Page 89 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘You got on well with him?’

‘Jono?’ I said with a grin. ‘He’s a love.’

‘Uncle Pete said he’s been very bad-tempered since his wife ran off with the Frenchman.’

I’d rung Kat before dawn yesterday morning after Jono had crept out of Creek Cottage and gone back to his house. Before I could say a word, she’d launched straight into a story about Mum and the trouble she was in with a credit card company. To get her attention I’d had to resort to yelling that I’d just had amazing sex with a hot Australian. The whole of Honeybourne probably heard her shrieks of excitement. It had only been a brief chat; Sam had come into the room in search of a snack and interrupted us.

‘He isn’t grumpy anymore,’ I said coyly. ‘Jono and I got on very well. Very well indeed.’

‘Good.’ Harry nodded enthusiastically. After a beat the penny dropped and he blinked hard. ‘Oh, right. I see. Good!’

‘So, thanks for suggesting spending time at Ruby Creek. It worked out very well – for everyone.’

‘Well, gosh,’ he stammered, clearly stuck for a suitable response. ‘I’m pleased for you.’

‘And what about you?’ I gave him a questioning look. ‘You and I had an agreement that we are going to be receptive to love, not rule it out forever. Not that what Jono and I shared was motivated by love; it was pure lust. But we enjoyed each other, if you know what I mean, and it’s given me the confidence to think that one day …’

Harry choked on his fizzy drink and his glass clunked down on the table.

‘Sorry, too much info,’ I said, laughing. ‘What I’m saying is that I’ve kept my end of the deal. How about you?’

‘Well, you win, progress-wise. I’ve downloaded a couple of dating apps and I’ve been talking to a few girls. You met one of them, actually.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

‘The waitress in the café in Leura.’ He cleared his throat, and I noticed a slight blush to his face. ‘Lola.’

‘I remember her!’ I’d thought I’d sensed a spark between them. ‘She’s lovely.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. We’ll see.’

‘Baby steps,’ I patted his arm. ‘But steps all the same.’

Our food arrived and for the next few minutes we busied ourselves with condiments and more drinks and Harry taking photos of our plates with the picturesque bay as a backdrop.

‘I’ve been thinking about work,’ said Harry, once our plates had been cleared away. ‘And what I might want to do for a career.’

‘Go on.’ I nodded encouragingly.

He told me that he’d been looking into courses back in the UK, and that he was thinking of training to be a counsellor. That the popularity of his Instagram posts had made him realise how many people out there were hurting and how much he felt drawn to help them through their trauma. He’d also been contacted to appear as a guest speaker on a couple of high-profile podcasts.

I was impressed with the way he was getting his life together, and told him so.

‘Do you mind?’ he asked warily.

‘Why would I?’ I gave him a blank look.

He shifted in his seat. ‘Because none of this would have occurred to me if Brontë hadn’t died. Sometimes I worry that I’m somehow profiting from losing my girlfriend.’

‘Oh, love.’ I covered my hand with his. ‘No one could ever accuse you of that. The truth is that life does go on. We have both been changed by losing her. The things we took for granted have gone, the goalposts have shifted. In fact, I don’t even know where my goalposts are any more. But I do know that my future will always be shaped by the absence of my daughter. If a path is emerging for you from what you have experienced, embrace it.’

He smiled with evident relief. ‘Thanks. It feels good to be doing something positive. Like it’s given me a purpose.’

‘That’s what I need,’ I said wistfully. ‘A new sense of purpose. Following Brontë’s itinerary has given me one for the time being. But soon I’ll get to the last page and then what?’

‘Create your own?’ suggested Harry. ‘Now you’ve got the travel bug, what’s to stop you planning the sort of itinerary she did? You’ve just said Nepal is on the cards for winter.’

He got up from the table to find the bathroom, leaving me to think that through. ‘There’s more to life than work, Mum,’ Brontë had said during our last conversation. She would hardly recognise this version of her mother. I’d barely thought about work at all since the day I talked George out of resigning. I’d had one text from him saying that Anna and her family had gone on a skiing holiday and bumped into Lee and his family and they had come back best buddies – but nothing else. That had shaken me a bit, if I was honest. Anna had always been my friend. Not that she wasn’t allowed to have more than one friend, obviously. But I supposed I’d been relying on our bond to help strengthen my route to the boardroom. Now that Lee had established himself as her friend too, that link no longer seemed so secure.