The Traveller’s Daughter. Michelle Vernal

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ off down was filling up with bag-laden Saturday shoppers rushing to catch their train home. She picked up her pace so as not to feel left out, keeping a tight hold of her case, and that was when she saw him, well actually she felt him before she saw him. She just knew with a sudden sick lurch of her stomach that he was there and looking up she saw she was right. He was walking against the crowd in her direction a bit like Moses parting the red sea. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered under her breath, oblivious to the pursed-lipped look a woman herding her teenage daughter who was toting a Dorothy Perkins bag shot her as they strode past. She thought about ducking into the Post Office but knew it was too late; he’d seen her. A split-second later he was standing in front of her with that smile of his that always made her knees go to jelly.

      “I don’t believe it. Kitty, wow! Is it you?”

      “Hello, Damien.” She paused knowing she should keep walking, but a lifetime of having good manners instilled in her prevented her from doing so. The throngs of people either side of them seemed to vanish as Damien lunged forward, his lips grazing her cheek and leaving her feeling like she’d just been branded.

      “Whoa I can’t believe this, it’s so good to see you. What are you doing here? I’ve just had lunch with Sam and thought I’d race up to the WH Smith before they close. The latest Lee Child is out.”

      She’d forgotten his younger brother lived in Wigan, but she remembered how much of a Lee Child fan he was. Unbidden, a memory of them both on a wet Saturday afternoon curled up at opposite ends of the couch lost in their books sprang to mind. What had she been reading? She couldn’t remember now and what did it matter? Gosh, he looked good she thought, wishing he had acquired a beer belly, gone bald and been afflicted by a case of adult acne in the last six months. If anything though he looked better than ever. He was dressed for the weekend, and she’d always liked him best when he was casually rumpled. His brown hair was shorter these days, and it suited him. She unconsciously raised a hand to her hair hoping the damp air hadn’t caused the irreparable fringe curl.

      “Hey,” he said reaching out and touching her arm. “I was sorry to hear about Rosa. I mean I knew she was sick and everything, but it was very quick in the end wasn’t it?”

      She nodded, not meeting his eye and not trusting herself to reply. So he did know then, she had checked the post for a sympathy card from him every day after the hospice had rung to say her mother was gone, but one never came. In the end, she had given him the benefit of the doubt thinking that perhaps he hadn’t heard the news or didn’t know where to find her.

      “I heard through one of the old gang, and I was going to send a card but, well to be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d want to receive one from me.” He shrugged. “You look well, I mean despite what’s happened, er you know losing your mum and everything, you still look wonderful. I have to say London obviously suits you.”

      Speak Kitty, speak, she willed herself. “Uh yes, it does thank you. I’ve settled in.”

      “I heard you had a stall at one of the big markets down there selling your cupcakes. I guess it’s a step in the right direction towards owning your café. Good for you.”

      Kitty frowned, he seemed to have heard a lot. “Yes it is thanks, and well, now I’ve got some money behind me thanks to mum there’s no reason I can’t make it a reality.” Too much information, Kitty my girl, don’t tell the bastard anything. She mentally kicked herself before deciding to turn the tables. “How’s everything with you and er–” She realized she didn’t know the name of the girl he had spent three months bonking behind her back. No doubt it had come up in the explosive row they’d had when she had caught him out. It was thanks to a stonker of a headache and the strangest feeling that something was amiss that she had left work early one afternoon. She’d come home and stumbled on them post-coital lying in their bed and had turned and walked straight back out of the flat. Wandering around the Manchester streets, she’d been in complete shock at the collapse of her world as she knew it. It was growing dark when the numbness gave way to anger, and common sense told her it wasn’t a good idea to be walking around unfamiliar streets on her own, so she’d gone home. Damien had been sitting at the dining room table waiting for her, and all hell had let loose. It was hard to believe they were now standing opposite one another on the Wigan pavement exchanging banal pleasantries. She doubted since they were being nice to one another that he’d appreciate her asking how ‘The Bitch’ was as she’d come to think of her either.

      “Leanne, her name was Leanne.”

      She watched him run his fingers through his hair.

      “She was a mistake, Kitty. There’s not a day gone by since you left that I haven’t regretted what I did to you, to us. It just sounds so trite to say I am sorry, but truly I don’t know what else to say because I am.”

      He rested his hand on her arm once more, as though frightened she would walk away. Fat chance of that though; her legs were rooted to the spot.

      “We broke up a few weeks after you left. I wanted to call you so badly, but after the way I’d treated you I didn’t think you would want to hear from me ever again.”

      He looked at her as though expecting her to contradict him. When she didn’t, she could tell by the little boy lost look on his face that he was as thrown by her presence as she was by his.

      “I went round to see your friend Gemma once not long after you left. I asked her not to say anything to you, but I needed to know how you were doing.”

      Kitty didn’t know, but then she hadn’t heard from Gemma for a few months. Mind you, it was a two-way thing; there was nothing stopping her from having contacted her old pal. How did he think she was doing? You didn’t have to be Einstein to figure out that when your fiancé does the dirty on you it stands to reason you’ll be left feeling like shite.

      “She wasn’t exactly pleased to see me and she didn’t want to tell me whereabouts you had moved to. I can’t say I blame her.”

      What was she supposed to say to that? She stared up into his familiar blue eyes. For a while after she had arrived in London she had kept seeing him everywhere she went, only for him to vanish when she reached out to touch him. She’d have given anything for him to turn up on her doorstep and tell her that he had made a mistake. She’d missed him so much that any shred of pride or self-respect she’d had left when she’d walked out of the apartment they had shared together for three years would have disintegrated. She didn’t know if she could have forgiven him for what he’d done to her, but she did know she was a long way from being over him. Gemma might have thought she was being a good friend and protecting her, but she should have told her Damien had called round. She should have let her make her mind up as to whether she wanted to see him or not.

      “Have you got time for a quick drink?” He raised an eyebrow, and his expression was hopeful.

      Kitty became aware of the people rushing past them then. For a moment, there had been no one else on that busy street leading to the train station other than him and her. She knew a ‘quick drink’ was a bad idea, just as she knew it would be anything but. For some reason, even though the word ‘no’ had formed itself on the tip of her tongue, as she opened her traitorous mouth the words, “Okay, a quick one then,” tumbled out unbidden instead and she followed his gaze to the pub across the road. A moment later, he steered her through a break in the traffic and as he opened the tavern’s door a warm glow and the smell of ale greeted them. She followed him inside, barely registering the split-level layout and the low beams that lent the buzzing room an air of cosiness.

      “A glass of Sauvignon?” He raised a questioning eyebrow remembering her tipple as he pushed СКАЧАТЬ