Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

An hour later, my mother is dancing, and I’m still propped on my stool coming to terms with it. I’ve declined her offers to join her on the dance floor and have spent the best part of my evening smiling sweetly and chatting with many of the locals. Feigning contentment and convincing them how amazing my new life is in London is exhausting me, and I’m just about done with it when I’m certain that I must have spoken to every single person in the Saracen’s Head.

Sliding from my stool, I slip past Mum on the dance floor, laughing when she grabs my hands and twirls me. ‘I’m just going to the toilet,’ I shout over Prince as he croons ‘Kiss’.

‘Spoilsport.’ She laughs, releasing me and shimmying on over to Paul, who promptly hands her another glass of wine.

I make my way to the ladies, and once I’ve used the loo, I lean into the mirror and brush at my pale cheeks. My brown eyes look a little heavy, and I can’t work out if it’s tipsiness or tiredness that’s the cause. ‘She’s happy,’ I say to my reflection, batting off the silly twang of disappointment the admission stirs. All of the time I spent worrying and making sure I called to check up on her seems like a bit of a waste. It’s both gratifying and a little wounding. Not to mention guilt-inducing. I never once considered the fact that she might move on. I never pictured her with anyone but Dad. What would he make of this? Of Mum and Paul?

I shake my head and those thoughts away as I collect my purse, square my shoulders, give my hair a quick ruffle, and then pivot, taking the handle of the door and pulling it open.

‘David,’ I screech, jumping back. ‘Jesus, you startled me.’

He shrugs sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’ And then he seems to turn a bit awkward, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Elle, can we talk?’

Something about the way he’s looking at me, like in apology, makes me wary. ‘What about?’

‘It was nice seeing you today.’

Oh no. ‘David—’

‘We had fun, right? Like old times?’

Oh Jesus. ‘Accepting your apology wasn’t an invitation,’ I say, standing firm. ‘I can forgive you, and, trust me, that’s for my own selfish reasons, not to make you feel better about what you did to me. But I won’t forget, David.’ I skirt past him, breathing in deeply.

‘Please, Elle.’

‘Please don’t, David.’ I fight my way through the crowds, not prepared to get into this. I’m done.

‘You were so distant,’ he calls, following behind. ‘It was like you weren’t really here any more.’

What? No. He doesn’t get to push this back on me. I swing around, livid. The confrontation that was avoided earlier in Dad’s store? It’s happening now. I don’t know why I’m feeling the need to suddenly rip a strip off him. Maybe because I’m tired. Or maybe because my earlier resolve has wavered this evening with Becker playing on my mind. ‘That’s your excuse?’ I ignore the fact that he’s right. I was in Helston in body, but my mind was elsewhere, dreaming of . . . my dreams.

He pulls to a stop, and I realise all of the attention is on us. The pub is quiet. No music either, like the jukebox has shut up and wants in on this, too. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs.

‘You already apologised and I already accepted. Let’s leave it there.’ I turn to leave but find myself swinging back around, suddenly full of words I want to unleash. I’m blaming the wine, too. ‘Actually, let’s not leave it there. You did me a favour, David. When you shagged my best friend, you did me a favour.’

Paul appears with a fresh glass of wine for me, and I take it gratefully with a smile.

And throw it in David’s face.

The collective gasps in the pub seem to stretch for ever as he stands with his mouth hanging open, stunned, blinking, wondering what the hell has gotten into me. Because little meek Eleanor Cole would never do such a thing. Yeah, well, Eleanor Cole has changed. Eleanor Cole won’t stand any shit any more. Eleanor Cole has fire in her belly.

‘You’ve changed, Elle.’ David’s persona shifts, and he frowns, looking at me like he doesn’t recognise me any more. Good. I don’t want him to recognise me. Because I’m not the same girl he dated for years. ‘What, you think you’re better than us now?’ he asks. ‘Think you’re all big and superior with your London job and your city lifestyle?’

And there he is. My ex-boyfriend, the insensitive arsehole. He couldn’t say anything worse to me. And to think I was at peace forgiving him? I’m an idiot in more than one way.

‘I think it’s time to leave, David,’ Paul says diplomatically, nodding to the door as he refills my glass, giving me a look to suggest this one should not be wasted.