Oh God, I was in so much trouble.
Chapter Twelve
The sun was surprisingly strong. Despite the heavy canopy of leaves, the dappled rays felt warm on my bare legs as I wriggled my feet off the blanket I’d remembered to bring and let the blades of grass tickle my toes. Discarded a few feet away were the shoes I’d worn to the office that morning; bright red kitten-heeled sandals that had screamed at me to buy them from the shoe shop window. They made me feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, perhaps because she’d also survived a devastating storm.
My taste in footwear was just one of the countless changes I kept noticing. Before the accident, I couldn’t ever have imagined flipping the Open sign to Closed halfway through the workday and taking off to the park with my laptop and a meal deal sandwich. Both were currently lying open on the blanket beside me. In fairness, I wasn’t exactly skiving off. I’d already answered several emails and was now working my way through an alarmingly full inbox, ruthlessly deleting messages like a gardener on a weed purge.
‘Junk. Junk. Junk,’ I muttered, shaking my head at the amount of rubbish that found its way into my account. There were cold canvassing emails from companies I’d never heard of, determined to sell me products I’d never buy, as well as an inordinate number from cruise companies trying to sell a holiday to someone who hadn’t taken one in years. And as I got seasick just thinking about water,that definitely wouldn’t be the type I’d go for, if by some miracle I ever managed to take some time off. Something snagged briefly at my memory as I clicked on the link from an exclusive ocean liner company and hit the Unsubscribe button. It felt as though something important had drifted tantalisingly close but frustratingly remained outside the periphery of what I could remember.
A scurrying sound in the long grass derailed my train of thought as a particularly bold squirrel, who clearly had his eye on the uneaten half of my sandwich, darted a little closer and then froze. I tore off a sizeable piece of crust and threw it towards him. He dived for the treat and sped up the tree trunk faster than my eyes could follow, disappearing into the foliage. My gaze travelled the route he’d taken, and then stopped when it came to the ugly charred scar scored deep into the bark where the oak had taken the brunt of the lightning.
I could have chosen to sit anywhere in the park. There were plenty of vacant benches and shady areas to have picked, but I’d been pulled back to the tree, in much the same way as I was continually drawn to Rhys. It was as though something primal and unfathomable had connected us in the moment the lightning struck. Something that still had a hold on us even now.
It had been an interesting and frustrating time since the night of the storm and even though I’d never admit it, I was a little disappointed not to have heard anything from Rhys. I will not contact him first, I promised myself... and I hadn’t. It’s up to fate if our paths cross again. But nine days later, I was starting to realise our reconnection might be very low down on fate’s to-do list.
Ignoring the new listing I’d intended to work on, I reached instead for a buff-coloured folder that had lived in my desk drawer long enough to have dog-eared corners. I flipped over the cover and leafed through the sheaf of papers within it. I’d read them all before, but where I’d previously dismissed the proposal as time-consumingand unwieldy, I felt a strange and unexpected spark of interest for an idea I’d initially dismissed.
When Florrie, the elderly owner of Ripping Yarns, the small craft and textile shop at the end of the high street, had passed away, many of the local business owners had wondered what her daughter planned to do with the property. My hopes of adding it to my books had been raised when she’d walked into my office with the same folder in her hands that was now in mine.
But selling the property was the last thing on her mind. Ripping Yarns scarcely made enough to cover the overheads, but it was well known locally for its open-door policy that Florrie had established. What had begun as afternoon sewing classes had quickly expanded to become a place for the lonely, bereaved, or simply those who were a little down on their luck to gather, chat, and maybe even do a little needlework. It wasn’t unusual to walk past and see an eclectic group of OAPs, residents from the local hostel, or even the occasional homeless person sitting around the craft table, enjoying a slice of cake and the chance to talk with someone, possibly for the only time that day.
‘Mum was so passionate about helping people and giving back to the community. She really wanted the doors to stay open after she was gone, and I want to respect her wishes.’
‘So, you won’t be selling the building?’ I’d asked, trying to disguise my disappointment.
Florrie’s daughter had shaken her head emphatically.
‘Definitely not. But I do need someone to oversee the project. Mum told me to ask the other shop owners if they’d be willing to help, and she specifically said I should speak to you.’
‘Me?’ There’d been no hiding my surprise. I’d cast my mind back, trying to remember any conversation I’d ever had with Florrie that could have led her to think this was something I’d like to be involved in. It was completely out of my wheelhouse. The onlything I could recollect talking about with her was a random memory of my own mother teaching me how to knit, a hobby she’d loved but one I hadn’t touched in years. I was at a loss to work out how a throwaway conversation about such an old memory could have made her think I was the right person to oversee this project.
I’d politely told Florrie’s daughter it wasn’t something I could help her with, but she’d been oddly reluctant to take no for an answer. ‘Mum thought you’d probably not say yes straightaway. But she said I should leave the idea with you.’
And she had, for months now, and every so often something would make me pull the folder out, read through the vague, ill-planned ideas, and shake my head in bemusement that this file had ended up in my desk. My eyes fell again, as they always did, to the list of local businesses who’d already offered some means of support should the project go ahead. Beth’s name was there, with a solid tick beside her shop Crazy Daisy, as well as several of my fellow business owners. Surprisingly there was an appetite to continue what Florrie had started and for the first time I could feel a stir of interest that had me reaching for my pen as I began scribbling down notes.
Four pages of scrawled thoughts later, I set the folder aside, feeling a strange fizz of excitement that I usually only experienced when finalising a sale or securing a tenancy. It was strange, a little unsettling, but also incredibly satisfying.
Still buzzing with ideas, I lay down on the soft fleecy blanket and stared up into the tree that had simultaneously almost killed me and possibly saved my life. I could no longer decide which. Either way, coming here today had felt curiously healing, which given what had happened on this spot made no sense whatsoever.
My eyes were closed, but I heard the patter of footsteps coming from behind the thick girth of the oak’s trunk.
‘Is this it? Is this the one, Daddy?’
Behind the concealing tint of my sunglasses, my eyes sprang open. Even before he answered, I knew exactly whose voice I would hear in reply.
‘Yes, sweetheart, this is the oak tree,’ Rhys said.
I gave a nervous swallow and wondered if there was any chance at all that they’d stay on the opposite side of the tree and not notice me or my blanket. Having spent over a week feeling disappointed to have not accidentally run into Rhys, I was suddenly thrown by the prospect of encountering him now, here, with his daughter. My breath caught in my throat as I realised she might not be the only one who’d accompanied him to the park today. His ex, the all too perfect Annalise, might be here too.
Very slowly I inched myself upright. My belongings were too widely scattered for me to make a quick getaway, and I realised there was no easy escape when a slender young arm snaked around the enormous tree trunk, hugging the gnarled bark.
‘Thank you, tree, for looking after my daddy. I’m sorry you got hurt too.’
This was getting embarrassing. I was going to have to reveal myself or else it would look like I was deliberately trying to hide, which I absolutely would have done if I’d thought for a moment that I could get away with it.
But before I could work out how to casually pretend that I’d only just noticed them, a shadow fell across the foot of my blanket.
‘Ellie?’ Rhys asked, even before he’d emerged from behind the tree. ‘Is that you?’