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Back The House by the Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. MORE FROM LOUISE DOUGLAS
  70. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  71. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

He raised the bottle to his lips, tipped back his head and drank. ‘He didn’t like the heat. And he thought Sicily was a shithole of an island.’

That sounded exactly the kind of thing Patrick Cadogan would have said. He might have been a psychologist but he had the tact of a meteorite.

I pulled my left leg up onto the chair, wrapped my arm around it and rubbed the ankle. Moths were batting at the candle jars. Bats darted overhead, blacking out tiny parts of the sky.

We finished our beers and opened some more, becoming more relaxed. We told one another a little about our lives now. Joe talked about his gardening work, the van he drove, the long, solitary walks he took around the mountains and coastline of North Wales. I talked about the dogs and Fitz, how we joked we would grow old together, becoming more set in our ways until we turned into two eccentric old women surrounded by rescued pets.

We didn’t talk about Daniel, but I could tell from the careful way Joe stepped around telling certain stories that Daniel was in his mind as much as he was in mine. Our son was as present at that table as if he’d been asleep on my knee, my arms around him. I could almost feel the weight of him. I could almost look down and see his lashes flickering, his lips apart, the thumb that had been in his mouth now hovering close to his chin. I could almost feel the heat of his body pressed against mine. If I closed my eyes and drank another beer, I could almost bring my darling boy back to me.

Almost.

16

Joe and I needed somewhere to sleep, but we hadn’t had a chance to clean the bedrooms and the beds were still shrouded. There was no power inside the house, no light, no water. Neither of us wanted to settle in the big, downstairs rooms, so we decided to sleep under the stars. It wasn’t cold and the courtyard was sheltered; we had a good stock of mosquito repellent.

Joe found a waxed table cover and lay it down as a groundsheet. I watched from outside as the light of his phone torch moved about in the villa before he returned with cushions that he lay on the table cover to make makeshift mattresses and pillows.

We brushed our teeth using bottled water over the kitchen sink, big as a trough and then settled down in our sleeping bags, side by side, but with a wide space between us. The candles were still flickering in their jars on the table.