Page 94 of Summer At Willow Tree Farm

‘I know,’ she said. But, as he shouldered the basket, and walked beside her through the woods, it occurred to her that in some ways they had become kindred spirits too.

She pushed the feeling back, of companionship, of friendship. She didn’t take his hand, wasn’t surprised when he didn’t offer her his. Something had changed between them today, something profound, that neither one of them could afford to examine too closely – was that why he’d jumped off the handle when she’d mentioned Toto starting her periods?

As they approached the edge of the orchard, she touched his arm again. ‘I’ll take the basket. I should clear it out and put it away again before Mum and the kids get back.’

He kept it on his shoulder. ‘It’s OK. We’ve got time before we have to cover our tracks.’ She thought she heard a slight edge to his voice, but convinced herself she must have been imagining it.

She’d gone into this wanting it to be just about sex, and so had he. If it didn’t feel like just sex any more that was only because they’d become friends while bonking each other’s brains out. The desire to ask for more was a mistake. The desire to reach out to that little boy who had been broken so badly by a mother and eventually a lover who had never been good enough for him was a fool’s errand. A fool’s errand that she’d been on once before, nineteen years ago. Art had always found it impossible to trust people and just because she now knew why he couldn’t, didn’t mean she coul

d somehow magically fix that about him.

But, as they walked through the back orchard together, she found herself finding it harder and harder to ignore the stupid, romantic voice inside her that wanted to at least try.

As they approached the door of the farmhouse, she opened her mouth to say something, anything to bridge the gap that seemed to have opened up between them, when she heard a car coming down the track.

‘Who’s that?’ Art said, dumping the basket on the farmhouse’s front step.

That wasn’t Dee’s car. ‘It must be a customer,’ she said, grateful for the interruption that had stopped her saying something she would no doubt regret.

Instead of taking the fork in the track that led to the shop car park, the gleaming convertible travelled towards them, stopping a few feet away.

Art stepped in front of her, as a man got out of the car.

Her heart shuddered to a stop, the wave of shock swiftly followed by a wave of panic.

Was that…? No, surely not, it couldn’t be. What the bloody hell was Dan doing here?

With his chestnut brown hair carefully styled and a pair of Ray-Bans perched on his nose, her soon-to-be-ex-husband looked debonair and dashing – and nothing like an optical illusion.

Even so, the moment felt surreal, suspended in time as Dan strolled towards them, lifting off his sunglasses. But then his gaze landed on Art, taking in their damp hair, the discarded picnic basket. And the welcoming smile turned into a suspicious frown.

‘What’s going on?’ Dan said.

Art touched her waist to push her behind him. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he said, annoyance snapping in his voice.

‘I’m Ellie’s husband,’ Dan shot back. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

PART FOUR: BACK FOR GOOD

THEN

Eloise Charlotte Preston DALTON’s Diary

3 September 1998

Ever since I saw Art silent crying on my mum’s shoulder, I’ve realised he is my soul mate. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. I even dream about him. And I get sad now when he doesn’t come to supper – and I used to love it when he didn’t come!!

I think I love him. And I’m pretty sure he is in love with me too because:

Reasons:

1) I keep catching him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking.

2) He hasn’t had a girlfriend in ages. Girls still come to the commune to see him, but he hardly even talks to them now. And I haven’t seen him snogging any of them, not like I saw him snogging Donna Whatshername in the woods a month ago.

3) He hasn’t called me Princess Drama in weeks and weeks.

4) When that horrid little Haley called me a posh cow, he told her to shut up. I heard him.