She looked across the table at Robyn. Fen replayed the moment she’d come across her at the swimming hole, Robyn standing aloft the rocky boulder, toes curled over the edge. Fen had seen the tremble in Robyn’s bare legs, the breath moving high in her chest. Robyn had stared down at the long drop, but she hadn’t stepped back.
She’d raised her chin, set her gaze on the horizon.
Jumped.
To overcome fear, one has to face it.
Fen took a breath. Stood.
There was a moment where the ground seemed to sway a little, but she lifted her gaze, set it straight ahead.
‘You okay?’ Bella asked, brows dipped, a hand rising as if to reach for her.
‘I will be,’ Fen said, almost to herself. Her legs carried her away from the table, crossing the taverna and delivering her into the dimness of the restaurant. The indoor tables were empty, the bar area clear.
She made herself keep moving. She knew this thin corridor with its open brickwork, stacked wooden crates, and scent of cooking oil drifting from the steamy kitchen. Her heart was beating hard and high in her chest as she allowed herself to feel it, all of it. The fear. The rage. The shame.
She heard footsteps coming from behind her, leather soles against stone. His.
Nico.
Her hands were shaking. Maybe she couldn’t do this. Face him. She began to turn, but there was nowhere to go. She caught the scent of his aftershave in the air – felt her stomach turn. She froze.
A tray of cutlery glinted on top of the stack of crates. At the centre was a meat knife with a wooden handle. On instinct, Fen reached for it. The blade glinted silver as she felt the thrilling secret press of metal against her thigh.
Nico, holding a stack of cleared plates, emerged in the corridor. He needed to pass right by her to enter the kitchen. He changed the angle of his hips, saying, ‘Hello, madam,’ moving to step around her.
Hot-cold panic flushed through her chest. They were face to face. His body an inch from hers.
He’d almost passed her when she finally spoke. ‘Do you remember me?’ The question came out like a bark.
He blinked. Cocked his head. He looked as if he were going to shrug, say No, but then his gaze lowered, eyes travelling towards her left hand.
The knife.
His eyes widened, registering it.
He looked up, right at her face.
Saw the intensity in her eyes as they burned into his.
Now he remembered.
40
Eleanor
Eleanor placed her fingertips to her temple. She felt dizzy, too hot. The neckline of her T-shirt was compressing her throat.
Her mind skipped back years and years, to when Ed was graduating from university. She remembered overhearing a hushed conversation in their father’s study: Ed had got a first-year student pregnant. He’d wanted her to terminate the pregnancy, but she’d refused. Her mother had caught Eleanor listening and redirected her to the kitchen, fingers digging into the top of her arm.
‘What’s going to happen?’ Eleanor had asked. She’d meant to the baby, to the pregnant girl, but her mother had answered:
‘Don’t worry. Ed will be fine. Your father and he will smooth things out.’
Smoothing was a family speciality. If she remembered rightly, a contract had been drawn up by Ed and her father, agreeing to a monthly maintenance contribution in exchange for Ed’s anonymity. Handy to come from a family of lawyers when you needed to cover your own arse.
The girl’s name was Juliana. They’d never met, but Eleanor had often found herself wondering about her and the baby. Did she have a boy or girl? Where did they live? Did Juliana ever return to university? Was she happy?
Several years ago, prompted by an afternoon spent with a cousin’s newborn, she’d asked Ed, ‘Do you ever wonder about your baby?’
He’d looked at her, appalled. ‘I’ve closed the entire thing from my mind. I suggest you do the same.’
And that was that.
Until now.
‘I take it,’ Eleanor said into the phone, ‘that Lexi doesn’t know you have a child?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you think you should’ve told her?’
‘I was scared that if I told her, she’d run.’ She caught a rare note of vulnerability in his voice. He really did love Lexi.
‘High flight risk,’ Eleanor said. That’s how Ed had described Lexi. She was wonderful, fun, gregarious, but also had an air of someone who might just disappear, like she was too good to be true. Pouff! ‘Do you think Ana knows who you are? Who Lexi is?’ Eleanor asked.
‘It can’t be a coincidence. Juliana – Ana – knows my name. Lexi will have spoken about me, used my name. She knows exactly who I am.’