keep them waiting.’

When they stepped outside a few minutes later, Claire breathed in the tart air, hoping it would clear her head of the wine and the memories of her father.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your dad,’ Milo said. ‘Did he pass away recently?’

‘Nearly thirteen years ago. Cancer.’ She saw her dad’s thin face again as he stared up at her all those years ago. She peered back towards the hotel. ‘Will your brother be okay?’

Milo frowned. ‘Yeah, he gets like that when he’s had a few drinks. Add that to how tough things are at the farm nowadays, it’s not a good mix. Sorry you had to see him like that.’ He peered towards the path. ‘So, what are your plans for tomorrow?’ he asked, quickly changing the subject.

‘Just lunch with Henry. Otherwise, I was thinking about driving somewhere, maybe further west towards Cornwall. I’d like to write about some of the places people can visit while here. Saying that, my car struggled enough on the journey down.’

Milo followed Claire’s gaze towards her aqua Fiat Uno. ‘It’s quite a specimen.’

‘I swapped Bob Dylan tickets for that old thing years ago with a friend.’

‘You missed a Bob Dylan gig for that?’

She shrugged. ‘She brought me back a T-shirt.’

‘Well, if it’s just your car stopping you doing a tour, I can drive you tomorrow morning if you want? Can’t guarantee you’ll get back in time for lunch. But then maybe that’s not such a bad thing,’ he added, raising a dark eyebrow. ‘Lunch with Henry isn’t exactly thrilling; he’ll just bark on about why he had the restaurant walls painted cream instead of teal.’

‘How do you know I don’t find the interior decoration of West Country hotels fascinating?’

Milo smiled, a swift breeze whipping its way around him and picking up strands of his dark fringe. Claire wanted to reach out, sweep it away from his eyes. She felt guilt burn in her stomach. What was wrong with her?

She turned her attention to Archie so Milo didn’t notice her blush. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for them to spend the morning together? ‘I’ll manage on my own, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time.’

‘Like terrify tourists with my stag-shooting abilities?’

‘I bloody hope not!’

‘Never again,’ he said, his face very serious. ‘Look, I’m due some time off. Dale keeps hassling me to take a break. What do you think?’

Claire held her breath. This press trip wasn’t meant to be about this. A quickening of the heart, the inability to breathe as some virtual stranger looked her square in the eye. She needed space to figure out a future without Ben – ‘see the wood for the trees’ as he had said. But she felt like she’d stepped even further into the forest, the wood and the trees blurring even more than ever.

But as the seconds ticked by without her answering, and a frown puckered Milo’s forehead, she found herself unable to say no.

So she said yes instead.

Claire was nervous as she approached Milo’s Land Rover the next morning. She’d promised herself the night before she wouldn’t read anything into every flutter of her heart, every catch in her breath. It was like looking at a beautiful painting when she was around him. Aesthetics and desire, that’s all, she reasoned. She needed the company, a distraction from dwelling on her problems with Ben all the time. But that didn’t detract from the fact she was anxious.

As she reached the car, she paused. Milo was reading her magazine, his eyes heavy with emotion. She recognised the article, an obituary for the magazine’s financial director Victoria who’d passed away a few months ago. She’d always got on with the gentle, kind woman, who was a contrast to the magazine’s obnoxious founder. In the article, she’d drawn on a conversation she’d once had with her about how important it was to follow your own path, something Victoria had done by moving from the tiny Italian village where she’d been born to live in the UK, despite her family’s protests. Claire had used a quote by Bob Black, the anarchist her dad loved reading: The reinvention of daily life means marching off the edge of our maps.

Milo noticed her watching him and smiled, placing the magazine in the back seat and jumping out of the car so he could hold the passenger door open for her. She paused a moment, taking the chance to still her heart as she took in the misty valleys ahead of her, feel the cold on her cheeks. Then she clambered in, placing Archie on her lap as Blue regarded them from the back seat.

‘You were reading my magazine?’ Claire asked, gesturing to it.

Milo nodded. ‘Holly got a copy off Henry after hearing you’d be staying here so I nabbed it off her. You’re a great writer, Claire.’

Claire looked down, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘Thanks. It took a lot to write that article, I really liked Victoria.’

He was quiet for a few moments. ‘It made sense what you said about how losing someone burns a hole in you. But how the love of the people left behind can make new skin grow back.’

‘You talk like you’ve lost someone too.’

‘Haven’t we all?’ He started the engine, the smell of petrol filling the car. ‘We better get a move on if we want you back for Henry’s thrilling lunch.’

He winked at her and she laughed. ‘Your engine sounds a bit dodgy, we may well break down on the way back.’

‘Good thinking,’ Milo said.

Claire looked around at the car’s immaculate interior as it rumbled down the road. ‘Nice and tidy. You’re a farmer. Shouldn’t there be some dead pheasants in the back or something?’

Milo raised an eyebrow. ‘Or an African drum like the one in your back seat? Holly noticed it when we walked past your car yesterday. And all the books too.’

Claire thought of the back seat of her car, taken over by items she’d picked up from her travels and books taking her back to the distant lands she’d visited as a child: travel memoirs and novels crammed with dusty roads and stunning vistas.

She sighed. ‘It’s a mess, isn’t it? I haven’t properly tidied my car since I got it years ago. I like to hoard stuff. My dad used to call me his Littlest Hobo.’

‘Like the dog?’

She laughed. ‘No! He said I was like a homeless person, collecting all these items during my travels. He even got me a shopping trolley once in Spain which I hauled around a campsite with all my stuff. Plus his name was Bo and everyone said I was a miniature version of him, so it kind of stuck.’

Claire wondered if those people would say the same now. She had a job writing about travel, there was that at least. And a failed marriage on the horizon, just like him too. Claire swallowed, turning to look out of the window at the forest-fringed road to distract herself.

‘No wonder your car’s playing up if you’re treating it like a trolley,’ Milo said. ‘There are such things as glove compartments, you know. Speaking of which,’ he said, leaning across her and opening the glove compartment as she tried to control her heartbeat, ‘I can’t promise any Bob Dylan but I have some U2 tapes somewhere.’

He pulled a tape out and stuck it on as Claire forced herself to relax. Over the next three hours, Milo drove them around beautiful fishing villages where he seemed to know half the people, waving at them out of his window. When they stopped at a couple of places, Milo led Claire on a wild goose chase to find a ‘little tea room with outdoor seating I’m sure’s just around the corner’ or an ‘old open-air book market I swear is just here’. He only seemed comfortable outdoors, hovering outside with Archie and Blue when Claire wanted to pop into a shop or museum.

They drove even further along the coast, stopping to take a twisting coastal walk up a hill thick with grass, sheep grazing in the distance, the growl of waves nearby, the mouth-watering smell of fish and chips from one of the restaurants dancing up the hill towards them. They talked a lot, Milo telling Claire about his childhood on the farm, she telling him about her job and the people she’d met along the way – about everyone but Ben, the person who pulsed between them wherever they went. When lunchtime drew closer and closer, Claire found herself not wanting to leave. As though sensing her thoughts, Milo looked down towards the restaurant where the delicious smells were coming from. ‘Hungry?’ he asked with a smile.

She thought of Henry who’d be looking at his watch while tapping his fingers on the table. Maybe he’d even called her from the restaurant phone? She didn’t dare check. She didn’t want to check. She wanted to stay here, her troubles a distant memory, just the sea, Exmoor’s sloping hills, two dogs and Milo for company.

She matched his smile. ‘Very.’

Half an hour later, they were eating fish and chips in a café overlooking sandy, windy beaches.

‘You eat very slowly,’ Milo said, watching as Claire chewed on a chip.

‘It’s become a habit, I guess. My dad once said travel writing’s about all five senses, so I savour every mouthful to write about it later.’ She laughed as she watched Milo wolf down a chunk of cod. ‘Maybe you should try the savouring thing too?’

‘Have you seen the way my brother devours food and drink? I’ve had to learn to eat quick around him so he doesn’t get a chance to steal my stuff.’ He took a quick sip of cider. ‘So your dad taught you everything you know about writing, right?’

‘Yep. Jay was right: he was a really special writer. I have this one article of his I like to read over and over. Funnily enough, it’s about a country that’s really close to us, Belgium. He visited Ypres with my mum and sister while Mum was pregnant with me and he wrote about how the air was so heavy with loss and torment, he was scared it would infect me as I grew in Mum’s belly. But then he saw a solitary poppy, and it reminded him that birth and death are part and parcel of life, with blood spilled both times. It is what it is.’

‘I’d like to read that.’

‘I’ll dig it out and send it to you. It won an award, the Flora Matthews Foundation Prize for Travel Writing. It’s pretty prestigious.’

‘Sounds it.’

Claire looked down at what remained of her food. ‘That’s the night Dad left us actually.’

Milo frowned. ‘Left you?’

‘We woke to find him gone the morning after the ceremony, just a note scribbled on the back of the awards menu I’d kept. Time to march off the map, my darlings. All my love, Daddy Bo.’

‘I’m sorry. How old were you?’

‘Sixteen. Looking back, it shouldn’t have been a huge surprise. He’d started taking all that marching off the edge of the map stuff too literally, banging on about needing to leave behind societal pressures – which, in the end, meant his family too.’

‘Where did he go?’

Claire shrugged. ‘No idea. We didn’t hear anything from him over the next few months, not even on my seventeenth birthday or at Christmas. It felt like he’d thrown us away like a piece of rubbish. Mum said we needed to accept we might never see him again. My sister Sofia grew bitter. She’d never been as close to Dad as I was, but that really changed things for her. She pretended like he was dead.’ Claire looked down at the tiny globe hanging from her bag. ‘But I refused to give up on him. Six months after he left, I used the money he’d left in my savings to go find him.’

‘Brave,’ Milo said softly.

‘I was brave back then.’

‘Not now?’

Claire shrugged again.

‘So did you find him?’ Milo asked.

‘Not then. I carried on travelling for a year or so, making money from articles. My mum met a new guy, moved to Hong Kong with him – she’s still there now. Sofia started training to be a solicitor, the very job my dad despised. It was only me who followed his path, travelling, writing. Then my uncle passed away. Mum couldn’t track Dad down to tell him, so I did some investigating and …’

She paused, hearing the smash of rain against glass from the day she’d found him. She quickly swallowed down more cider.

‘You okay?’ Milo asked.

She nodded. ‘I – I found him dying in a flat in New York. Turned out he’d been living there the past year, dying of liver cancer, refusing to bend to societal pressures and get medical help. He died in my arms a few days later.’

‘Jesus, I’m so sorry, Claire.’

They were quiet for a few moments as Claire remembered how it had felt to see her dad lying there. She remembered thinking, Is this what marching off the map does – drives people apart, leaves people dying in pain all alone?

She’d cared for him over the next few days, reading his favourite books to him, sharing memories from her childhood. The third night, he’d gestured towards one of the drawers in his room. Inside, Claire found a sky lantern, just like the ones they used to send skywards each New Year’s Eve, all the troubles and negativity of the year before written down on notes attached to them and sent away forever. He scribbled a note with trembling hands: his name, Bo. She hadn’t understood at first. But when he drew his last breath and her world felt like it was ending, it dawned on her: he wanted her to let him and all the negativity associated with him go.

So that very night, she did what they’d done every New Year before: she sent the lantern skywards, her father’s name attached to it.

‘I went back to the UK after,’ she said, sighing. ‘Talked myself into a university course—’

‘Talked yourself?’

‘I’d been home-schooled, remember? Dad said education was just society’s way of brainwashing children so I had no qualifications. So I wrote this long rambling letter to a bunch of admissions directors at various universities and one recognised something, got me in for an interview and that was that. I worked my arse off, came away with a first-class degree in English, got the job at the magazine, got a mortgage, life insurance, the works, everything Dad once despised.’ She forced a smile onto her face as she took a sip of cider. ‘And now here I am.’

‘Why did you do everything your dad despised?’

‘Seeing him like that scared me. I realised if I followed the path he had, I might end up dying alone too. I chose a safer path.’

‘Are you happy with that decision?’

She swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know. I can feel it pulling at me sometimes, the desire to just let everything go and fly with the wind.’ She paused. She’d not admitted that to herself properly, like the nights she’d feel the urge to just throw open the window and breathe in the wind, Ben protesting it was too cold as she imagined climbing out and leaving.

‘What about your husband?’ Milo said, his eyes flicking to her wedding ring. ‘Is he a writer too?’

She froze. She’d purposefully not mentioned Ben to Milo, aware of her growing attraction to Milo and what a betrayal it might be to her husband to utter his name in front of him. ‘No, he’s an engineer.’ Her voice cracked and she turned away, feeling tears start to well up.

‘Are you okay?’ Milo asked softly.

‘I’m fine.’ She smiled to show she was okay but it just made her feel even more upset, her smile turning into a grimace.

‘Claire, what’s wrong?’ Milo asked, leaning towards her and trying to look in her eyes. He hesitated a moment then sighed. ‘I saw you crying before I shot the stag.’

She looked up at him. ‘You saw that?’

He nodded, his brown eyes full of emotion. ‘I know we hardly know each other but sometimes it helps to talk to people who aren’t so close to the situation.’

‘It’s more complicated than you know.’

‘Try me.’

She looked into his eyes. They were open, curious, full of feeling. Maybe he was right?

‘My husband and I are having problems,’ she said. ‘He suggested we take a break.’

Milo took in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘I don’t want you to think my marriage is a shambles,’ she said quickly. ‘It was good at first, really good. We met at uni, and though we’re completely different – I was studying English, my husband was studying engineering – we clicked right away.’

Claire thought about the first time she’d met Ben. It was just a few months into her first year at university and she was starting to regret her choice. It all felt too restricting and regimental, lectures at particular times, meetings with professors, special clubs and different cliques. One night, when it all got too much, she got horribly drunk on snowball cocktails at a party and had to make her way back to her room in the dark. That’s when Ben turned up, driving alongside her in his Renault Clio and offering her a lift. Anyone else and she might have steered well clear. But there was something about Ben: an honesty in his soft green eyes, the neat turn of the collar on his shirt, the polite way he talked in his Home Counties voice. When he helped her into his car, she felt instantly safe and on the car journey to her room she unburdened herself, telling him how stifled she felt at university, even confessing she wanted to quit, something she hadn’t even admitted to herself. The next day, he talked her out of packing in her course over lunch then asked her out for dinner. And that was that.

‘What went wrong?’ Milo asked, pulling Claire from the memory.

‘We started struggling to conceive.’

She paused, checking Milo’s expression. But he looked the same, willing her to continue with his eyes.

‘My fault,’ she said. ‘My insides are a bit of a mess, blocked tubes and dodgy eggs.’

She didn’t tell Milo her blocked tubes were caused by swelling from the chlamydia she’d caught from a man she’d met in Paris while searching for her father. She’d been devastated when her GP had told her: yet more proof that travelling off the edge of the map was the wrong thing to do. She’d had an op to unblock her tubes but, when she still hadn’t fallen pregnant a year later, more tests revealed she had low quality eggs. IVF was her only chance of ever becoming pregnant.

‘We tried IVF,’ she said to Milo. ‘Three rounds, each one a dud. The last one was two months ago.’

‘Claire, I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard IVF can be very difficult.’

‘The physical stuff I could deal with,’ she said, fiddling with her glass. ‘Sure, having your flesh pierced with needles each night isn’t exactly a ball. Being poked around by doctors, I guess you grow used to that over the years when you’ve been through what we’ve been through. And the effects of the hormones, the headaches and the nausea and the crazy outbursts … it was bloody hard, don’t get me wrong. But the worst part was how it affected me emotionally.’

She could hear the tremor in her voice but ignored it. She needed to get this off her chest. She’d turned down the counselling that had been offered to her, thinking she could cope. And she’d always put on a brave face with family and friends. As for her and Ben, they couldn’t talk about it, not properly, because then they’d need to admit how difficult and painful it all was. This was her chance to vent and she was grabbing it with both hands.

‘The idea of never being a mother,’ she said, ‘never holding a baby in my arms and leaning my nose in to smell its sweet head, never feeling the tickle of its soft hair on my cheek.’ She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. ‘It’s unbearable. I’ve never been one of those girls whose whole life revolves around the idea of being a mother. But I’ve always wanted children. And the more you fight for it, the more you want it, you know?’

Milo nodded, his face very sombre. Claire looked out towards the stretch of beach below, the hill they’d walked along earlier spreading out to its right. Two children splashed into the shallow water in their wellies, a little dog jumping up and down, yelping in excitement as their parents watched from nearby.

‘Seeing other people’s kids grow older,’ she said, ‘that’s been hard too, especially kids who are the same age my child would be if I’d fallen pregnant straight away.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘And then there are the looks of sympathy you get when you turn up to yet another wedding, still childless. That’s all bad enough but then add society’s expectations to it all: if you’re not a mother, a parent, you’re nothing.’

Milo shook his head. ‘That’s rubbish. It’s an important role, yes, but you don’t need kids to have a fulfilling life.’

‘I guess I know that. But the message you do is in everything I see.’ She sighed. ‘And now I know all hope’s gone—’

‘You do?’

She nodded sadly. ‘We paid for our first three rounds because the NHS waiting times were ridiculous. Now we’re finally at the top of the list and the NHS won’t fund us because my hormone levels are too hopeless.’ Claire stabbed her fork into her fish. ‘It’s definitely not going to happen now.’

That consultation had been a month ago. Claire was used to these post-round consultations. With each one, more and more hope drained away, the doctors’ once jovial and optimistic demeanours replaced by frowns and serious tones. She’d known something was particularly wrong with this last one because the doctor they saw could hardly look Claire in the eye. When he’d broken the news that her last blood test had shown her hormone levels had climbed, suggesting her egg quality had plummeted, it felt like the swivel chair she was sitting on was spinning her around and around, sending her into freefall. She’d held on tight enough to her emotions to ask all the perfunctory questions, even cracking the odd joke or two. But when she stepped outside, she had broken down, mumbling into Ben’s shoulder, ‘It’s chaos, it’s all chaos.’ Because how could so many millions of people, some of whom didn’t even want to be parents, get pregnant and she couldn’t?

Ben had just stared into the distance, trying to control his emotions, jaw tight, the same expression he’d had on his face ever since.

Milo was silent so Claire looked up at him, heart thumping painfully against her chest. ‘This is the bit where you’re supposed to offer useless advice.’

‘What, like relax and it will happen?’

‘I prefer “My friend’s second cousin couldn’t conceive so she gave up and guess what? She got pregnant!”’ That’s the one my sister Sofia uses all the time.’

She smiled but Milo didn’t smile back. He knew what she was trying to do, lighten the tone. Except this was a serious subject, wasn’t it?

‘If you say it’s not going to happen, I believe you,’ he said. ‘It’s not fair to offer false hope.’

‘Thank you, I agree,’ she said, sighing. ‘I did think about getting a loan to pay for another private round but I just can’t face it. You hear of people who have loads of rounds and it just takes over their lives. That’s one of the worst things too, feeling like you’re in limbo. I can’t be in limbo any more, I just can’t.’ Claire watched a woman walk along the shoreline below them, a book in one hand, her sandals in the other, her long blonde hair like candyfloss as it whipped around her head in the wind. ‘I think my life can be complete without a child, you know. I think I can carve a place for myself.’

‘Definitely. I have no doubt about it.’

She looked into Milo’s impassioned eyes and almost believed it herself when he said that.

‘And your husband?’ he asked. ‘Does he feel the same way?’

‘No, he thinks we should have another round. He brought it up during our last consultation, but after, I told him I just couldn’t face it. Since then, we barely talk, just go through the motions. God, that sounds like such a cliché – married couple runs out of things to say to each other.’

She laughed but Milo didn’t. Instead, he placed his hand over hers. She lifted her eyes to meet his, and she saw something in them that made her heart seem to thump a million beats at once. It wasn’t just sympathy for what she was going through; there was more to it than that.

‘You’re trembling,’ he said, voice hoarse. Her tummy flipped and half of her wanted to bury herself in his brown eyes and stop talking, just forget all the bad stuff. But the other half needed this, to get it all out, no interruptions from well-meaning friends about different remedies she could try to miraculously become fertile.

‘I can’t figure out if it’s simply the stress of being infertile,’ she continued, her gaze dropping from his, ‘or because we just don’t love each other any more and this would’ve happened even without the infertility. I think the problem is we married an idea of a life. A life with a nice house to do up, visits to DIY stores, life insurance … kids. But without the possibility of kids, it feels like that’s all gone. And with it, the purpose of our marriage. Does that make sense?’

‘Of course,’ Milo said.

She put her head in her hands. ‘God, I feel guilty talking about all this, he’s a wonderful man. I shouldn’t be unburdening myself on you either, it’s not fair.’

‘Unburden all you want! You shouldn’t feel guilty. You’ve been through so much. It can happen at the best of times, but after everything you’ve been through …’

She fiddled with the globe pendant on her bag, trying to control her emotions. ‘I don’t just feel guilty about how confused I am right now but also because it’s me who’s got the fertility problems, not him. He’s always been the one who’s really wanted all that. If it weren’t for me, he could have it by now, just like all his friends.’

Milo frowned. ‘Is this what this is about? You feeling like you’re holding him back? Maybe he doesn’t feel that way at all.’

Claire shook her head. ‘He does.’ It was right at that moment she realised Ben wanted it to be over. He was just too kind to do the ending.

And Claire wanted it to be over too.

It all got too much then, the tears starting to come. She didn’t want Milo to see her like this so she scraped her chair back and ran to the toilets. When she got there, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her face looked like it was stuck mid-argument; skin stretched, the tops of her cheeks red, eyes angry.

Her face crumpled and she slumped down into the wicker chair next to the sinks, sobbing into her hands. Her marriage was over, and she was terrified. Terrified of what the future held, terrified of the road she’d be forced to take. It wasn’t just Ben she was leaving behind, it was kids too. There was the possibility of adoption with Ben. But if she stepped away from her life with him now, that might mean turning her back on ever having a family.

‘So be it,’ she said, her jaw clenching. ‘This is what fate’s dealt me. So be it.’

She took a deep breath and got up, patting some water over her face before walking back outside, pausing at the entrance when she noticed Milo leaning over the railings with Archie, pointing something out to him as Blue stood with his paws on the railings.

How could it have taken a farmer from Exmoor to help her see the truth?

She walked towards him.

He turned when he heard her approach. ‘I’m so sorry, it’s none of my business, I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about it all.’

‘No, it’s helped. Really …’ She paused, trying to hold herself together. ‘I need to accept my marriage is over. I think Ben has; it’s time I did too.’

On the way back, Milo let Claire quietly sob as she digested the acknowledgement she’d just made about her marriage. Her heart ached for Ben and every wonderful moment they’d shared: the footprints they’d made in the sand during their wonderful honeymoon in Sardinia; the way he’d carried her over the threshold the day they’d moved into their house; the long dinners they’d shared with their friends, talking into the early hours. There were sad moments too, the touch of his hand when she woke from being sedated in their IVF clinic, the tears they’d shared at yet another negative pregnancy test.

After a while, they reached a small village crammed with thatched-roof cottages. The sun was starting to set, casting a pink glow over the village. As Milo drove into its centre, a castle appeared. Claire looked up, wiping the tears from her cheeks and smiling slightly.

Milo smiled as he noticed her reaction. ‘Nunney Castle,’ he said. ‘We used to come here as kids – Dale, Jen and me. I thought you might need something to smile about.’

‘It’s perfect.’

As they drew closer, she could see its exterior walls were discoloured and crumbling, its turrets falling apart, huge weeds curling around their bases. Circling the castle was a moat, grey water glistening in the setting sun, ducks shaking their wings on its banks.

They left the dogs in the car and stepped inside the castle, taking in the disintegrating walls and empty windows which looked out onto the pink sky. Claire pulled out her camera, noticing how perfect the light was.

She started taking pictures as Milo leaned against a nearby wall and watched her. She tried not to get distracted by the sight of him there, his dark hair in his eyes, arms crossed.

‘I can imagine you living somewhere with no roof,’ she said as she crouched down to take a picture of a cobweb that stretched across a crook in the wall.

‘Why’s that?’

‘You always like to be outdoors. I bet you have the window wide open in your room when you sleep, even in the winter.’

She thought about watching him sleep. She imagined the way his eyelashes would curl over his skin, the way his mouth would open slightly, the way his dark hair would look against a white pillow. She pressed her nails into the skin of her palms to drive the thoughts away.

‘I’m not that daft, though I do like to camp out in the summer and sleep under the stars,’ he said. ‘Funny you say that though. When my grandfather went to Greece, he slept on the beach for a week because he couldn’t afford a hotel.’

‘He sounds really interesting.’

‘He was; it’s great reading all his letters. Shame things ended for him the way they did.’ Claire thought again of what Henry had told her and Milo rolled his eyes. ‘Henry told you, didn’t he? I can tell from the look on your face.’

‘He did mention something.’

‘He probably forgot to mention my grandfather had liver disease and was in terrible pain, according to his final letters. He couldn’t take the pain any more.’

Claire thought of the pain her own dad suffered. ‘That must’ve been difficult, making that decision, going through with it,’ she said.

Milo sighed. ‘I understand why he did it. I’d do the same. But it hasn’t exactly helped our family’s reputation.’

‘What reputation?’

His jaw clenched as he looked down at the dusty ground. ‘Mum used to say the James family was cursed – the “James Curse”. There’s lots of stuff in our family’s past going back generations, various scandals. That farmhouse has seen more action than most. If it weren’t for our mad family, we’d have a lot more money, that’s for sure. I personally think it’s more about the James propensity for depression. My dad had problems with drinking, probably the reason he had a heart attack in the end.’

‘I’m sorry, Milo.’

‘It was hard growing up. Just hope I don’t end up the same,’ he mumbled.

‘You don’t strike me as being like that,’ Claire said softly.

He smiled. ‘Mum said the same. She said I’m different from the other James men. Apart from the sleeping in the open, that is,’ he added, raising an eyebrow. He looked up at what remained of the castle walls. ‘Reminds me of Venice in this light,’ he said. ‘Pink crumbling rocks, the strange gaping emptiness of it all.’

‘Very poetic. When did you go?’

‘School trip ages ago. Haven’t you been?’

‘No.’

‘I found it a tad tacky actually. It was probably nicer before the twentieth century got hold of it.’

Claire smiled. ‘I’m pleased you said that. I always thought the same.’

Milo stepped into a large hole in the wall. ‘This’ll make a good photo,’ he said, peering up. ‘Come look.’

‘Can it fit us both in?’

‘Sure.’

It wasn’t so dark inside but it was small, just wide enough to fit three, maybe four people. Milo blinked at Claire in the gloom and her heart rebounded against her chest. She wondered if he could hear it in such a small, quiet space.

‘Here,’ he said, taking her shoulders and twisting her around so she was facing outwards again.

Her arms tingled at the feel of his fingertips through the thin material of her cardigan. She pressed the camera into her chest to try to still her heart.

‘See,’ he murmured into her ear, his lips close to her neck. ‘You get a great angle from here.’

It was true. The sky was framed by the jagged outline of the entrance to this small hideaway, orange light gleaming in through all the different-sized windows. But Claire could hardly focus on it; all she could sense was Milo behind her.

‘Look up,’ he said, smiling. She lifted her camera but he put his hand on her arm. ‘Without hiding behind that camera of yours. Look with your eyes.’

She lowered her camera and did as he asked, taking in the slice of red sky that showed through the gap in the ceiling above. He was so close now, she could feel his breath on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost feel his lips there. She closed her eyes. She had two choices: step away into the safety of the castle, or stay here and see where the moment took them.

Her dad had said something similar a few days before he left.

I want to see where the moment takes me. I want to try a new path.

Where had that led him? Dying of cancer all alone, that’s where.

Claire stepped out of the crevice and thought she heard Milo sigh.

‘We better head back to the car,’ he said after a while. ‘It’ll be dark soon.’

Claire saw Milo as soon as she stepped into the wedding marquee the next day. He was standing with Holly in a dark grey suit, pulling awkwardly at the collar of his white shirt as he watched Matt and Sarah’s wedding guests walk in from the warm autumnal evening. When he caught sight of Claire, he stopped what he was doing and smiled.

She smoothed down her hair then walked up to him and Holly, feeling awkward in her oriental dress, the kitten heels of her shoes digging into the mud.

‘I love your dress, Claire,’ Holly said. ‘Is it from your travels?’

Claire nodded. ‘Japan.’

‘I’d so love to go there! A Japanese lady came to school to tell us about their culture. It’s so different from boring old England,’ she said, wrinkling her nose as she looked towards the farmhouse.

Claire smiled. She remembered feeling the same each time her family returned to the UK for a family event. ‘Maybe you will go to Japan one day.’ She took in Holly’s dress, the same blue taffeta one she’d worn for her birthday. ‘You look pretty yourself, Holly.’

‘I’m not so sure. Dad said he can’t afford a new one,’ she said. ‘It’s too childish. They’ll all think I’m a little girl.’

‘No they won’t,’ Milo said, putting his hand on his niece’s shoulder. ‘Claire’s right, you look really pretty in it.’ Holly looked up at Milo, beaming at him.

Claire pulled the bejewelled clip from her hair. ‘Take this,’ she said to Holly. ‘It goes better with your dress than mine.’

Milo smiled.

‘Oh, I can’t!’ Holly said.

‘Please, consider it a belated birthday present. A freedom fighter in India gave it to me when I was about your age so you can wear it and feel very grown up knowing that.’

Holly’s eyes lit up as she took it, staring down at it in her open palm as Milo mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Claire.

‘The heroes!’ someone shouted out.

They turned to see Matt strolling towards them. He was clearly already drunk but looked happy and very handsome in a black morning suit and pink cravat. He pulled Claire and Milo into a sweaty hug, pressing their faces together as Holly laughed. Then he beckoned some friends over and they spent the next twenty minutes listening to him tell the story of his ‘rescue’ all over again.

‘If I have to hear that story again,’ a familiar voice murmured next to Claire, ‘I think I’ll combust.’

She smiled. ‘Hello, Jay.’

He was wearing an usher’s suit in a similar style to Matt’s but he’d added a dash of his own style with a smart top hat and pink silk handkerchief.

‘I’m pleased you’re here,’ he said, completely ignoring Milo. ‘I want you to meet Yasmine. She’s an associate editor at Travel magazine in the US and was only saying the other day how she needs some fresh blood on her editorial team.’

Travel was big, glossy and had a huge circulation aimed at people who had the money to discover new places without missing out on the luxuries. Her dad would turn in his grave at the thought of her working for a ‘sell-out’ magazine, as he’d call it. But she’d heard great things about the way they treated their staff, a contrast to her current employers. And if her marriage was really over, she’d need a change. She couldn’t face still living in Reading, seeing the same people, bumping into Ben.

Milo took Archie’s lead from Claire. ‘You go ahead, Claire. Holly and I will take Archie and go find Blue. We’ll come back in a few minutes.’

‘Good idea,’ Jay said. ‘Lugging a dog about isn’t going to impress Yasmine.’

Milo smiled tightly then strode off with Holly as she twisted around to frown at them.

‘Come,’ Jay said, steering Claire towards a group of people.

She didn’t see Milo ‘in a few minutes’. In fact, she spent the next hour talking to the editor Jay had mentioned, as well as a host of ‘important people’ she couldn’t get away from. When she finally did extract herself, she couldn’t find Milo, just Holly who was feeding Archie wedding cake under a table at the back.

She stood on her own, imagining what it would be like at future weddings without Ben. She’d cope. She’d always been independent. She glanced at Yasmine. Maybe she wouldn’t have time to go to weddings if she was jet-setting around the world with Travel magazine? It was a completely different vibe from her magazine, which was run on a shoestring … and from her ramshackle travelling days with her family. She’d be drawn into a different world, a world with money and privilege. Did she want that, no matter how much of a welcome change it offered? She looked over at Jay, who was clearly used to a world like that. One of the bridesmaids he was talking to, a beautiful girl with long black hair, let out an ear-piercing laugh as he whispered something in her ear.

‘What is he like?’ Claire turned to see Sarah smiling down at her. She’d seen her earlier, looking dazzling in her sleek ivory wedding dress, her curly blonde hair piled on top of her head, set off by a silver and pink tiara. ‘I thought he was gay the first time I met him. But he’s since slept with half my friends. And that fashion sense of his? Turns out he got all his style from his mother, she was a fashion designer. She died when he was young and his dad’s a typical rich banker type, hence Jay’s job at Daily Telegraph. But his heart is in culture and the arts.’

Maybe her and Jay weren’t so different.

Sarah peered towards a woman with black hair. ‘You must meet my boss later, Audrey Monroe. Have you heard of her?’

Claire shook her head.

‘She set up her own foundation, the Audrey Monroe Foundation,’ Sarah explained. ‘It helps animals affected by war. Our volunteers are in Chechnya right now and I’m due to go to Serbia in a year or so, my first trip for work. We rely on volunteers to pass the message around so please do.’

‘I will. Sounds like a wonderful charity.’

Sarah looked around her. ‘Where’s Milo?’

‘I don’t know. He just disappeared.’

‘I suppose this isn’t his kind of thing really, is it? All these people, hemmed in by white plastic?’

Claire laughed. ‘No, you’re right.’

‘You like him, don’t you?’ Claire’s laughter trickled away. Sarah clearly hadn’t noticed her wedding ring. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t let a hunky farmer like Milo slip from my grasp. In fact, I’d be down at the stream at this very moment.’

‘The stream?’

‘He’s there, I saw him a moment ago when I popped out for some fresh air. Archie’s fine.’ Claire followed Sarah’s gaze towards Archie, who was tentatively lifting his paw towards Holly as she hovered a piece of wedding cake over his nose. ‘Go on, go find Milo. Make sure your dog isn’t the only one having some fun tonight,’ she added with a wink.

Claire looked out into the warm summer evening, the soft tinkle of the nearby stream calling out to her like a siren, the champagne running through her veins making her feel brave and foolish. Maybe Sarah was right, maybe she shouldn’t let a man like Milo slip from her grasp? She put her arms around herself and stepped out of the marquee, the grass tickling her toes …