Page 47 of The Summer That Changed Us

‘That’s the one. There was a crowd of us who went back to the pub after the service. Quite a nice do actually. A free bar which Myles particularly enjoyed.’

Grace had thought at the time how odd it was that he’d got drunk that day; he’d had to abandon his car and get a taxi. It had been most unlike Myles and she’d put it down to him losing a friend at a relatively young age. It had served as a stark reminder to him that life should be lived to the full because you never knew when your last day would come. It had been not long after that that he’d suggested they rewrote their wills.

‘And he actually said the word “affair”?’

‘His exact words were, “I’ve ballsed everything up, Ju.” I knew then how drunk he was; he hasn’t called me Ju since we were in our teens.’

Grace could hear the laugh in her voice and her stomach turned. The reminder that Myles and Julia were teenage sweethearts felt like a stab to the heart. She looked across the room and focused on the artwork: a giant piece of driftwood shaped like the hull of a boat with a billowing sail made from canvas. The angle of it made Grace think that the boat was on a stormy sea. Just like Julia and Myles’s marriage had been, she thought uncharitably. Whereas hers and Myles’s had been plain sailing.

‘I assumed he was referring to a disaster at work,’ Julia continued, ‘that was what he usually talked about, used to bore me rigid. Still at least you had that in common with him.’

By the time of the funeral, the sale of Byron Homes had already been agreed. Myles was about to become a wealthy man; he certainly hadn’t messed anything up.

‘We did make a very successful team,’ Grace couldn’t resist saying. ‘Very successful indeed.’

Julia made a noise that sounded like a blast of irritation. ‘Anyway, I was wrong, because he followed it up with “I’ve broken my wedding vows. In the worst possible way.” Then he blathered on about you for a bit until I told him that I wasn’t interested.’

Grace stared and stared at the driftwood boat on the wall until it was nothing but a blur. Blood roared in her ears and she was half aware that Julia was still speaking but she couldn’t tune into it. Listening to details made it much more difficult to ignore. And Myles had acted really oddly after that funeral. Even Ned had called up the next day to check up on him.

Could there be some truth in Julia’s claims after all?

Cold liquid splashed over her hand. She looked down to see that her hand was trembling so much that she’d spilled her orange juice. Her whole body was shaking, and she could feel her teeth starting to chatter. Sweat pooled under her arms. She forced herself to tune back into Julia’s joyful monologue.

‘It did cross my mind that that piece of information could be quite valuable,’ Julia tittered.

‘Did he say anything more about …’ Grace peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth, wanting but not wanting to know who the woman was who’d just ripped her world in two.

‘Did he name names?’ Julia butted in. ‘No, annoyingly. And then one of his friends came up and dragged him away and I didn’t get another chance to ask.’

‘I see.’ Grace swallowed. Her throat was constricted, and her stomach felt full of acid.

‘So.’ Julia sounded triumphant. ‘Now you know. And I think you’ll agree that under the circumstances, it’s clear that your marriage was on the rocks. Which means that it’s entirely appropriate that Myles’s children have a larger slice of his estate.’

‘Goodbye, Julia.’ Grace hung up. She couldn’t bear to listen to another word.

It was her own fault; she’d been the one to call Julia. What had she expected? Actually, she knew the answer to that: she’d presumed that Julia would grudgingly admit that she’d been teasing Grace, and that of course Myles hadn’t had an affair. Grace rubbed her tears away roughly as she contemplated her next move. She wasn’t going to let Julia win. It was still only the word of one bitter woman. So, until – unless – Grace found proper evidence, as far as she was concerned, Myles was innocent.

Chapter Eighteen

After a weekend with not much to do, Robyn was having a productive Monday. One of her speculative emails had paid off and she had been working all morning on a commission for a book jacket. Only a small job, but hopefully if they were pleased with her, more work might follow. She’d sent off some pencil roughs this morning and had been thrilled when they’d come back a couple of hours later saying that the author loved the direction Robyn had taken and could she work up some colourways.

Buoyed by the positive feedback, Robyn had thrown herself into it immediately and it was mid-afternoon before she realised how hungry she was. She left her attic studio and went downstairs for a belated lunch.

Once her cheese on toast was under the grill and the kettle was on, she pulled out the neck of her jumper and peered down at her chest. She was wearing the new lacy bra and – she could hardly believe she was thinking this – her boobs looked quite good. Her stomach fizzed; it was happening, just like her nurse told her it would. She was accepting her new shape. She smiled: her boobs, her body, her choice, her life.

All the tests and operations and days spent in agony recuperating, all the drugs, the check-ups … all over. She had a beautiful healthy body and what was more, she’d given herself the greatest gift possible: the best chance of a long and cancer-free life. Her mum and her gran would be up there cheering her on. She felt a surge of optimism; she’d turned a corner and she was happy and without even having to prompt herself to think of her gratitudes, she knew she was grateful for all of it.

She was still gazing down at herself when there was a brisk knock at the front door. She dashed to open it and found Claudia with Betty in her pram on her doorstep.

‘Hello, come in!’ Robyn beamed, helping lift the cumbersome pram into her tiny cottage.

‘You’re in a good mood.’ Claudia kissed her cheek and pushed Betty in her buggy into kitchen.

‘I am,’ Robyn said, relieved that her visitor had come to the front door and not gone straight around the back like she sometimes did and caught her peering at herself. ‘Work’s gone well today, and I’ve got a new bra. Want to see?’

Without waiting for an answer, Robyn gave her a flash.

‘Wow, that’s gorgeous.’ Claudia looked impressed. ‘You are such a fox. Lucky Finn, that’s all I can say. Poor old Callum; never did the phrase getting jiggy with it ring so true, getting close to me is like climbing on a bouncy castle.’