Page 179 of Pull Me Under

‘Is she⁠—’

‘Inside.’ My voice is steadier than I feel. ‘With Lily.’

Kit makes a sound that’s almost wounded animal. The same sound I heard from Helen when I told her Gareth was dead.

The back door of the truck opens. A small figure tumbles out with messy hair, and a wide, gap-toothed grin, already talking.

‘Is this the house? It’s got a red door. I like red doors. Uncle Jude said⁠—’

‘Maisie.’ Kit’s voice is gentle but firm. ‘Give me a second, sweetheart.’

Jude still hasn’t moved.

The front door opens behind me.

‘Brynn? I thought I heard⁠—’

Helen’s voice dies in her throat.

I turn. She’s standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other pressed to her chest. Her face is ghostly.

‘Kit,’ she breathes. ‘Jude.’

And then she’s moving – down the steps, down the path, past me like I’m not even there. Her eyes are fixed on her sons, on the men they’ve become, on the twenty years she’s missed.

Kit meets her halfway.

The sound Helen makes when she reaches him isn’t quite human. It’s grief and joy and relief all tangled together, ripped from somewhere deep. She grabs him – both hands fisting in his jacket – and for a moment they just stand there, holding on like they’re afraid the other will vanish.

‘I’m sorry,’ Helen’s saying, the words tumbling out between sobs. ‘I’m so sorry. I tried to come back, I tried to write, I never stopped thinking about you⁠—’

‘I know.’ Kit’s voice is wrecked. Broken open. ‘Mum. I know. We found the letters.’

‘I thought you hated me. I thought Reuben had made sure⁠—’

‘He did.’ Kit pulls back just enough to look at her face. His cheeks are wet. ‘He told us you didn’t want us. That you left because we weren’t enough.’

Helen makes that sound again. That shattered, keening noise.

‘You were always enough. Always.’ She grips his jacket tighter, as if the words might fly away if she doesn’t anchor them. ‘He gave me a choice, Kit. Two choices, and neither of them was really a choice at all.’ She pulls a ragged breath. ‘He said I could leave quietly – just go, no fuss, and he’d tell you I’d decided this life wasn’t for me anymore. That I’d chosen to leave. You’d hurt, but you’d be … intact. Or—’ Her voice fractures. ‘Or I could stay and fight him. And if I fought, he’d tell you everything. The affair. The pregnancy. Every ugly detail. He said he’d make sure you knew exactly what kind of woman your mother was. He’d rather destroy your image of both your parents than let me win.’

Kit’s face is white. ‘So you left to protect us.’

‘I left because I thought a clean wound would heal faster than a poisoned one.’ She’s crying too hard to keep her voice steady but the words keep coming, years of them, dammed up and finally breaking through. ‘I thought if you believed I’d simply chosen to go, you’d grieve and move on. I thought that was kinder than knowing the truth – that your father was capable of this. That your mother had—’ She can’t finish.

‘But he poisoned it anyway,’ Kit says quietly. ‘Just differently.’

‘Yes.’ Helen’s whole body shakes. ‘He told you I didn’t want you. He made the clean wound dirty. And I wasn’t there to— I couldn’t⁠—’

‘I know,’ Kit says. ‘We read it. All of it.’

He pulls her back in. Holds her the way I imagine he’s wanted to hold her for twenty years – like a little boy hanging on with all of his strength to something he doesn’t want to lose.

Jude’s out of the truck now. Standing by the bonnet, watching. His face is doing something complicated. Emotions flicker too fast to name. He looks like he wants to move forward but doesn’t know how.

Maisie tugs on his hand.

‘Uncle Jude? Who’s that lady hugging Daddy?’