Page 3 of A Summer of Secrets on Arran (Scottish Romances #5)

Dermot walked into the kitchen, his face pale and drawn.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked, sliding from the stool and going over to him.

She tried to hug him, but he stood rigid in her arms. Rosie stepped back.

‘What are you doing here? You didn’t say you were coming home.

’ She wondered when they had last spoken — was it yesterday or the day before?

She couldn’t remember. It was so easy to lose track of time.

Dermot set down his satchel on the floor, shrugged off his raincoat and then loosened his tie at the collar. She didn’t like the way his eyes avoided hers and she clenched her hands together. Eggshells. The feeling of walking on eggshells had come back into the cottage along with Dermot.

‘You might want to sit down again,’ he said, an edge to his voice.

She felt a chill of horror curl down her spine. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Ben?’

His gaze softened slightly. ‘Er no, Ben is fine.’

Rosie sat down on the stool in relief, though she was still clenching her hands. ‘Phew. What is it then?’

He cleared his throat yet still didn’t speak.

‘Dermot?’ she said, pleadingly. She watched, worry mounting, as he stood staring at her. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, Dermot.’

He shook his head. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Rosie. I really am. But there is no easy way to say this.’

‘What is it?’ said Rosie quickly. Was he going to tell her he was dying?

There was a moment of silence when neither of them spoke. Rosie realised she was holding her breath. A huge wave of panic rose up inside her and her stomach clenched in a knot.

He gestured around the kitchen, then clasped his hands in front of him. ‘I am really sorry, Rosie. But I’m leaving you.’

Just like that, Rosie’s world tilted on its axis.

More than two decades of her life flashed before her eyes.

A shared life, packed with family, love, laughter, loss and heartache.

And now, it would seem, heartbreak. Almost twenty-five years of marriage.

And that was it. Just like that. How had this happened?

Not knowing what to do, and as though she was having an out of body experience, she picked up her mug of tea, desperate to do something normal and perfunctory.

But the cup slipped out of her hand, and she watched as it fell — almost as though in slow motion — and crashed loudly onto the flagstone tile floor.

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape but no sound escaped her lips.

Coisty yelped in fright and shot out of his bed.

He slinked over and sat firmly down on Rosie’s feet, staring suspiciously at Dermot.

Dermot bent down to pick up the shards of the mug that had always been her favourite.

Ben had painted it for her when he was at primary school and at the time his favourite colour was orange.

Back then he had loved everything orange; carrots, lions, satsumas, giraffes, orange Smarties, pumpkins.

He’d covered the mug entirely in orange paint and presented it to Rosie one Mother’s Day.

He had been so proud of it and excited to give it to her.

She choked back a sob at the memory. And now the gift from her darling boy was smashed in smithereens all over the kitchen floor.

Rosie couldn’t help but think how symbolic it was of her life.

Dermot may as well have clubbed her world with a sledgehammer.

She looked at him in disbelief as he mopped the tea up with kitchen roll, then went to the cupboard under the sink and got out a dustpan and brush.

Rosie couldn’t believe he was more focused on tidying up than he was on her — the woman he had spent almost half his life with.

His wife . It was as though he was emotionally disconnected from what he’d just said.

Did he actually realise what he had told her?

She wanted to scream and yell at him but the words were stuck and she was frozen to the spot.

Meanwhile, he kneeled down and spent what seemed like f orever carefully sweeping up the debris.

Standing up, he tipped the contents of the dustpan into the bin.

Finally, he looked at her. There was sorrow, or actually maybe it was pity, in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I really am. But it’s for the best. I will pack some stuff to take until we can chat properly . . . about next steps.’

‘Next steps,’ she managed to stutter as she felt her cheeks colouring and a pool of incandescent rage start to form at the pit of her stomach. ‘What do you mean, next steps ?’

‘I think we need to be grown up about this and admit it’s not been working for a while.

We’ve been living separate lives for ages now and I know you’re not happy,’ he said, as though he had rehearsed his lines and he had suddenly remembered them and better share them before he forgot what to say again.

He spoke quickly. ‘And I’m not happy either and this seems like the most sensible way forward.

’ His cheeks were flushed, a tell-tale sign that Dermot wasn’t telling her the truth.

She had been married to him long enough to know when he was hiding something and could now feel fury bubbling away inside.

‘Just like that? You’ve completely upended my life after all these years and that’s all you’re going to say?

That you’re unhappy and apparently I am too?

’ Rosie didn’t think she had been unhappy.

She had always been fairly content with her lot.

Clearly her husband didn’t agree. ‘Don’t you think you owe me an explanation? And the actual truth?’

He looked shamefaced and couldn’t quite meet her eye. But he remained silent.

Rosie tipped her head to one side and eyed him suspiciously. ‘You haven’t told me why,’ she said very slowly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You haven’t told me why you are leaving me. Why now? Why have you decided to tell me at this very minute that our marriage is over? Especially as we’ve apparently been unhappy for some time.’

Dermot still couldn’t meet her eye and his gaze flitted around the room on everything except her.

Rosie didn’t realise the wall behind her was so fascinating.

She cast her eye around for a heavy pot to lamp him with.

Typically, the kitchen was clutter free as she had spent the morning cleaning it within an inch of its life. Life in the fast lane, eh?

He took a breath. ‘Well, the thing is, Rosie. The thing is I’ve met someone else.’

Coisty whimpered and Rosie half-wished he had an aggressive streak, and he would sink his teeth into Dermot when she gave him the nod. But, instead, she reached down and picked up one of Coisty’s toys — a cerise, squeaky pig — and she promptly lobbed it at Dermot’s head.