Snowdonia was tempting, but I didn’t want to go too far from Aunty Julia just yet. There was a sweetness to having a mum who genuinely loved me and wanted to spend time with me, not in a controlling way but as one adult to another. She seemed to feel it too: that things were different for us now. Better.
And I loved watching her get to know Jack. When I’d met Jack’s parents in Scotland, I’d been at least a little envious of that easy affection, how they laughed together. Now, for the first time in my life, it felt like I had that too. He smiled at how smug I’d started to get, showing off my new mum to him.
We stayed a week in Wastwater, then drove to Buttermere, a couple of hours away, where we could still pop back for occasional visits to Aunty – to my mum.
The days passed quickly in the camper with Jack, and yet they seemed endless, like school holidays when you’re a kid. Every day we spent in the Lakes we discovered new places together, and every night he stretched himself out next to me, naked and beautiful, and wrapped me up in his arms.
I’d never been to Buttermere before, but I discovered it was more than a match for Wastwater in the breathtaking beauty stakes. Jack sought us out a pitch in a farmer friend’s back field, where the mighty shadows of Haystacks and Fleetwith Pike muted the camper’s sunny glow. I soon got used to him waking me in the early morning when the sky was clear, so that together we could watch the dawn mists cascading like downy hair over the felltops and the pines.
After a recuperation period for my head to heal fully, I dived right back into my PA work. It was so varied, I rarely got bored. And Jack’s fan mail was always fun.
‘This is weird,’ I said one morning out in the awning, blinking at a picture in sickly green felt tip. ‘Looks like someone drew you a courgette.’
‘Pass it here,’ he said, putting down his sketchbook. I handed it over.
He laughed. ‘It’s not a courgette. Look.’ He held it up and pointed to what looked like a lumpy green sausage. ‘It’s Hulk, see? That little girl Isla from the book signing did it for me, her name’s on the back.’
I squinted at it. Now I examined it more closely, I did detect a hint of purple that could be Hulk’s super-stretchy trousers.
‘Aww,’ I said, smiling. ‘Sweet kid. You going to stick it on the fridge?’
‘No, I’ll send it to Di, she keeps them in a scrapbook for me. I like to look through it sometimes when I go down to her offices in London. Reminds me why I do it.’
He folded the little picture and placed it carefully back in its envelope, then started fanning himself with it.
I opened the next letter, which was in an official-looking envelope and addressed to me.
‘What is it?’ Jack asked in a low voice. We’d both come to regard anything in a pre-printed envelope as potentially scary.
I smiled. ‘Something good. The paperwork to have my marriage to Ethan declared voidable.’
‘Then you can have it annulled?’
‘That’s my understanding, yeah. And then legally speaking it’s like the whole thing never happened. Like it never should’ve.’
‘Will he contest it, do you think?’
‘Not sure how he could. He can hardly claim it was consummated, given I took off the same day.’
I put the forms to one side to fill in later.
‘Aww,’ I said with a little simper when I opened the next one. ‘Look, Jack. From Ben.’
I held up the photo of a little group of farm dogs, blinking in a puzzled way at the camera.
Jack smiled. ‘All grown up. Look well, don’t they?’
‘And happy.’ I turned it round to examine the puppies – well, dogs now, really. I recognised the artist formerly known as Honeybadger, now renamed Bruce according to the names scrawled on the back, sitting proudly upright at the head of his siblings. ‘Looks like our naughtiest pup’s grown up into a bit of a swot. Ben must’ve worked hard on their training.’
‘Who’s the bruiser in the middle?’ Jack asked.
I turned the photo round to look at the names. ‘Meg, it says. That must be Princess Sparkle.’
‘Yeesh. I pity the rat who gets on the wrong side of her.’
The next letter in the pile wasn’t a letter at all. It was a big, fat parcel.
‘Um… wow,’ I said when I’d opened it.
‘Ouch,’ Jack said, wincing. ‘From Sonia?’
‘Who else?’
I scanned the matching dog jackets in a granny-square patchwork of rainbow colours, the names ‘Sandi’ and ‘Mutli’ embroidered onto the sides.
‘Her spelling’s a bit off,’ I said.
Jack smiled. ‘Ah well, it’s sweet of her. Although woolly coats are the last thing they need today.’
It was bloody hot for September. Reeking hot. Hotter than Beelzebub’s boxers, as my ever-classy dad used to say. He had that touch of the poet about him. Sandy, curled by my feet with her tongue lolling, let out a throaty whine to let me know her views on the matter.
‘It’s like a furnace in here,’ Jack said, still fanning himself with Isla’s picture. ‘I’m sweating like a pig in a sauna.’
‘Sexy.’
‘As always.’ He got to his feet. ‘Right, ladies both human and canine, we’re off out. Some of us are on deadline and I’m refusing to write the day off, Indian summer or not. I can’t work in this heat.’
‘Off where?’ I said. ‘It won’t be any better outside, it’s twenty-four degrees in the shade. And there’ll be midges everywhere.’
‘It’ll be cool enough on high ground. Grab your walking boots, Kit: we’re going hiking.’
***
I stared up at the intimidating ridge of Fleetwith Pike. Blinked. Stared again.
Nope. It wasn’t getting any smaller.
‘And you said it was how high?’ I asked Jack, mesmerised by the swimming patchwork of gold on the mountain’s flank.
‘Around 2000 feet. Just a baby compared to some of the fells round here. It’s a good thousand feet shorter than Scafell Pike.’
‘Jesus.’ I ran my eyes up the steep sides to the summit. ‘If that’s a baby, I’d hate to see the parents.’
‘Oh, it’s not so bad.’ He gave my bum a pat. ‘Pair of sturdy northern legs on you, you’ll be skipping up. Come on.’
I groaned as we followed the frisking dogs to the foot of the fell. I could already feel my calves aching in anticipation of the climb that lay ahead. Still, at least we’d be nice and cool at the top.
***
It wasn’t worth it. It so wasn’t worth it. After two hours’ walking, I’d decided no heatwave could be worse than the pain burning through every muscle and joint. I felt like I’d been meat-tenderised with a mace.
‘Best… date… ever,’ I panted to Jack as we scrambled up jagged rock towards the summit.
‘I know. The look on your little face,’ Jack said, grinning at me over his shoulder.
‘You are so not getting laid tonight.’
‘Those shining eyes, full of joy and wonder…’
‘They’re shining because I’m crying inside. Also, outside.’
‘Oh, whisht, moany. It’ll be worth it when we get to the top.’
And he was right, as bloody usual. When I’d collapsed, exhausted, next to the cairn that marked the highest point, I had leisure to catch my breath and absorb the view we’d walked all the way up here for. In the distance, the twin pools of Buttermere and Crummock Water shimmered luscious watermelon-green under a heat haze. The fresh, grass-clad flank of the pike itself sloped lazily down to meet them, giving me a real sense of achievement when I reflected on how far and how high we’d walked.
And it was cool: so deliciously, blissfully, sexily cool. I gulped in a deep breath of mountain air and exhaled slowly.
‘Told you,’ Jack said.
‘All right, don’t get smug,’ I said, smiling. ‘So are you going to do some work now?’
‘Not on the summit.’ He skimmed his gaze over a gaggle of fellow walkers tucking into their packed lunches. ‘Come on, English. We’ll find somewhere further down where it’s quiet.’
In a sheltered nook overlooking an old slate quarry, we each picked a spot that suited us. Jack selected a flat rock where he could work undisturbed and the dogs, tired after their walk, settled down by his feet.
That looked like a good idea. Taking my cue from them, I spread myself out next to Jack for a good old laze. The press release about Tilly and Billy in a Hot Air Balloon I’d been planning to write could wait until my muscles had recovered a bit.
There was a beetle between me and Jack on the rock, its sleek petroleum-puddle belly turned to the sky and its legs wiggling as it struggled to right itself. Absently, Jack flipped it over with his pencil and the little thing scuttled away. You could tell a lot about a man from the way he treated a beetle in distress, came a fleeting thought.
‘How does it work?’ I asked as he took his sketchpad from his rucksack. ‘Do the ideas just come to you?’
‘Never really thought about it.’ He paused to consider. ‘I guess it’s like… there’s this shadowy void, and I throw thoughts into it and see what comes back. At the beginning there’s just white, and I start to fill it and add to it, layer on layer, until at some point it solidifies and there are Tilly and Billy, having an adventure as if that was how it was always supposed to happen.’
‘Sounds like hard work.’
‘It can be. I love it though.’
‘Must be strange drawing for kids when you don’t have any of your own.’
I grimaced when I saw him flinch. God, Sophie… Diana had told me they’d been trying for a baby. Foot, meet mouth; mouth, foot.
‘Sorry, Jack. That was a thoughtless thing to say.’
‘No, I know what you mean. It is strange.’ He reached into his rucksack again and pulled out a packet of sandwiches. ‘Here, better eat these. You’ll need to get your energy up after a walk like that.’
Abrupt subject change noted, I thought as I tore into the clingfilm.
An hour later, I was lying on my back, basking. My lazy gaze followed the assortment of buzzing, fluttering things that owned the mountain, and occasionally I reached up to bat one away from my eyes.
There was no sound but the rush of a beck somewhere in the distance, the drowsy hum of the insects and the scratch-scratch of Jack’s busy pencils. I toyed with the idea of doing some work, but moving just seemed like too much effort.
After a while Jack put down his sketchpad and lay down next to me. He reached over to twirl a strand of my hair around one finger.
‘What you thinking, John O’Dreams?’ he asked softly.
‘John…’ The word triggered a memory. I turned onto my side to look at him. ‘You’re called John.’
‘So my mother claims.’
‘Hey, can I call you Johnny?’
‘No.’
‘Can I call you Jacky?’
‘If I can call you Puss.’
‘Okay, point made,’ I said, smiling. ‘Want to show me what you’ve drawn?’
‘All right. It’s only rough though, remember.’
We sat up and he passed me his pad. I glanced over the sketchy lines of graphite that were the skeleton of Tilly and Billy’s next adventure.
‘This is new,’ I said, pointing to the corner.
‘Yeah, didn’t want to leave her out,’ he said, smiling at the little Muttley scribbled into the picture alongside her cartoon mum. ‘Can’t be after having any favouritism in the ranks.’
‘And who’s that?’ I asked, indicating the figure of a strict-looking woman with her arms folded. She was glaring sternly at Tilly and Billy, who, for some reason probably made clear in an earlier sketch, were covered in jam.
‘That’s Flora, their nanny. She’s been an invisible character till now, mentioned but never seen,’ Jack told me. ‘The fans are going to love it. Sonia might launch into orbit.’
I looked up to frown at him. ‘Jack…’
‘Hmmm?’ he said, casting innocent eyes skywards.
‘Why does she look like me?’
‘Does she? I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Did you put me in a book looking grumpy?’
He laughed. ‘Okay, when you glare at me like that I guess she does look like you.’ He took the sketchpad off me and guided me between his knees so he could wrap his arms round my middle. ‘I thought it’d be fun for you to show Toby and Sam, that’s all. Was going to dedicate the book to you.’
I smiled. ‘You’re very sweet.’
‘Glad you like it. And I promise not to always draw you grumpy.’ He shuffled me round so I was facing him, then brought his hands up to my face and moulded my mouth into a grin. ‘There, that’s better. Now I can draw you like that.’
‘Mmf?’ I said, my mouth movement restricted by his grin-making hands.
‘Yeah.’ He brought his arms back round my waist. ‘I’ve heard they need a new artist at DC. Batman vs The Joker, I’ll be a natural.’
‘You’re insulting.’
‘I’m sweet. You just said.’
‘You’re sweet and insulting.’
‘And you’re beautiful. Even when you do look like The Joker.’ He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. ‘Thanks for being yourself, Kit.’
‘Well, I’ve always struggled to be anyone else,’ I said, flashing him a proper smile. I glanced again at the jam-covered Tilly and Billy. ‘Where did they come from anyway? The characters?’
‘Oh, somewhere in here,’ he said, tapping his head. ‘Before I went pro, I used to draw them for Sophie’s niece. She couldn’t get enough of them.’ He smiled, a little wistfully. ‘She’s ten now, but I always send her a book when I’ve got a new one out.’
‘What made you decide to do it full-time?’
‘I probably wouldn’t have thought much about it, except Soph kept going on. Wouldn’t stop nagging me until I’d sent them out to a few agents. She could be a bossy madam when she got a fixed idea.’
‘She did right to push you,’ I said with an approving nod. ‘Laurel’s boys would be permanently Lord of the Flies without Tilly and Billy.’
He put one finger under my chin to look into my eyes. ‘Do you mind me talking about her?’
‘Sophie? No, love.’ I reached up to stroke his stubbled cheek. ‘It’s good for you, I think. When my dad died it felt like ages till I could talk about it, but once I did it all came out in a rush. It was only Laurel being so willing to listen that helped me deal with it properly, open up to the idea of seeing a counsellor. She lost her husband years back.’
‘Yeah. It does help.’
I hesitated. There was something I’d been wanting to talk to him about for a while, but things had felt so happy and settled since I’d finally managed to move on from Mum, Ethan and everything back home, I hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Still, it’d been preying on my mind, ever since the big row we’d had in Scotland that had exploded into our first kiss.
‘Jack?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You ever think you might need more help than just talking to me?’
He frowned. ‘A doctor?’
‘I was thinking of a counsellor. I was a mess after Dad died, until I had Lindy to talk me through it. You know, it can really make a difference.’
He gazed away into the distance. ‘Maybe if someone had said that to me right after, but… no. It’s been too long, Kit. I am the way I am, now.’
‘But you’re hurting so much, still, because of it.’
It cost me an effort to say that. Acknowledging Jack’s hurt, the fact he hadn’t fully moved on, sent a ripple of pain through me. And there was something else too, something I knew was unworthy of me. Jealousy.
I hated myself for being jealous of Sophie, and yet I was, every day; I couldn’t help it. Because there was still that little piece of Jack that would always be hers, the piece that was taking his future from him. And mine from me, as long as the two were linked. It wasn’t her fault, of course it wasn’t, but I couldn’t suppress the instinctive envy bubbling away somewhere in my spleen.
There was pain in Jack’s face now, just from thinking about it. I instantly hated myself for bringing it up.
‘I couldn’t, Kit. I couldn’t talk to a stranger about that.’ He shook his head, almost angrily. ‘It’s mine. To unpack all that for someone I don’t even know, someone who’s being paid to listen – no. It’s private and it’s mine. It’s not for sale.’
‘It doesn’t feel like that when you’re there. Yeah, they get paid, but they’re trained to help you. It’s what they do.’
‘But don’t you understand?’ he said, anger still simmering under his tone. It frightened me, even though I knew it wasn’t aimed at me. Jack so rarely got angry. ‘That pain’s part of me now, Kitty. I won’t sell it off to the highest bidder.’ He glared at his feet. ‘It’d be a betrayal.’
I stared at him. This wasn’t the first time I’d tried to raise the issue of grief counselling, but usually he’d just changed the subject, or found an urgent reason he needed to be somewhere else. He’d never gone into just why he was so resistant to the idea.
Grief was such a complex thing, and Jack’s grief… it felt like there was layer upon layer, each contradicting another, each trying to fight its way to the top of the pile. I wanted to help, but Christ almighty. I was seriously out of my depth.
‘Tell me what I can do,’ I said quietly. It was all I had.
Jack was silent a moment, lost in his thoughts. Eventually he lifted his frown and looked up to meet my eyes, anger gone and a penitent look in his eyes. ‘Sorry, Kitty. Did I snap at you? I didn’t mean to.’
‘Not really at me, I think.’ I took his hand. ‘I’m not a stranger, am I? And I’m not getting paid for anything other than opening your post and writing press releases. Tell me about Sophie, if it helps you.’
His eyes searched my face. ‘Isn’t it strange for you, hearing me talk about her?’
‘Maybe a little,’ I answered truthfully. ‘But you talk about her as much as you like. I do like to hear about her. It helps me understand you a bit better: how you used to be.’ I pressed the backs of his fingers to my lips. ‘What was she like?’
‘Oh, she was… one of a kind. Pretty, sweet – hot-tempered, sometimes. And she was funny, like you, but with a filthier laugh.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘You remind me of her a bit.’
‘She looked like me?’
He shook his head. ‘Couldn’t have looked more different. Actually, she wasn’t much like you at all – not how she looked or her mannerisms or anything. But you remind me of her, all the same.’
‘How do I?’
He smiled. ‘Well, you both give me hell.’
‘No more than you deserve. Anything else?’
‘Your sense of humour. And how I feel around you. That feeling I don’t have to try to be something I’m not.’
‘When have you ever tried that in your life?’ I asked.
‘There was a time I wanted to please, same as anyone. But when Sophie died I didn’t have the energy for pleasing any more. It was take me as I am or don’t bother.’
‘I’ll take you.’
‘I know you will,’ he said gently. ‘That’s why I like being with you. There’s no – no pretence about you, Kitty Clayton.’
‘And that’s why you can read me like a book?’
‘Maybe I can,’ he said, his eyes darting over my features. ‘I can tell when you want me to kiss you.’
‘How?’
‘Because it’s when I want to kiss you.’
‘And when’s that?’
‘Always.’
He leaned forward to prove it with a long kiss.