Claire knew Maggie had always been unlucky with men and wondered if it was because she’d lacked a stable father figure herself. Growing up, the village lads had taken advantage of her vulnerability, earning Maggie a bit of reputation when all she wanted was love. ‘That sounds hard. But at least you and Rain have each other.’
‘It’s harder now she’s older,’ Maggie replied. ‘I always believed that having Rain would somehow make Peter want me, but it actually pushed him away. Initially, he didn’t believe she was his daughter, so we did a paternity test. He’s scared I’ll tell his wife.’ She hesitated, taking a deep breath of sea air. ‘He’s a well-known politician, Claire, and has four kids of his own, one of them younger than Rain. It didn’t end well between us.’
‘In what way?’
‘While I’d never truly wanted to break up their happy family, I did want to get what Rain deserved. I had to secure a good future for her and it turned out Peter didn’t… well, let’s just say I had to persuade him.’
‘Persuade?’
‘I’m not blackmailing him, if that’s what you think. It was more a case of strongly suggesting he pay for Rain’s education. Office temping doesn’t quite cover the fees.’
A large wave came rolling up the beach, making them sidestep quickly as Claire mulled over what Maggie had just told her. She glanced back. Patrick and Greta were walking arm in arm. ‘Dad, your trousers are soaked!’ She slowed again so they could catch up.
Patrick waved and grinned. As he approached, he squinted along the beach, shielding his eyes from the sun, watching Jason and Russ way up ahead. She wished she knew what she could do or say to make things better between them.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Lighthouse had been just that when they were kids – fully functioning, with a doleful foghorn wailing through the night on dank winter nights. It rose out of the headland like a giant cigarette with its red painted tip, white trunk and tan-coloured base. These days there was an unmanned beacon on the rocks further out to sea and the old building had become a ruin over the years. Three years ago, though, it had been sold off and turned into a bistro and coffee shop, popular with the locals and tourists. With its views of the rugged coastline it was the perfect place to sit and while away a couple of hours.
‘This is a fabulous place,’ Greta said, breathless, when they were seated, as if every movement was an effort. They’d chosen a table outside. It was breezy but warm, and they all agreed that lunch with a view of the beach where they used to play as kids would be perfect. Claire hoped it might stimulate some memories for Patrick, though she couldn’t help noticing how Jason made sure he sat at the opposite end of the table to their father.
‘Lenni fell off a ledge and broke her arm down there,’ Jason said to Greta, pointing down to a slate shelf halfway along the cliff. Amy gasped, wriggling into the seat beside him.
‘God, I remember that,’ Claire said. ‘Mum went on the warpath because you said that kid pushed her.’ She broke apart a freshly baked bread roll. ‘She marched straight round to his parents’ house. Do you remember that, Dad?’ Claire hoped her father would pick up the conversation with Jason.
‘Anyone seen my glasses?’ was his reply as he patted his pockets.
Claire sighed, looking around for them.
‘You’ll never believe it, Amy,’ Jason continued, despite his father’s snub. ‘But I told a bit of a white lie. Your Aunty Lenni just slipped and fell. She was always pretending to be something or someone and it was a mountain goat that day. I didn’t want Mum to stop her coming down to the rocks with us. Lenni loved it at the beach.’
Amy gasped. ‘Mummy, Uncle Jason tells fibs!’ She giggled, picking an olive from the terracotta dish, nibbling the flesh to see if she liked it. She pulled a face.
‘Don’t worry, Amy. I don’t tell any lies now.’
Claire tensed, her eyes widening as she felt the burn of Jason’s stare on her cheeks. She focused on buttering her bread roll. ‘Mum’s invited us all for a meal at the farm tonight,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll come too,’ she said to Jason quietly.
‘I thought Nick was cooking for us at your place?’
‘He will at some point.’ Claire felt her cheeks flush. ‘Shall I tell Mum you’ll be there?’ She paused. ‘Please, Jase?’
Jason put on his sunglasses, and before he could reply, Patrick excused himself, scraping his chair loudly as he stood up. He’d been chatting to a friend from the village at the next table, but suddenly headed for the toilets. Claire watched him walk away, taking hold of the backs of chairs for support as he went.
‘It would help Dad no end,’ she said, when he was out of earshot. ‘He’s gone downhill these last couple of months and—’
‘I haven’t noticed much of a difference.’
‘I’m with Claire on this one,’ Maggie said. ‘Life’s too short, Jase.’ Claire appreciated her support, but sensed Jason was bristling.
‘Especially when he’s about to be a granddad again,’ Greta added softly.
‘Stuff happened a long time ago, love,’ Jason replied. ‘Things like that don’t just melt away over a family dinner.’
‘They were only trying to help, Jase,’ Claire said, feeling responsible for the tension.
‘I needed Dad’s help back then and you know it,’ he said just to Claire, drawing down the first inch of his pint. He stared out to sea.
‘In that case, come tonight. Even if you don’t say a word to him all evening, just be there. Please?’ Claire glanced towards the toilets. ‘It will help more than you know.’
There was a moment of silence – just long enough for a huge wave to crash on the nearby rocks and a gull to swoop overhead, crying as it circled the lighthouse.
‘Help what, Claire?’ Jason said quietly, laying his hands flat on the table. ‘Your guilt?’ He turned to stare out to sea again.
* * *
It was nearly three o’clock when they ambled up the drive to Claire’s house – laughing, windswept, sandy and salty. Any earlier tension between Claire and Jason had dissolved over lunch and a couple of drinks. But Patrick and Jason still hadn’t spoken.
Conversation had skipped between describing life in eighties Cornwall to Greta and comparing it to her childhood in Amsterdam, as well as excited chatter about the twins and their imminent arrival. Amy had sat patiently with her little hands spread on Greta’s tummy waiting for the babies to kick, and the rest of the time sitting on her granddad’s knee listening to his made-up stories about pirates.
The chatter continued as they ambled up the drive, with Claire failing to notice the extra vehicle tucked behind Maggie’s camper. Shona came out to greet them before taking Patrick back down to the farmhouse for his medication.
‘Russ, no, get out!’ Claire shooed him away from the door before he did his usual trick of shaking and spraying the walls with whatever had stuck to his coat during their walk. She glanced at her watch as they went inside. She still just had time to change. ‘Right, who’s for a cup of—’
She froze in the kitchen doorway.
Callum was sitting at the old pine table with a mug clamped between his hands. But Claire’s eyes were drawn to the person sitting opposite him – someone she recognised, yet someone who looked so completely different to the last time she’d seen him. The smattering of stubble, his hair slightly longer, a distinct tan, the check shirt and jeans…
‘Nick…’ It was almost an accusation as she croaked out his name. Let down by her voice, Claire was also aware that the rest of her was a let-down too.
‘Claire, hi…’ In contrast, Nick’s voice resonated deeply. He stood, grinning, and came over, holding out his arms for a tentative hug. ‘It’s so good to see you. You look really well.’
‘You too,’ she said, glimpsing Callum over Nick’s shoulder as they embraced. She closed her eyes for a second, feeling as if she were in the eye of a storm – a safe and calm place. But then she pulled away, self-consciously fiddling with her hair, smoothing down her top. ‘We’ve just been to the old lighthouse. It’s a café now.’