They were divorced, she reminded herself. This was none of her business.
But Bradley Powell had been her first love. Her one and only love, if she was honest with herself. Right now, she could see he was suffering. She couldn’t just leave him like this. OK, so she knew he didn’t love her any more and she’d learned to accept that; but, for the sake of what he’d once been to her, she wanted to help him.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, her voice gentle.
‘Yes.’
He was lying. Putting a wall between them, the same way he’d done five years ago. She could walk away, like she had last time; or, this time, she could challenge him. Push him the way she maybe should’ve pushed him back then, except at the age of twenty-two she hadn’t quite had the confidence to do that.
Now, things were different. She knew who she was and she was comfortable in her own skin. And she was no longer afraid to challenge him. ‘That’s the biggest load of rubbish I’ve heard in a while.’
He looked at her as if not quite believing what he’d heard. ‘What?’
‘You’re not OK, Brad,’ she said. ‘You’re lying about it—which is crazy, because I’m the last person you should need to keep a stiff upper lip in front of—and I’m calling you on it.’
He lifted his chin, as if to argue. ‘I...’ Then the fight went out of him and he sighed. ‘No. You’re right. I’m not OK.’
‘Because you’re dreading this week?’ she asked. ‘That’s why you booked into the cottage, isn’t it? So you wouldn’t have to go home and see the ghosts.’
He raked a hand through his hair. ‘You always could see through me, Abby. Except back then...’
‘Back then, I would’ve let you get away with it.’ How young and naive she’d been. In the last five years she’d grown much wiser. Stronger, more able to deal with tricky situations. She’d changed. But had Brad? ‘You’ve just had a three-hour drive from London, in rush-hour traffic. I’m guessing you didn’t have time for lunch and you were thinking about your current project while you were driving, so you didn’t bother to get any shopping on the way here either. Apart from what I left you, your fridge and cupboards are all empty. But there’s an easy solution. Come and sit in my kitchen while I make you something to eat.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t ask you to do that.’
She folded her arms and looked at him. ‘You’re not asking me. I’m telling you.’
‘Bossy.’ But there was the hint of a smile in the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. A smile she wished she hadn’t noticed, because it still had the power to make her knees weak.
We’re divorced, she reminded herself. I’m just doing this for Ruby, to make sure Brad doesn’t get overwhelmed by the past and bail out on her before the wedding. Bradley Powell doesn’t make my knees go weak any more. He doesn’t.
‘Just shut up and come next door,’ she said, more to cover her own confusion than anything else.
* * *
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Brad asked when he’d followed her into her kitchen.
Abigail shook her head and gestured to the small bistro table in the nook that served as a dining area. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable.’
‘Thank you.’ He paused. ‘So how long have you been living here?’
‘Two years. Didn’t Ruby tell you?’
‘She doesn’t really talk to me about you.’ He looked at her. ‘Does she talk to you about me?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Though obviously your mum told me you’d got your doctorate. She showed me the graduation photos.’
He’d nearly not bothered with the graduation ceremony—until his sister had pointed out that she and their mother would quite like to be there, so it would be a bit selfish of him not to go. Brad had felt he didn’t deserve the fuss, but he’d given in for his mother’s sake.
‘Uh-huh.’ He didn’t want to talk to Abigail about his graduation and how much he’d missed his father. How it had been a physical ache. How he’d longed to say to Jim, ‘See, I told you I’d make something of myself doing the subject I love.’