Drugs, at his age? He was a bloody idiot. And he’d hurt her once again by admitting he wished he’d listened to his know-it-all father and never married her. She detested him for making her feel like a mistake.
What she hadn’t noticed was that he’d found it equally as hard listening to her. He appreciated that she’d explained how the children had grappled with his absence – he wouldn’t have blamed her for keeping him in the dark. But they hadn’t been on the straightforward journey of acceptance and healing he’d imagined for them. Naively, he’d presumed that, because their minds were young and malleable, they’d have muddled along and eventually forgotten about him. He hadn’t envisaged how necessary he’d been. The mental picture of a faceless son isolating himself from those who loved him was a sobering thought.
While he’d suspected Robbie might prove to be a little different from the others, his lack of understanding of just how fragile the boy had been placed knots in his stomach.
And they wouldn’t be the last.
CHAPTER TEN
SIMON
Key West, USA, twenty-three years earlier
1 February, 6.15 p.m.
Five miles square. Twenty-five thousand people. Fifty hotels. Twenty guesthouses. Three hostels. Four thousand five hundred miles from home.
The odds against it were almost too high to calculate. Yet fate still managed to marry my new life with my old in the shape of two familiar faces.
Key West’s location at the southernmost tip of America made it an attractive destination for fishermen and scuba divers. Having acquired my basic diving skills from Bradley in France, I had promised myself that, if the opportunity arose, I’d explore the oceans where and when I could.
I’d been pushing myself further and further offshore throughout the week with a party of other semi-novice divers. The crystal clarity of the water by the outer bar and the rainbow of coral colours had been intoxicating. I swam after curtains of reef fish, envious of the surroundings they took for granted.
I pencilled in my first wreck dive for the coming weekend, to explore the remains of the Benwood – a three-hundred-and-sixty-foot former freighter sunk off the coast of Key Largo. But after my fifth consecutive day of diving, my muscles were strained and I welcomed a night alone at an oceanside bar and diner.
As I’d spent so much time in the company of fish, it seemed heartless to then feast on them. So I ordered a Caesar salad from the bar, sat at a brightly lit table outside, and sparked up a cigarette as I readied myself to enjoy watching the sun sink over boats bobbing along the horizon.
A couple walking hand in hand on the opposite side of the road caught my eye when they stopped and kissed outside a hotel. At first they offered nothing extraordinary or significant, but even from a distance there seemed something familiar in their body language. I wondered if we’d crossed paths at a hostel somewhere. However, when the headlights of a passing car illuminated their faces, my heart stopped.
There stood Roger and Paula.
I stared, drop-jawed, as Roger took a camera from around his neck and headed up the steps and into the hotel. Paula remained on the path, fiddling with an earring.
Idly taking in her surroundings before I had a chance to react, her gaze swept over me and continued on. But when she did a double take and our eyes met, I knew the game was up.
CATHERINE
Northampton, twenty-three years earlier
1 February
They had remained on the porch floor gathering dust for so long, they’d become a part of the furniture. I used to give Simon’s running shoes a quick glance each time I passed them, longing to see him fill them again. But I’d grown to accept they were always going to stay empty.
Moving them was like reaching the final page of a book I wasn’t ready to put down. But fighting my way through small challenges one at a time meant the giant ones were less daunting. I picked them up and placed them with my wellies under the saucepan shelf in the pantry.
Later that day, they’d reappeared in the porch. I moved them again, but by morning they’d returned. I told myself I was being a silly cow when I imagined my husband’s ghost had put them back where it thought they belonged.
I guessed Robbie was the real culprit. His speech therapist was very slowly encouraging him to find his voice and confidence again, so I didn’t want to confront him and risk making him feel like he was doing something wrong. But, just to be sure, I moved them once more. A couple of days later, I was sitting quietly in the kitchen unpicking the stitching on a jacket pocket. I heard the patter of Oscar’s paws making their way through the house and watched, without him noticing me, as he picked up the first shoe by its laces and carefully walked away with it. Then he returned and took the second one.
I followed him and watched as he placed them by the front door in exactly the same position as they’d sat for close to two years. He was startled when he saw me, then regained his composure and wandered off. I’d taken into account everyone’s feelings in the house except those of Simon’s faithful friend.
So I didn’t try to move them again, until he left us too.
SIMON
Key West, USA, twenty-three years earlier
1 February, 6.20 p.m.
The speed at which I turned my head forced a burning, shooting pain up my neck and into the back of my skull.
But there was no time to acknowledge it or to readjust my posture. I focused on her reflection in the smoky glass of the restaurant window instead, and prayed I’d gone unnoticed. But she remained there, squinting at a memory.
Surely Roger couldn’t have tracked me down in Florida? I never knew which direction I was going to choose until I reached a crossroads. So it would take a crystal ball for anyone else to predict where to find me from one week to the next. Besides, Simon had left no trail. I was Darren Glasper.
So it must have been coincidence that had brought us to exactly the same place, on exactly the same street at exactly the same time. Fate was an unpredictable bastard.
I prayed Paula would quickly come to the conclusion her eyes had deceived her. I continued watching her reflection as, behind me, she shook her head, believing, like me, it was too far-fetched to be true. Indecision made her hover from foot to foot like she needed someone to confirm she was being ridiculous. But there was no one to help.
I began to relax slightly when she twisted her body towards the hotel steps Roger had walked up moments earlier. Then she hesitated, turned back around, and repeated her movements like she was being rewound and fast-forwarded with a remote control.
My heart palpitated, and I hoped she’d run inside to find Roger and give me the opportunity to escape. But she didn’t. Instead, she edged towards the curb for closer inspection.
Self-preservation set in and, without rotating my head, I threw my blazing cigarette onto the pavement, stood up and began to walk away. I hungered to look over my shoulder to make sure I was alone, but I was terrified of what I might find. I picked up my pace.