Page 21 of A Cornish Winter's Kiss

‘Thankfully Sandra moved on quite quickly, but that didn’t change the way my father acted towards me. He was still just asdistant as ever. His third wife, Viv, is lovely, but my relationship with my father is never going to change now.’

‘I don’t blame you for feeling that way, but I’d have thought you might believe in second chances more than most.’

‘Because I’m such a ray of positivity?’ It was good to see the smile back on his face, but she wasn’t going to let his self-depreciation get him off the hook.

‘No, because you’re writing about DCI McGuigan, a flawed character who changes into a better version of himself when he experiences love. The relationship is his chance of redemption. So you must be able to envisage a scenario in which your father is capable of the same thing.’

‘How do you know so much about McGuigan?’ He was watching her now, his eyes never leaving her face, and she had to look down again.

‘I’ve read both books in the series so far, and the notes you sent me from your editor.’

‘Really?’ Jude tilted his head to one side as she nodded. ‘It’s slightly concerning that you might know McGuigan better than I do. Although I guess that’s exactly what I needed, a fresh perspective from someone who understands storytelling.’

‘Where are you going?’ She called out to Jude as he stood up and turned away from their table, only looking back to respond to her question.

‘I’m going to pay the bill and then I’m going home to have another look at the revisions Marty wants. I need to think about them again from the perspective you’ve just given me.’ He reached out and touched her hand for such a brief moment she almost wondered if she’d imagined it, before he stepped away again. ‘Thank you, and we’re not arguing over it any more – breakfast is on me, and I want you to bill me for your time today. It’s given me a lot to think about.’

‘This wasn’t a consultation. It was just friends having a chat.’

‘Friends?’ He raised his eyebrows, and colour flooded Emily’s face. He clearly didn’t feel that way, and she suddenly felt like the biggest idiot in the world for thinking that the arrangement between them was anything but professional.

‘Not us.’ The heat from the blush intensified; she was making it worse. ‘I just meant that Rosie and I are friends. We were chatting, and that just happened to help you when you joined us. I’m not charging you a consultation fee for that.’

‘Oh, okay.’ If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn he looked disappointed, but then his expression cleared. ‘The offer is open if you change your mind, but next time we’re settling the money in advance. Like I said before, I can’t ask you to keep helping me if you don’t let me pay you.’

‘If it makes you more comfortable, next time I’ll charge you my usual hourly rate.’ A middle-aged woman who’d just come over to join a table to the side of them shot Emily a disgusted look, which broke the tension, making them both laugh. It was only when Jude had paid the bill and said goodbye that she realised he’d never answered her question about whether he thought his father was capable of change. Sadly, she was almost certain she knew the answer.

Jude’s attempts to get stuck into the revisions of his book after he got back to Puffin’s Rest came to nothing. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much of his past he’d revealed to Emily and wishing he hadn’t. Jude had friends he’d known for decades who he hadn’t been that honest with, and he couldn’t work out what it was about Emily that brought out that side of him. He kept trying to tell himself it was because he needed to be honest with her if he was going to get the most out of their workingrelationship. Inevitably, authors put aspects of themselves and their life experiences into the stories they wrote, and he was no different. That didn’t mean that DCI McGuigan’s story wasn’t fictional, it was just that Jude’s approach to storytelling was shaped by those experiences, and Emily needed that insight to understand how that might impact on the development of McGuigan’s character. Except if that was the reason, he should have told Marty about his childhood years ago, but he never had. He needed to clear his head.

‘Come on, boy, let’s go for a walk.’ Jude clipped a lead on to Rufus’s collar, the two of them taking the stairs down from the apartment to the courtyard at a steady pace. He had to keep a firm grip of the dog’s lead to stop him hurtling from top to bottom far too quickly. He allowed Rufus to pick up the pace as they headed towards the coastal path. Jude didn’t want to stop and chat to anyone, not even to exchange pleasantries about the crisp late-November weather, or for a stranger to remark on what a handsome dog Rufus was. He already felt weirdly over-exposed after the conversation with Emily, and he just wanted to hide in plain sight as they made their way out of the village.

Jude slowed the pace again once they reached the path and some of the tension left his body as they started the climb. There was something about getting higher and higher above the houses, and the people below, that was helping him put things into perspective. It didn’t matter what he’d told Emily; it had just been a story. He hadn’t talked about how all of that had made him feel, how lost and alone he’d been as a ten-year-old boy suddenly left without his mum, wondering what he’d done to deserve losing not one, but two mothers. His father’s lack of emotion had made him question whether he was unlovable, and then Sandra had come into his life and answered the question unequivocally. It was what had taught him that love was transactional. People didn’t offer it if they didn’t get somethingthey wanted or needed in return. He clearly hadn’t had anything his father needed, and Sandra demonstrated just how little she wanted him around. What had happened with Mia had just compounded those feelings. She might not have broken his heart, but she’d proved what he’d suspected all along. He hadn’t felt truly loved since his mother’s death, and it was easier to believe that love didn’t really exist for anyone than to face up to the fact that maybe it just didn’t exist for him, and that it never would because he couldn’t be what anyone wanted or needed long term.

If Jude had told Emily all of that, she’d have understood him on a level he was only just coming to terms with himself. The truth was he tried not to scratch the surface of that too often because there was probably a whole lot more underneath that he hadn’t even thought about. Jude had gone into survival mode when his mother had died, and that had only intensified when Sandra had come into his life. It was liked he’d covered his heart in layers of bubble wrap to try and prevent it from further damage, which was probably why Mia leaving hadn’t affected him nearly as much as it probably should have done. Then suddenly Emily had come along and popped the first layer by making him reveal things he’d never spoken about. All he had to do was remember why those layers of protection were so important and not allow her to remove any more of them. He could do that; he was used to doing it. He’d probably only had those kinds of conversations with Emily because he was being forced to look at McGuigan’s problems with relationships, and that had brought up some difficult issues. He was reading far too much into it by thinking this was all about her.

‘Right then, boy, how far do you want to go today?’ Jude patted the dog’s head once Rufus had bounded back towards him. ‘Because I really have got to get on with a bit of work.’

The dog’s only response was to race off ahead again, making it clear he had enough energy to keep going for as long as his master could. And then Jude’s phone pinged with a text from Emily.

Hope you’re okay. Sorry if I asked too many questions today, but I hope it ended up helping with the revisions. Thanks again for breakfast. Em x

Jude stared at his phone for a moment. She hadn’t mentioned anything personal, and yet there was still something intimate about the message. Emily was getting under his skin in a way he couldn’t remember anyone ever doing. He was going to have to tell her that he didn’t need her help with the revisions any more. Except when he attempted to respond, he couldn’t seem to string the words together. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he quickened his pace again to try and catch up with Rufus. He’d deal with the Emily situation later. He just had to work out how.

10

By the time Patsy’s appointment with the consultant was over, it was getting dark and the cold was turning their breath into clouds of smoke in the air.

‘I don’t know about you, but I need a drink after that.’ Emily’s mother reached up and put a hand over where her husband was grasping the handle of the wheelchair. She’d started using it when she was out and about a few months earlier. She could still walk short distances using a frame, but she needed help getting in and out of a chair, and it had just become more traumatic than it was worth to resist using a wheelchair if she needed to walk further.

‘I didn’t think you could drink alcohol with your medication?’ Emily’s tone was gentle. She could understand why her mother might want a glass of wine after getting confirmation that the disease was progressing, but she was usually very sensible when it came to ensuring that she maximised the chances of her medication working.

‘I can’t – well, put it this way, I’m notsupposedto. But I didn’t mean alcohol, I meant a nice big hot chocolate andpreferably an even bigger slab of millionaire’s shortbread to go with it.’

‘Oh, I think that can be arranged. There are plenty of cafés nearby and some of them should still be open,’ Emily’s father said as he pushed the wheelchair across the car park.

‘Or we could get into the car and go down to Lemon Quay. The Christmas market has started.’

‘Now that sounds like a good idea. We don’t want to come all this way and not have a bit of fun. Onwards to Lemon Quay, and don’t spare the horses.’ Patsy pretended to swing a whip in the air. It was nice for Emily to see her mother so animated, and she seemed to be reacting calmly to what the consultant had told her. The main change, if her mother agreed to go ahead, was to have a minor operation so that her medication could be administered via a tube directly into the small intestine. It would maintain a more consistent level of treatment, which should help with some of the symptoms Patsy had been experiencing with her movement and motor skills, as well as the anxiety which seemed to have become worse in recent months. It all made sense, although Emily found it difficult to believe there was anyone with a diagnosis like her mother’s who wouldn’t feel anxious about it, especially when it seemed to be getting worse.

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