Page 25 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
Simon didn’t reply and Lizzie could see that he was struggling with something. ‘Go on,’ she said softly. ‘You want to ask, don’t you?’
‘Christ, Lizzie, I don’t know how to.’ Simon’s eyes were suddenly hollow. He drew a deep breath. ‘Was… was my sister, Sarah, involved in this?’
Lizzie let the pause stretch between them for a long moment before she spoke. ‘I’ve thought about it on and off over the years,’ she began. ‘And after all this time, I’m still not a hundred per cent sure. There were so many people in the living room, and I didn’t have my glasses, that I really can’t be certain. She might have been a bystander, or she might have known about the plan. I just don’t know. The only thing I do know is that George wasn’t in the room.’ Lizzie gave a brief grimace. ‘She told me later, when she got back to Bee’s, that she’d spent most of the evening with the boy she’d wanted to get off with, and I wanted to believe that was true so much that I didn’t question her. I was so ashamed that I didn’t tell her what had happened, and if Nina filled her in later, well, she never told me.’
‘So how did you get out of there?’ Simon asked.
Lizzie gave a sad smile. ‘That’s where you come in.’
‘Me?’
‘Yup. I ran out of the room, and, stupidly, like all of those girls in the films, I ran as far upstairs as I could. I made it to the roof terrace before I realised how dangerous it was up there.’
‘And that’s where I found you,’ Simon said, the memory finally clicking into place. ‘I do remember now.’
‘You gave me your jumper. I was pretty shivery, and that stupid dress barely covered anything. I think you thought I was just cold. I meant to return it to you the day after, but I must have left it at Bee’s place, and was in such a hurry to get away, I forgot to ask her to take it back to the hall for you.’
‘I liked that jumper, too,’ Simon teased gently, but when he saw Lizzie’s stricken face, he relented. ‘I’m kidding. I don’t even remember which one it was.’
‘A black lambswool one,’ Lizzie replied. ‘It had holes in one of the elbows and was stretched all out of shape.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Simon said. ‘Holes in the elbows from resting on pub tables trying to read the set novels, and out of shape because I kept putting it on the wrong washing cycle at the university launderette! I remember it well now…’
‘I found it in one of Bee’s cupboards,’ Lizzie said. ‘Do you want it back?’
Simon laughed. ‘For nostalgia’s sake, perhaps, but there’s no need.’ Then, suddenly serious again, ‘But why didn’t you tell me what happened on the night?’ Simon asked. ‘You ran away again, if I remember correctly.’
‘I’d just been humiliated in front of most of the people in my school year,’ Lizzie reminded him. ‘The last thing I wanted was to stay here any longer than I had to. I wanted to get out of Roseford Hall and never look back.’
‘Can’t say I blame you,’ Simon said. ‘But, for the record, I would have seen you home, at least. And come back and dealt with those kids. And I’d never have treated you the way they did.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘I know. You were very sweet. But I couldn’t handle it, after what had happened. I needed to escape.’
‘It’s all coming back to me now,’ Simon said carefully. ‘I turned around and you’d vanished. And I’d just about convinced myself that it had all been a figment of my imagination. Would’ve believed it, too, if it hadn’t been for that jumper.’
Lizzie gave a slightly choked laugh. She remembered the comfort she’d taken in that simple gesture, as she’d stumbled back to Bee’s cottage, and thrown herself into bed, willing it all to have been some awful dream. Georgina had returned hours later, eyes alight with the thrill of new love, and had tried to talk about the evening, but Lizzie hadn’t been able to cope with her sister’s exuberant high spirits; she’d feigned sleep until Georgina had given up. They’d left the next day, and as time had gone by Lizzie had felt less and less able to confide in her sister; where once, they’d shared everything, now Lizzie felt that indefinable glass wall between them, which she’d never really managed to break. Twenty years on, there was little point. She still didn’t know if Georgina had been aware of the plot to set her up. She hadn’t had the strength to ask at the time, and now it seemed ridiculous to ask.
So why had she brought it up with Simon now? Obviously, being back in Roseford had made her think about it all again, as she’d known it would from the moment Aunt Bee had sent her the invitation to stay. But perhaps talking about it, laying the ghosts to rest, was what she needed to finally let go of it all. And perhaps, because she was getting closer to Simon, she wanted to be able to move on.
‘I just felt it was time to face what happened to me head-on,’ Lizzie said, only realising once the words were hanging in the air that she’d spoken them out loud.
Simon looked at her curiously. ‘That sounds like the answer to a question only you could hear.’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Sorry. I got lost in my head there.’ She smiled. ‘And I’m so sorry to dump this on you. I guess that was the last thing you were expecting when you invited me back here for a drink!’
Simon drew closer to her. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything,’ he said gently. ‘I just wanted to spend a little more time with you.’ He paused, and, seeking permission tacitly from her, he took her hand again. ‘I like you, Lizzie. I like you a lot. And I’m so sorry that the one abiding memory you have of my family and my home is such an awful one.’
‘But you did your best to help, all those years ago,’ Lizzie murmured. ‘And I did appreciate it.’
‘I never realised Sarah was part of such a horrible group,’ Simon continued. ‘I’m so sorry that you had to go through all of that.’
Lizzie shrugged, and her collarbone gave a warning not to repeat the gesture. ‘You weren’t to know. Teenage girls can be pretty feral.’
‘All the same, I wish I had known.’
There was a pause, and Lizzie felt as though the moment was loaded with something else. Drawing closer to him, she tilted her gaze upwards, to find that he was looking down at her with the same intensity. Her lips parted, and the hand that was still clasped in Simon’s slowly travelled up his arm, fingers brushing across his shoulder and neck, to rest in his hair. Gently, mindful of both her own arm and the emotions that being in this house with him evoked, she stretched upwards, until, in the space of a few rushing heartbeats, her lips met his in a careful but exquisite kiss. At her own pace, she pressed herself against him, and his arms slid around her waist as the kiss grew deeper, until, eventually, both of them drew back, breathless and flushed.
‘Wow,’ Simon murmured. ‘That really was worth waiting for!’
