Page 34

11 months later

“Why are you charging around with a pot of hummus?”

Ben called from his office at the front of our house.

The Christmas after the fire, just before Susan’s marvellous turkey dinner, Ben had mysteriously whisked me off to Lucy’s village. We’d driven up an over-grown, dirt drive, surrounded by established trees preserving glistening, frosty shadows. When the brambles unfurled to reveal a double-fronted, characterful house, I was in awe. When Ben told me that he and Derek had been renovating it as a surprise, and that there were stables, I cried ugly, happy tears. Lucy had also cried, and we’d all sat around the table, vowing we would always spend Christmas together, as a family.

“Because this is a big deal and if Catherine has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t have hummus without carrots and I’ve lost the carrots.”

My eyes darted around the oak-panelled hall. “How can you lose carrots,” I asked myself under my breath. “Wait, where’s Clyde.” I looked to Ben’s feet for our brown labrador, who had a penchant for snack heists.

Ben’s leather chair creaked as he glanced around. “Sweetheart, try to stay calm. You’ve probably already taken them to the barn. I’m not sure even he would go after vegetables.”

I charged off into the kitchen, heading for the conservatory shouting, “Need I remind you of the time I had to take him to the vet because he ate the salsa!”

Sure enough, there was a brown tail thumping from under one of the sofas in the sunshine.

“Clyde, if you have those—”

I stopped as I stepped onto the tile floor, spotting the chewed-up serving tray and trail of orange. “No!”

I dropped to my knees and despairingly gathered up a handful of mauled carrot sticks from under the sofa. Clyde scrambled to inhale as many as he could. I flopped back against the sofa, clutching them, staring up through the leaded glass at the blue sky.

Ben entered, surveying the mess. “They’re not coming for the snacks, sweetheart.”

He reached his hand out to me, but I glared back. He was trying not to laugh and it wasn’t helping.

Clyde shoved his wet nose into my cheek in apology.

“You’re a bad dog,”

I scolded.

“Come on,”

Ben encouraged. “It looks like the front gate is shut, want me to go open it? Forget the carrots.”

I thrust my head back against the cushions, groaning. “But then what am I going to do with the hummus? This is a sign, this was all a mistake – hosting was meant to be the easy bit.”

Linda had introduced me to another psychologist, Robyn, who had become a good friend.

She was doing her PhD on PTSD and wanted to host a psychodynamic, women’s therapy group.

Jenson, Ben’s university friend turned architect, had done such a stunning job designing a large loft room for us to use above the barn, so it had seemed like a good idea to host.

Now, I felt like I had just served myself up to have old wounds re-opened.

Everyone spoke about me these days like I was this ‘amazing role model’; told me I should be ‘so proud of everything I’d achieved’.

But that just wasn’t how it felt.

I’d set up a small business, organising specialised, therapy-focused riding lessons, but it was as much about me as my clients.

When I’d found out Marcus had been killed in prison, I’d barely spoken for three days, then lost track of time on a hack, freaking everyone out.

It was like I’d flipped back to Elle and forgot everything, everyone.

I’d just kept riding until a jogger spotted me and told me people were out searching.

When I got back, Ben had yanked me off the horse so hard we both nearly fell, mud all up his work trousers from searching for me.

Taking the stand in the case against Barnes and Dores had felt like adding a new trauma to my list altogether.

It had involved not only publicly recounting the worst experiences of my life in front of my family, in front of Ben, but also being judged by the jury on whether my story was ‘believable’ enough.

They had been found guilty of nearly all the charges, thankfully, but I was still waiting for the relief to kick in.

Henworth was now abandoned, or closed down, depending who you spoke to.

I’d been back to visit not long before the Barnes and Dores case, the private lawyer Ben had hired having suggested we go back to look for evidence to help with the prosecution.

It made the news: journalists queuing at the police tape whilst we looked around.

Stepping back into the mouldy shell of my old home had made me feel physically sick and emotionally numb.

The entire space would have fit inside Ben’s bedroom in the apartment and I could still remember looking down at how clean my trainers were against the damp carpet.

It hadn’t felt like a previous home, it had felt like a prison cell, and the realisation had been more confronting than anyone could have prepared me for.

Ben had dropped everything and headed over as soon as I called, and I’d fallen into his arms in front of all the cameras.

I wished now that he’d never had to see it, but I’d needed him perhaps more than ever in that moment.

Ben reached down and gripped Clyde’s collar, walking him out of the French doors before coming back to sit on the sofa behind me.

I leant my head against his knee.

“You’ll be fine. Robyn is managing it, remember? You’re meant to benefit from this session, and Paige will be there.”

He rested his hand on my shoulder and I shut my eyes, sighing. He had always had that power: when my head was spinning, he could bring me back with just a touch.

“What if I say the wrong thing?”

His other hand pressed into my other shoulder and he ran his fingers down my arms, leaning forwards to prise the carrot remains from my clenched palm.

“This isn’t an interview or a TV appearance. The only expectation is that you’re there, not here clutching crudités.”

He dropped the carrots onto the sofa, grimacing at the dog slobber. “Come on, Mrs Carlson. We don’t skip out on our therapy.”

I grunted, but he wasn’t having any of it, lifting me from under my arms and hoisting me to standing.

“Who knew you’d be the one preaching to me about therapy.”

“Who knew,”

he repeated, turning me to face him.

The last year had softened him, and I admired it in his face as he offered me a gentle smile.

He could have closed himself off further than ever after the fire, after everything we had suffered as we battled against the justice system.

But he hadn’t.

He’d decided to open himself up for me, and I would be forever grateful for that.

“Thank you,”

I relented, lacing my fingers through his and leaning forward to kiss him.

Once I had propped the big wooden gate open, I arranged the handles of the mugs in the room above the barn three more times before the first car pulled up.

I was thankful to see Paige’s Corsa.

She had been one of my bridesmaids alongside Lucy and Charlie, and it was nice to do this with her.

I started to pour her a coffee, wondering if she would take a biscuit; if I should offer her one. Probably not, if she was feeling anything like me about all this.

Robyn was next to arrive with Harper, who was younger-looking than I’d expected, followed by Fox, who had amazingly colourful hair.

Lyla was last, arriving just before we were about to take our seat, ready to begin.