Page 79 of The Lie

She looked up at him. ‘You still really like her, don’t you?’

Finch was unable to stop a smile as he thought of how much he did like Romy, which Grace noted, her eyes flickering with amusement.

‘You deserve to be happy, Finch,’ she said, linking his arm in hers and squeezing him close as they arrived at the gate of Hawk Cottage. ‘You’ve been the best father a girl could ever have.’

When Finch didn’t reply for the lump in his throat, Grace looked up at him. ‘Don’t not see Romy on my account,’ she said, her voice full of resolve. ‘I’d hate that. Michael has already messed with far too many lives.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘It stopsright here, right now.’

Finch, as he swung the wooden gate open, gesturing to Grace to go first, stood stock still for a moment and took what felt to him like the biggest breath he had ever taken in his life. He wanted to sing out. In that one sentence, Grace had served notice on the past. He knew nothing would be forgotten – abuse, he was sure, never was – but it was a signal of intent.Michael’s actions would do no further harm.

59

That Sunday Romy and Leo sat on the harbour wall. It was sunny, not as cold as it was for Grace and Finch in Derbyshire, but there was a nippy wind off the sea, nonetheless. The two barely noticed, however, they were so involved in their conversation.

‘Like a perfect storm,’ Leo said, not for the first time. As if by repeating his father’s rationale often enough, he might finally grasp the actuality of what he’d been told.

‘Perhaps it was,’ she said.

Leo turned to face her, his cheeks pink, his eyes troubled. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mum. Lucy says I should forgive him, but I think she’s got more tools for that as a Christian. And Rex isn’t much help. Dad asked me if I’d tell him, but I don’t think Rex really took it in. Like, he’s too far away for it to have an impact?’ He sighed. ‘God, how will I ever face Dad again? Knowing what he did.’

Silence fell as Romy struggled for an answer. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. It’s hard to forgive the deed, but the man who did it is not who your father is today. He would never have been brave enough to tell you, if he was.’ She saw Leo considering this.

She had been surprised – and not without a certain respect – that Michael, after claiming he was not yet ready, had taken such a bold leap so soon. She could only guessat the courage it must have taken to confront his son with such a damning confession.

‘Just on a basic level, it’s cringingly embarrassing,’ Leo was saying. ‘He’ll know exactly what I’m thinking, and I won’t know what to say.’

‘Then leave it for a while. Dad will respect your feelings. He won’t be expecting you back, I imagine.’

Her son groaned. ‘It’s just so horrible, Mum. He’s my dad …’ His voice tailed off. ‘I wish to hell I didn’t know. It was my own stupid fault. I should never have kept pushing. I wish we could go back to how it was before. We were getting on better than we ever had in our whole lives.’

‘Well, maybe what you’ve built with your father is strong enough …’ Her son didn’t reply, just leant in to her and laid his head wearily on her shoulder. ‘You know you’ve been wonderful these last few months,’ she added. ‘You really stepped up to the plate in such a fantastic way.’

Leo straightened up and gave her a wry grin. ‘Sounds like I surprised you, Mum.’

Romy smiled. ‘Put it this way, I always knew youcould, but it was a very big ask, for all of us, coping with your dad.’

Leo didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said, his voice tinged with cynicism, ‘Yeah, turned out to be a bigger bloody ask than I could ever have imagined.’ There was a long pause, during which neither of them spoke. ‘But Dad’s obviously contrite,’ he added. ‘He even said he intends to write and apologize to Grace.’

Romy raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Would he do that? It’s evidence, and he’s a lawyer.’

Her son shrugged. ‘He sounded pretty convincing.’

As she saw Leo off on the London train, Romy really felt for her son. He’d looked so preoccupied, so bewildered as he’d tried to work out what best to do. But although she sympathized wholeheartedly with his desire not to know something so dreadful about a parent, she was convinced it was better this way. Better than allowing the secret to fester indefinitely, like a piece of rotting meat, sitting at the centre of all their lives.

Selfishly, she knew Michael’s confession to Leo had cut the last thread that bound her to that secret. Despite Leo’s distress, she couldn’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, realizing for the first time just how much it had cost her – since the letter – not to be honest with her sons. Now, at last, she could put Michael’s crime behind her. She hoped, eventually, that he would write to Grace. She hoped Leo would come round – he was a kind man and he loved his father. But it was out of her hands now.

Thank God I don’t have to go back to the flat tonight, she thought, as she walked briskly through the village – her village, now – and opened the front door to her cosy cottage. Tonight felt like a full stop on her past.

60

It was a few weeks since Finch had walked the steep, windy hillside behind his house with Grace, since Romy had sat on the sea wall, listening to her traumatized son. She and Finch were in her bright, newly painted primrose kitchen, Schubert playing softly on the radio, Romy rinsing out a blue metal Thermos at the sink. They were dressed in jeans and thermal tops, thick socks, ready for a morning on Ebernoe Common and Finch’s first encounter with her conservationist friends.

‘I always put the milk in with the tea,’ she said.

‘Perfect for me,’ Finch replied. He was at the counter, where he’d neatly lined up four squares of buttered brown bread, which he was layering with slices of Cheddar, lettuce and pickle.

‘Shame it’s such a rubbish day.’ Romy glanced out of the window. It was one of those still, grey winter mornings, where the damp air just hovers, as if it has nowhere better to go.

‘Won’t matter,’ Finch said contentedly, as he packed the sandwiches in greaseproof paper and placed them in a Tupperware box, then in his black daypack. ‘Do we need anything else? Apples, maybe?’

‘Good idea. And Maureen always brings slabs of her delicious gingerbread.’ Romy splashed milk into the Thermos, then swished the teapot a couple of times beforepouring in the tea and screwing down the lid. She smiled to herself, surprised at the pleasure she found in sharing these simple domestic tasks with Finch.

He had arrived the previous Saturday evening. Seeing him, after their weeks apart, felt very different now. Romy was no longer insecure about his intentions, or hurt about the past, and welcomed him with a delighted hug, like a returning lover back from a short trip away. Because now she felt she really knew the man who walked through her cottage door – knew him so much better than before.

The intimate chats they’d shared on all those evenings since Finch’s departure for Derbyshire – when they’d talked about everything from their childhoods to Nell and Grace, Michael, their hopes for the future – had given her a much deeper understanding of him and only served to strengthen her feelings.

They hadn’t rushed to make love that first night, as they had on previous occasions. They’d just been content to be together again. Romy made beans on toast and they sat on the sofa in front of the flickering wood-burner with a glass of wine, Finch’s arm around her shoulders, saying very little. There was an atmosphere between them that was fragile but also full of quiet joy, which both had wanted to savour. Obviously it would take time properly to dissolve the tensions that still lurked – with Grace, with Leo – but the logistics of how they would meld their lives and bring their two families together could wait until another day.

When they did finally make it up to bed, and Romy had felt Finch’s naked warmth close against her, she’d let out a long sigh of happiness.

Now, she handed the Thermos to him and watched him fit it into the daypack. He smiled at her as he zipped it up, and in that moment her heart felt so full she wondered if she might actually be glowing. An energetic morning clearing bracken in the cold air; Thermos tea and gingerbread on a damp log; like-minded friends … Finch.This is who I am, she thought.And this is where I want to be.