The Summer Seekers Page 28

  He looked gaunt. “I should have noticed. I’ve been so damn selfish.”

  “I didn’t really notice. Every moment of my day was swallowed up by things that needed to be done. There was no time for reflection. Painting used to be a bit like meditation for me—a time to be focused, and calm. When I stopped doing it, I lost that. I never had the time—or took the time—to stop and wonder if I was living life the way I wanted to. That day I left, all I wanted was space to think.”

  “I’ve gone over that day in my head. You suggested dinner and I asked you to book somewhere, after first having assumed you wanted the kids along—and it was our anniversary—” He shot her a mortified look. “I don’t even know where to begin apologizing.”

  “It wasn’t your finest moment, but a marriage is made up of many parts thankfully, and you’ve had many fine moments.”

  “You should have hit me over the head with a skillet, like your mother did that intruder. If I hadn’t found that article, would you have said something?”

  “Yes. I needed time to figure it out, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t want to come home. That says a lot.” His eyes were tired, his jaw dark with stubble and he’d never looked sexier in his life.

  Or maybe she was so shaken up by the thought of losing him she was noticing things she’d stopped noticing. Time did that, didn’t it? It made your gaze skim over things that should have captured your attention.

  “I was going to come home, Sean. I was going to speak to you about the way I felt. I just hadn’t planned how or when. I didn’t know you’d find the article.”

  “I didn’t find it. The girls did.”

  “Oh.” Guilt mingled with anxiety. “How?”

  “I sent them to find the spare car keys. They searched your bag and found it.”

  It hadn’t occurred to her for a moment that anyone but her would ever read it. “What did they say?”

  “Nothing at first. They didn’t know what to do, so they kept it to themselves for a few days and asked lots of questions they considered to be subtle. Then yesterday they confronted me. They had a lot of questions, none of which I could answer, which didn’t make me look great. If there are problems in your marriage, generally you’re supposed to know about it.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “No. At least, not with you. Maybe with myself, for not seeing how you were feeling, or better still being more thoughtful so that you didn’t feel that way in the first place. Mostly I’m—” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Shaken. Helpless. Scared, because I love you and I didn’t see what was going on. I thought we were happy. It’s terrifying to know you were thinking all these things you didn’t even share. I don’t claim to be an expert on relationships, but even I know you can’t fix something you don’t know about.”

  Oh Sean.

  She felt a lump in her throat.

  “I love you too.”

  “Then why this?” He touched the offending article with his fingers. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

  “When? When do we ever talk about ourselves or our relationship, Sean? We talk about life, about the girls, about practical things.”

  He fiddled with the paper. “Eight signs. How many apply to us? I read them, and I wasn’t sure. Which again doesn’t say much, does it? I mean number two—” he gestured at the paper “—You never spend time alone together. That’s definitely true, I see that now.”

  “Sean—”

  “We used to have date night. Whatever happened to date night?”

  “I think it vanished somewhere between your business taking off and Caitlin getting that drama scholarship.” She slid her hands round her mug. “Life is about priorities, isn’t it, and we didn’t make it a priority. We didn’t make us a priority.”

  “There’s nothing in life more important to me than you, so if that’s the case it was carelessness not design.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’d forgive you for not believing it, but you are my priority. The work, everything I do, is for us.”

  “I know.” She felt tired and emotional, and so, so pleased to see him and to finally be talking. “It was my fault as much as yours. I was too focused on the whole family, and I neglected us. I think it all goes back to my childhood and wanting to be present. I went too far the other way—I see that now.”

  Outside the rain had stopped and a patch of blue sky had appeared. It gave her hope, as did the feel of his hand tight on hers.

  “You’re the best mother and the twins are lucky.”

  “That’s not true.” It was difficult to admit it, but she knew she needed to. “I do things for them, instead of encouraging them to take responsibility. The conflict with Caitlin makes me feel like a bad mother, so I do everything I can to keep the peace. I want her to be happy, and I let her manipulate me. That’s my mistake and I need to address it.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to need to. The girls have done some pretty deep soul searching since they found that article.” On cue, his phone pinged with a message and he checked the screen. “It’s Caitlin, wanting to know if we’re getting a divorce.”

  “A divorce? That’s what they think?”

  “That’s what the end of that article said. Can you fix things or should you end it?”

  “I never read the end of it.” The article had made her panic. It had been like reading medical symptoms on the internet and becoming convinced you were dying of something hideous. She hadn’t wanted to believe her marriage was terminal.

  “On the drive here, I kept going over that last day. I was distracted, thinking about clients, work, anything but the two of us. And you were trying to nudge me into going out for dinner, doing everything you could to remind me it was our anniversary.”

  “I should have reminded you.”

  “You shouldn’t have to remind me. It was my job to remember. I should have booked a table for dinner and taken you on a romantic night away without making you book it yourself. I’m sorry things had to get to the point where you snapped. You should have felt able to reach out to me and tell me. It’s my fault that you didn’t. I was rushing, trying to get to work—as you say, prioritizing everything else.”

  “Maybe I needed this time on my own. It’s been good for me.” Talking to Finn had been good for her too. It had helped her clarify what was important to her.

  “You’re sure you were planning to come home?”

  “Of course!” She was appalled that he felt the need to ask. A shaft of sunlight shot across the kitchen and she stood up. “Let’s go to the beach.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? We used to love going there after a storm.”

  “We were teenagers.”

  “And? Fun isn’t only for the young.” She thought about her mother. “There are no rules that say you can’t still enjoy the things you used to enjoy. The waves will be rough, it will be blowy and there will be no people.”

  He drained his coffee. “Are you planning to get dressed? And do you want breakfast first?”

  “We’ll take breakfast with us. The light will be wonderful after that storm. I’m going to take some photographs I can use later for painting.”

  They dressed quickly and Liza grabbed some fruit and a couple of muffins she’d bought the day before and pushed them into a bag.

  Sean emerged, hair damp from a hasty shower and a sweatshirt looped around his shoulders. “I haven’t seen you in shorts for years. You seem to have bought an entire new wardrobe.”

  “I didn’t have the right clothing.” She slid her feet into flip-flops and together they walked across the field and down onto the beach.

  Apart from a lone dog walker in the distance, they had the place to themselves.

  Liza kicked off her flip-flops and walked barefoot to the water’s edge. The sea was choppy, but the storm clouds had cleared
, and it promised to be another sunny day.

  “We met on this beach.” Sean put his arm round her. “I was intimidated by you.”

  She leaned into him. “That’s ridiculous. You were the cool guy. The one all the girls wanted.”

  “And you didn’t look twice at me.”

  “I looked. But I was shy.” The water surged over her feet and ankles, freezing cold, numbing skin.

  “You were thoughtful. I liked that. You seemed to live so much of your life in your head.”

  “I’d learned to be self-contained.”

  He glanced at her, understanding. “Have you spoken to your mother?”

  “Every day.” She saw his surprise. “We’ve talked more during the past week than we have for months. Years, maybe.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything. Her life. Martha is posting details of their trip on social media. Images, videos—they’ve called their account The Summer Seekers. I’ll show you later. They’re obviously having great fun.” Should she tell him about the letters? Maybe later. “I’m starting to understand her, and that helps.” She slid her arm round his waist and they walked along the water’s edge together. “I love it here.”

  “Me too. Remember when we used to talk about buying a place? We had so many dreams. Whatever happened?”

  He remembered. She’d thought he’d forgotten those conversations, but he hadn’t.

  Her mood lifted further. “We grew up. We became sensible.”

  “Maybe it’s time to do something about that.” He scooped her up without warning and she shrieked as he waded into the water with her in his arms.

  “Sean! If you drop me, I’ll—”

  “If I drop you? I’m going to drop you, sweetheart. It’s a question of when, not if.”

  “You’ll ruin my new shorts.” She gasped as a wave crashed into them and the water splashed onto her face. “It’s too rough.”

  “I’m here for you.” He kissed her. “I’m always here for you.”

  Her heart turned over. When had they last said things like that to each other? She couldn’t remember.

  Their clothes were wet and clung to them.

  “You’re ridiculously irresponsible.”

  “I know. And about time. If you ask me, we’ve been far too adult lately. As you say, fun isn’t only for the young.” He lowered her into the water and pulled her close. “We’re going to do more of this, Liza Lewis.”

  “Spend time wet and freezing? Drowning?”

  “Being spontaneous.” He stroked her soaked hair away from her face. “You’re shivering. Let’s get you home and into a hot shower.”

  They raced back up the beach hand in hand and trailed sand through the kitchen on their way upstairs.

  “We should have rinsed our feet—” Liza was giggling as they stumbled on the stairs.

  “We’ll clean up later.” Sean kissed her and together they squeezed into the shower in the main guest bedroom. “This isn’t built for two.”

  She closed her eyes as the shower rained down on her, washing away the sand and the salt, and the stress of the past few weeks. Sean’s mouth was on hers, delivering kisses and hope.

  Constrained by the tight space, Sean switched off the flow of water, wrapped her in a towel and carried her through to the bedroom.

  His hands were bold and sure, his body hard and familiar. He touched her with expert knowledge, smoothing away all the knots and doubts, removing the last of the distance between them. And for once she wasn’t worrying about the past or the future. There was nothing but the present and Sean and the ultimate intimacy of being known and truly loved.

  How could she have forgotten how this felt? How could she have questioned his feelings for her when they were so obvious? This wasn’t sex, it was love, and he showed it with every touch, every kiss, every slow, skilled thrust until the pleasure built and spun out of control, leaving her weak and sated.

  It was love, she thought, lying breathless in his arms.

  Love.

  He pulled her closer. “I missed this.”

  “Sex? It’s not that long since we had sex.”

  “It’s a long time since we had sex like this. Sex that felt close.”

  She knew what he meant. Intimacy was about so much more than physical contact. “I want to keep this feeling and I don’t know how.”

  “I think if we’re both trying to keep it, then we’ll keep it. I love you, Liza.”

  “I love you too.” She shifted so that she could see his face. “What happens now?”

  “I make you one of my famous bacon sandwiches.” He kissed her. “And then we’re going to spend the rest of the day sharing our dreams and planning, the way we used to. I want to know every single thing you’re thinking. Maybe we should go back down to the beach.”

  He pulled on his jeans and left the room while she lay there, feeling too lethargic to move.

  She could hear birdsong through the open window and when she moved to the window she could see that the hot sun had dried off the last of the rain from the garden.

  She could hear Sean clattering around in the kitchen and smelled the tantalizing scent of sizzling bacon.

  She took another quick shower, dried her hair and pulled on one of the summer dresses she’d bought in the village. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and sent a text to Finn, explaining that she wouldn’t be able to make dinner.

  She no longer felt guilt, or regret. She knew that the time she’d spent with Finn had been nothing more than a brief distraction for him, but for her it had helped her refocus. She was grateful for that.

  By the time she walked into the kitchen Sean had a stack of thick-cut bacon sandwiches and a fresh pot of coffee.

  “We ought to call the girls.” She ate one of the sandwiches. “How have they been this week?”

  “Their usual selves until they found that article. Then they suddenly started being very caring. It was a little unsettling to be honest.” He grinned at her. “Caitlin made me breakfast in bed yesterday. The smoke alarm went off four times because she burned the toast. And the two of them have been spending an hour a day working in the neighbors’ garden, although Alice and worms are not a happy match.”

  “This transformation occurred without so much as a conversation?” She finished the sandwich. “That was good. I haven’t cooked much this week. I’ve raided the deli in the village most days.”

  “But you cooked for Angie last night? It looked like an elaborate meal.”

  She could lie, but she didn’t want their fresh start to begin with a lie. “I cooked for Finn Cool.” She saw a question appear in his eyes. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m not in a hurry.” He listened quietly as she told him all of it, from Finn’s appearance in her kitchen, through to dinner.

  “It’s typical of my mother not to have told me that she knew him so well.”

  “She’s always been secretive.”

  “I think she’s private rather than secretive.”

  Sean put down his sandwich, half-eaten. “So how worried should I be?”

  “About what?”

  “About the fact that you’d dressed up to cook dinner for another man. You enjoyed his company—I can see that.”

  She felt her cheeks go hot. “We talked. He made me feel—interesting. I felt like an individual, instead of someone’s wife, mother or teacher. I often think of myself in relation to other people, and that’s something I have to change. We talked a lot about creativity and following your passion.”

  Sean’s gaze held hers. “Passion?”

  “For art and music.” She’d come close to kissing Finn, but she hadn’t done it. She’d made a choice. There was no need to share that. This whole week had been about making her own decisions. Decisions that weren’t dictated by the needs of others. “Talking
to him made me think about things more deeply. This week I’ve woken up every morning excited about the day. I’ve walked on the beach. I’ve read books without feeling there is something else I should be doing. I’ve sat and enjoyed the garden without thinking about all the tasks building up. I’ve eaten food I haven’t had to cook. And I’ve painted, and I can’t tell you how good that felt.”

  Sean nodded. “What have you been painting? Oils? Pastels?”

  “A bit of everything.” How much should she tell him? “Finn wants to buy two of my paintings for his beach house.”

  Sean was silent for a moment and then gave a brief smile. “He’s clearly a man with good taste. How does he know about your painting?”

  “I talked to him about it. And I showed him some pictures of my old work.”

  Sean breathed deeply. “I haven’t seen you this fired up and enthusiastic for a long time.”

  “Our conversations helped me make sense of what I wanted.”

  Sean pushed his plate away. “I’m sorry I made it difficult for you to have those conversations with me. That was number four on that article, wasn’t it? Do you still share your dreams with your partner? That one hit me hard. I realized I don’t know your dreams, and there was a time when I did. I remember the first time you told me you wanted to be an artist. You’d never told anyone that, and I felt like the king of the world because you’d shared that secret with me.”

  “That was an impractical dream. It’s hard to make money that way, and I never wanted to be a starving artist.”

  “But as life got busy, I didn’t nourish your creative side. I feel terrible about that.”

  “It was my responsibility.”

  He stood up and held out his hand. “Show me what you’ve been painting.”

  She slid her hand into his and led him to the summerhouse. “I had a big clearout before I turned it back into my studio.” She opened the door and Sean stepped past her and looked at the canvases stacked against the wall.

  “These are all new?”

  “Some I’ve painted this week. Some are old works that I dusted off.”

  She didn’t mention the one she’d painted in a fever of inspiration that was now upstairs in her mother’s bedroom ready to surprise her on her return.