Page 46 of Toy Boy

“I’ll wait tables and deal with front-of-house if Iona’s needed in the kitchen. Okay, troops, let’s do this!”

I grab my own pad and pen and head out into the café, just as Hanna walks in.

“Hanna! We’ve been worried about you!”

She throws me an apologetic smile as the door clicks shut behind her. “Sorry I’m late. I fancied a bit of a walk on the beach before work and I just lost track of time.”

“It’s fine, I’m just glad you’re here now. Where’ve you been? Iona told me about you not turning up to the party last night, and then leaving the house early this morning…”

“I just needed some air.” She heads into the break room to deposit her jacket and bag. I follow her. “I felt a migraine coming on, last night, on the way to the party, that’s why I didn’t end up going. And I didn’t tell Iona that because I knew she’d only worry and rush straight home to make sure I was alright. I didn’t want to spoil her evening, too.”

“I didn’t know you suffered with migraines.”

She shrugs and pours herself a coffee from the machine next to the fridge. “I haven’t done for a while now. But this one, it just flared up out of nowhere.”

“Okay, well, are you sure you’re alright? If you still feel unwell…”

She looks at me, and in my opinion she seems tired. Her eyes are a little red, almost as if she’s been crying. “I’m fine, Megan. Really. It was nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t sort out.”

“Because we can manage if you need to…”

“I’m good. Honestly.”

She smiles, but it’s a weak one, and that only makes my concern grow. I know these kids aren’t mine, but sometimes I feel an almost motherly duty towards them. I care about them. I leave it alone, though, for now. Whatever’s wrong – if anythingiswrong, but I’m almost positive something is – it’s quite obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t push it.

I leave her to get sorted and head outside to check the tables out on the terrace. The sun’s trying hard to break through a slightly cloudy sky, and I pull the sleeves of my shirt down to my wrists because it’s a touch chilly this morning, although that should change as the day goes on. There’s no rain forecast anyway, which is always good.

Around me the town is slowly springing to life, but it’s the weekend so it’ll stay quiet for a bit longer than usual while people make the most of lie-ins and lazy days. The seagulls are still out in force, though, screeching and squawking as they seek out scraps that haven’t yet materialised, and the harbour is also showing signs of life as boats bring back the morning catch, and I stand there for a moment and breathe in the familiar smell of the sea. I’m not sure I could ever live anywhere else now, I love this place too much, even with Scott Warren back in it.

“Megan?”

I spin around to see the man himself standing there, and I sigh, I mean, seriously? Did even thinking his name make him suddenly appear?

“What do you want, Scott?” I don’t even attempt to keep the weariness out of my voice.

His eyes drop to the ground for a nanosecond, and I frown. Is he actually looking sheepish? Because that’s not a look I’m familiar with as far as he’s concerned.

“I really need to talk to you, Megan.”

He slowly raises his gaze, and I feel like I should at least give him a few minutes, even though there’s another part of me screaming at myself to go back inside. To leave this alone. Get on with my day. Whatever he has to say, I don’t need to hear it. I thought I did, but now – now I really don’t.

“Please.”

He’s begging again, and that – for some reason or another – makes me uncomfortable. I could deal with Scott Warren, the asshole, but this has got me slightly on the back foot. Which, of course, could be a deliberate ploy on his part, which puts me even further on the back foot. Now I don’t know what to do.

“Now’s not really a good time, Scott. The café’s about to open…”

“Five minutes. That’s all.”

I glance back over my shoulder, catch Iona’s eye, hold up my hand and mouthfive minutes.

“Over here.” We move away from the café, over the road to the harbour front. “Okay. You’ve got five minutes.”

He takes a breath and drops his head again, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. And when his eyes finally meet mine, I swear, I almost reel back in shock because there’s something there in his expression that I don’t ever remember seeing before, not in the latter months of our marriage, anyway. Humility. Regret. It floors me for a moment or two, and I desperately hope he didn’t notice that.

“I’m sorry, Megan. For everything. Well, not everything, I’m not sorry I saved your life. I’m not sorry I fell in love with you. But Iamsorry for what I did to you. I’m sorry I cheated, that I treat you badly; that I made you feel like you didn’t matter to me when you did. You did. Youdo, matter to me.”

I’m not ready for this conversation. My head’s still too full of last night and Xander and the fact that Hanna seems a little off this morning, so this – I’m not ready forthis.

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