The wind howled under the eaves of her bedroom window, sending Libby burrowing deeper beneath the layers of quilts and blankets piled upon her bed. She couldn’t seem to get warm, despite her fleecy pyjamas and a thick pair of her dad’s old walking socks which came to her knees. Every time she got close to dropping off, the wind would rattle her window, or a creak would sound from somewhere inside the house, sending her ears straining. The familiar noises had never bothered her before, nor had sleeping alone in the house, but it wasn’t fear that kept her tossing and turning—it was hope. Hope that the next creak would be the pressure of a footfall on the steps rather than the beams shifting and settling in the storm.
Idiot.
Bashing her pillow into some semblance of comfort, Libby turned on her side and curled her legs up tight, trying to keep within the little cocoon of warmth her body had created beneath the sheets. She lay there unblinking for five more minutes before throwing off her covers with a sigh. Perhaps some hot chocolate would warm her up enough to sleep. Having settled the quilts back down to try and keep the heat trapped beneath them, she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her black fuzzy dressing gown and padded from the room. She only made it as far as the landing before stopping, her eyes drawn to the half-open door of what had been Owen’s room like iron filings to a magnet.
Forget about him. Unheeding of her brain’s silent demand, Libby pushed open the door and switched on the light. She hadn’t been in here since the night of her row with Eliza and there were still clothes spilling out from the chest of drawers, still papers scattered over the old desk in the corner from her friend’s hurried attempts at packing. After two weeks of stubborn silence, it was clear to Libby that Owen would not be returning. She should sort out the rest of his stuff and arrange for it to be dropped at the farm. Thanks to her insomnia, now seemed a good a time as any.
Refusing to question her motives, she spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes emptying the drawers and folding his remaining clothes into neat piles. She refused to think about how good he’d looked in the navy T-shirt she was refolding for the fourth time, how the stark lines of his tattoo had poked from beneath the edge of the sleeve, revealing that little hint of the dark, rough youth who lurked under the shiny veneer of arrogance Owen wore like a second skin. The old grey jumper beneath her fingers was just a lump of wool, not a heated reminder of the last time they’d been together in the hut. She didn’t long to go back to that afternoon, when they’d been nothing more than carefree lovers without a clue of how fate would turn their lives upside down.
Abandoning the clothes—and the bittersweet memories trapped between their folds—she moved towards the bed. The covers still sat in a rumpled heap at the bottom, where he’d kicked them away on the morning of the Christmas market, she supposed, and one of the pillows remained on the floor knocked there in his haste to be up and about. Bending, she picked up the pillow and spotted a notepad lying half-hidden beneath the edge of the bed. Thinking to place it on the desk with his other paperwork, she picked it up and the words on the page caught her eye.
Dear K.B.
It’s the start of the Christmas market today, and there’s so much to do. Your mum will be selling her stuff for the first time, and I know it’s going to be a huge success. I’ll have to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t do too much, you know how stubborn she can be! I wonder what it’ll be like to show you all the Christmas lights and decorations for the first time. I can’t wait to find out what makes you smile.
Love, Daddy x
Choked, Libby read the note through twice more, then began leafing back through the pages. The first half of the notebook was filled with similar little letters, and she had to blink back her tears to be able to scan through this secret world filled with Owen’s observations and wishes for their baby. Half in a dream, she wandered back towards her room and settled herself on the window seat beneath the old blanket her mum had knitted whilst carrying Libby. With trembling fingers, she turned to the very first entry.
Dear K.B.
I saw you for the first time today. Not that I could make head or tail of you until your mum showed me. You looked like a kidney bean all curled up around yourself, so that’s what I’m going to call you until we meet properly—K.B.
You should’ve seen your mum tonight, she looked magnificent. I’ve always loved her hair, even when it was bright bloody pink, but there was something sophisticated about her tonight, like a glimpse of the woman who’s been hiding beneath the girl. If she ever lets the rest of the world see her the way I do, she’ll conquer it the way she’s conquered me.
I can’t wait for you to meet her, I know you’re going to love her just as much as she will you, and that won’t even come close to how much I love both of you. I’m lying here in bed, wondering how I ended up this lucky.
I’m going to give you everything you need, no matter how worried I am right now of mucking things up—of mucking you up. I’d pull down the moon if you asked me to, and all the stars too. It scares me to think there’s no ends I won’t go to to make sure you’re happy. You’re only a shadowy image in a photo, a little ripple under your mum’s skin, and already I’d burn the world to keep you safe.
You’re everything to me, and so is she. I’ll always keep you safe.
A tear plopped onto the page, and Libby quickly brushed it away, catching her nail in the tiny hole Owen had scored through the page from repeatedly underlining the word ‘always’. Holding the notepad close to her chest, she rested her forehead on the ice-cold pane of the window. ‘Oh, bloody hell, Owen. Now what am I supposed to do about you?’ The wind had dropped, bathing the empty promenade in an eerie silence, and to her astonishment a snowflake fluttered past the window. It almost never snowed in Lavender Bay; they weren’t on the right latitude for something like that, or so her dad tried to explain to her once when she’d bemoaned the lack as a child. Another flake drifted past, and then a third until soon the world beyond her window was obscured by a thick floating curtain of white.
Hours later, she was still locked in the same position, eyes fixed on the excited children running up and down the promenade, laughing parents following in their wake. The snow hadn’t lasted long and had left barely enough of a covering for them to scrounge up more than a snowball or two, but they didn’t seem to care. The image should’ve given her joy, but all it did was drive home what might never be for her and Owen, and their own little one.
A creak upon the stairs disturbed her. She was ready to dismiss it as one more phantom shift of the old building, when it came again, and she was up off the window seat like a jack springing from his box. Heedless of the pins and needles, she ran on numb feet out onto the landing and stopped short.
‘Hello, Libby-girl. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’
‘Dad? What are you doing here? I thought you were planning on staying with Aunty Val until after Christmas.’ He looked leaner than when she’d seen him last, and not just from the deep tan toning his skin to a golden brown. The softening line of his jaw from the beginnings of a double-chin had smoothed out, and the thick jumper didn’t cling quite so much around the middle.
Looking shame-faced and thoroughly miserable, Mick Stone shook his head. ‘I couldn’t stand it there another minute more. I tried, lovey, Lord knows I tried, but I hated every minute of it.’
‘What? But I thought Spain was what you wanted?’
He sighed and shook his head again. ‘So did I, but it turns out being away from the places that remind me of your mum was worse than being close to them. And, apart from all that, I missed my girl so hard it nearly broke my heart. Can you forgive me for making such a hash of everything?’
‘Oh, Dad.’ Libby flung herself into his arms, clinging like a limpet to the familiar rock of his sturdy frame. Glancing up at him through her lashes, she managed to laugh through her tears. ‘Why didn’t you come home straight away, if you hated it so much?’
The tips of his ears turned pink. ‘After making such a bloody song and dance about it, it didn’t seem right to come slinking home with my tail between my legs.’ He sighed. ‘Blame the stubborn, foolish pride of a silly old man.’
‘Well, I’m glad you came back. Hopefully, we can put all this nonsense behind us for now, as long as you stop trying to force me to leave here, that is.’
Mick’s brow creased into a deep frown. ‘It won’t be me forcing you from here, lovey, but it might be beyond my powers to let you stay.’ He bit his lip and she could tell he was wondering how to tell her the truth.
‘It’s all right, Dad. I know about your deal with Owen.’
‘You do? Well that’s a relief, I must say, as I was dreading how I was going to tell you.’ With gentle fingers he tipped up her chin. ‘Oh, dear. It’s not all right, is it?’
She closed her eyes against the sting of yet more tears. ‘Not even close. You’re not the only one in this family to let their stubborn pride get in the way.’ Moisture spilled over her closed lashes and down her cheeks.
‘Come here, lovey,’ her dad said, pulling her tight against him once more. ‘Come on now, we’ll sort it all out somehow, I promise.’