Page 90 of All Yours

So where was he this morning?

She glanced out of the window towards the house, idly thinking what he might be doing. The boys had already gone to school. Maybe he’d gone to the office. She stared at the phone again. Nothing. Her message just sat there.

Robyn: Hi there. Want to get together later? xxx

She stared at the kisses now, wondering if they had been too much. Normally she might just put one, but this time she’d put three. What had she done that for? You could pass off one kiss as a friendly gesture, but three? She bit her lip. It had felt so natural, though. They’d had such an amazing night together the last time they saw each other. The moon-bathing, their sex, the emotional connection. She felt her stomach cave in at the memory of the feeling.

Robyn pushed her own breakfast to the side and sighed loudly, gutted now that she’d wasted the evening before putting up with Finn and his smelly feet on her sofa.

They’d put their past to bed, and he’d updated her on the few people she remembered from that time and his side of the family. They’d talked about their old haunts and favourite holidays, and he’d told her the pub they used to drink in was now a Co-op, and the cinema had closed down. He still liked it there, though. It still felt like home, he said, although Robyn personally couldn’t imagine ever going back there again. And eventually, they’d run out of things to talk about.

Robyn drew the line when it started to get late, and told him he’d have to go and crash on Ross’s sofa – whether he was entertaining his new girlfriend or not. Finn had looked a bit surprised at that, but Robyn felt good about it. She didn’t owe him anything, and she didn’t really want him around any longer than he had to be. He felt like a hangover, a slightly sickening reminder of something long gone.

As he left her house, he said he’d like to stay in touch now that they were ‘friends again’. Robyn was just pleased to close the door behind him. She looked longingly at the main house, but it was in darkness. Too late to message Fox. So, she’d left it until this morning.

Her phone beeped and she grabbed it.

Fox: Can’t. Busy.

Robyn made a small gasp of surprise. What was that? No smiley face, not even one kiss at the end, let alone three, and no explanation at all. What the hell was that? She stared at the screen for another moment, waiting for a second, more detailed text to come through, but nothing came. Dropping her phone by her side, she glanced towards the house, looking for clues. But the windows were blank and empty.

Robyn shook herself. There’d be a perfectly reasonable explanation, she was sure of that. And she had lots to do anyway, didn’t she? She roused herself, getting ready to head to the woods, gathering her snippers and gardening gloves for the holly she wanted to collect. She’d message Fox again later, or tomorrow, and hopefully he’d have time for her then. But she couldn’t help the sinking feeling inside, a slow slide in her stomach that told her something was wrong. That maybe Fox was yet another man who wouldn’t want her, in the end.

Chapter Fifty

Fox

Work was frantic as the deadline loomed for delivery of the sequel, but it still wasn’t enough to stop Fox’s thoughts wandering to Robyn. All week, he’d left for the office before it was light, leaving Fiona to do breakfast on her own. He’d shut his office door and sat in his glass cube and frowned at his screen until his eyes were sore, his head aching. The only person that came and went was Erin, who always timed her visits well and brought coffee or sandwiches for lunch. She chatted about the game and progress, but also showed him the video clips on her phone that she’d taken at her niece’s nativity play, and a photo of her Christmas tree when he shared his. She was a nice distraction for a few minutes each time, which he had started to look forward to. She laughed at his jokes, smelled nice and brought him food. What wasn’t to like?

When Fox arrived home, the boys were noisy and boisterous, hyped up ahead of the last few days of the Christmas term, but even their antics weren’t enough to distract him from glancing across at the pool house and wondering what Robyn was doing. And whether that lanky idiot was still there, with his floppy hair and puppy dog eyes.

He’d avoided Robyn so far. She’d texted each morning that week and he’d replied. The same each day, grimacing even as he typed the two-word reply. Can’t. Busy.

He knew she’d be confused by the sudden turnaround, but he couldn’t help that. Before, he’d acted like her puppet, jumping when she felt like having a bit of fun. There was nothing really in it, so he refused to play along with her games any more. He had to protect himself. Fox was all about self-preservation now. And that meant going cold turkey, not seeing her at all any more. And soon she – or they – would be gone. For good.

This morning, Friday, he waited – in spite of himself – for Robyn’s text, but it didn’t come. Even though he checked his phone several times, there was nothing new from Robyn. She must have got the message. He didn’t know whether that made it better, or worse.

‘Let’s go, boys,’ he called from the hall and two pairs of feet thumped across the landing and bumped, shrieking, down the stairs, excited to have finished school for the Christmas holidays.

‘Where are we going?’ Reggie asked as Fox held out his coat for him to shrug on.

‘Park!’ George demanded, sticking his feet into his wellies.

‘Maybe later,’ Fox said. ‘First we’re going to see Mummy.’

It was something they did twice a year, all three of them. Once on Meg’s birthday in May when they laid out her favourite pink peonies, and then again in the run-up to Christmas when Fox put silver tinsel on her headstone. Other times, he might visit alone to talk or think or remember.

‘Today?’ Reggie asked, eyes wide. Fox nodded, a little taken aback by the look of excitement on his son’s face. Although he tried to make it a happy thing to do, it was always a strange event.

‘Wait!’ Reggie said, grabbing George by the hand and holding one finger up to Fox. They disappeared out the back door and Fox watched them running to the pool house. Now what were they doing? He stood rooted to the spot; he couldn’t follow them – it would be too awkward. A moment later, they were back, carrying little homemade wreaths like the most precious treasures, crafted from ivy and fir and decorated with rosehips and catkins.

‘Robyn helped us make them,’ Reggie said proudly.

‘For our mummy in heaven,’ George added solemnly.

Fox had a lump in his throat the size of a pine cone. He swallowed around it with difficulty.

‘Those look extra special. She’d love them. Let’s go.’