Page 101 of The Surrender

I study Jude as I pick at the last few halloumi chips on my plate, seeing him withdrawing from the conversation. He lost his father too. I recall him mentioning with perfect clarity that he found it hard talking about his dad. Hard or angering? He can’t be mad at his dad for dying. I would never tell him so, but it seems so unfair for Jude to place blame for the loss of his mother.

Jude drops his napkin on his half-eaten plate. “How about I show you the nightclub that’s named after her?”

He avoids my questioning look, standing, and keen to discover more of Arlington Hall, both my parents stand too, finishing their drinks as they do.

“Wonderful,” Mum says as Jude walks them out and I follow. “Oh, I wish your grandma was here to see this.”

“It’s a shock enough that you are,” I counter sardonically.

“But it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” She looks over her shoulder to me, her grin impish.

“Yes, I suppose so.” I watch Jude point out various things to Dad as we walk.

“The golf course is out the back there,” Jude tells him as we wander through one of the glass corridors. “Eighteen holes.”

“A golf course!” Dad looks back at me. “Why in the heck would you buy me lessons somewhere else if Jude has eighteen holes?”

I give Jude a tired look when he chuckles. “You’re grumbling about me dating a man who lives in another county because it’s too far, but you’re happy to travel for golf?”

“I don’t know where she gets her sarcasm from,” Dad muses, making Jude smile mildly. “It certainly isn’t me.”

“You’re welcome on the course anytime.”

“You know, I might take you up on that offer.”

“I had no idea how serious this was, Amelia,” Mum says quietly. “I’m so happy for you. But you really do need to be honest with Nick.”

The thought doesn’t thrill me at all. “I just need to find the right time and the right words. I can’t just text him.”

“I understand. And does Jude know about him?”

“Oh, he knows.” I laugh, but not in humour. Mum casts me a sideways, curious look. “Never mind.” I link arms with her. “Wait until you see Evelyn’s.”

We walk through the lobby, and Mum stops at the portrait. “Oh my, is this her, Jude? Your mother?”

“Yes, that’s her. Evelyn Harrison,” Jude says, observing his mother for a beat. “She passed away shortly after this portrait was painted.”

“Do you mind telling me how she died?”

Oh Jesus. I throw Jude an apologetic look that he catches, shaking his head lightly. “I think it’s what the romantics call a broken heart.” He’s visibly swallowing hard.

“And your father?”

“Shall we?” Jude asks, completely ignoring Mum’s not-so-subtle pressing of the cause of his father’s death.

“Oh, yes, of course. I need the bathroom.” Mum looks around. “Do you mind?”

“Just through there on the right.” Jude points the way. “We’ll wait for you here.”

Mum leaves, Dad wanders across to a nearby coffee table, instantly happy to see theFinancial Timeson it, and Jude acts like he’s not just shut my mum down. Not that she should be asking such personal, sensitive questions, but still. Because I know what I know, the questions I thought were explained suddenly feel open again.

“What?” Jude asks when he catches me observing him.

“Did you and your father get along?”

“Yes, like a house on fire.” He slips an arm around my shoulder.

So he’s just mad at him for dying? “I’m struggling to unders—”