‘Aw, you made it. I’m so pleased.’ Rita smiled warmly and threw him a spare blanket. ‘Get yourself warm and help yourself to a drink.’

  Jude caught the blanket with a slow, confident smile, the firelight flickering in his glasses. ‘Thanks, I’ll gladly take you up on that.’

  Rita noticed Teo’s gaze flicked to Jude, a slow, deliberate glance that lingered just a beat too long before he looked away. The handsome Spaniard pretended to be focused on the fire, but the sparkle in his eyes said otherwise. She felt a naughty little thrill that the evening was already proving more interesting than she’d dared hope.

  Zenya sat cross-legged on her blanket, a glow stick looped around her wrist.

  ‘OK, you lovely lot. Let’s do a check-in. Nothing heavy. Just say something silly or true or both. One small thing the moon should know about you tonight.’

  She nodded at Michael first.

  He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Christ, really! OK…’ He laughed. ‘The moon should know I once cried during Paddington 2 and blamed it on hay fever. Will that do?’

  ‘Good, good,’ Zenya encouraged. ‘We are very bear-themed tonight, aren’t we, but keep them coming.’

  Lola followed. ‘I keep googling “how to tell if you’re going through a spiritual awakening” but all the quizzes say I’m just dehydrated.’

  Paul raised a hand as if in school. ‘I have fourteen unfinished tracks, am father to a kid I hardly ever see and make a mean lasagne.’

  Emily, her mousy brown hair pushed back with a bright flowery headband, deadpanned, ‘I have killed seven housemates, I mean houseplants, in as many weeks. I was dating a narcissist and I’m not ready to talk about it yet.’

  Annie chipped in. ‘I was once on a first date and accidentally set fire to a napkin while trying to be seductive with a candle. Took his whole beard off. I never saw him again.’

  Zenya laughed and pressed a hand to her chest. ‘See? This is exactly what the moon wants. Vulnerability wrapped in nonsense.’

  The crackling of the tiny driftwood fire was hypnotising. As Rita refilled everyone’s cups, Zenya leaned back on her elbows, looked to the stars, then cleared her throat.

  ‘All right, now that we’ve exposed our secrets to the sky and established that you’re all either emotionally unstable, arsonists or plant killers’ – everyone tittered – ‘let’s just do one more thing before you head back to the comfort of your yurts.’

  She passed around mica-flecked stones she’d collected earlier. Holding one up, she instructed, ‘This is just a little symbol, for whatever you want to let go of tonight. You don’t have to say it aloud unless you want to.’

  There was a quiet rustling as they all got their thoughts together; even Michael was still paying attention.

  ‘Think of something. A thought you keep going back to. A hope you’ve been afraid to name. Something you’re tired of carrying. Give it to the night.’

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Then Jude’s voice, low and steady. ‘I want to stop pretending I’m content with solitude. Yes, I enjoy the peace, but… it’s not always enough.’

  Teo put his hand to his heart, stuck out his bottom lip and threw Jude a comforting smile.

  Michael stirred beside him, tossing his stone gently from one hand to the other. ‘I want to believe I’m not past it. Past starting again, I mean. Maybe even finding love.’

  Lola grinned but her eyes were glassy. ‘I want to stop apologising for taking up space. Emotionally, physically, all of it. So I’m a fat vegan; get over it.’

  ‘I want to finish some of what I’ve started,’ Paul said suddenly. ‘Even if it’s crap. Even if no one listens to it but me.’

  Emily gave a dramatic sigh. ‘I want to try and rekindle my passion for painting.’

  Annie sniffed and wiped her nose on her onesie. ‘I want men to take me seriously. See what’s beneath all this bravado.’

  Teo then spoke, his voice slower, more thoughtful than usual. ‘Leaving the world of horse racing was so hard. I miss the rush. I miss the adulation. I want to settle somewhere. And within myself.’

  ‘Rita?’ Zenya asked gently.

  Rita took a deep breath. ‘Grief isn’t something you get over. It’s something you carry until one day, it just doesn’t feel so heavy. I think… I’m ready to put some of it down now.’

  The group fell into a brief, respectful silence.

  Zenya closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words settle. Then she lifted her stone and tossed it into the sea. One by one, they followed suit, quiet splashes marking wishes and worries being carried off by the tide.

  Rita sat for a while then, as the others got up to go, began packing up. Paul joined her, helping gather the glasses. ‘Looks like it’s just me and you.’ Paul yawned as the others made their way sleepily to the beach car park for Teo to drive them back in the Land Rover. ‘Can I come back with you in the jeep? I don’t think I can bear any more of the woo-woo stuff.’

  ‘How do you know I call it that?’ Rita laughed.

  ‘I didn’t. I call it the same.’ Paul grinned.

  Rita picked up a couple of stray blankets and made sure that the fire was fully out.

  ‘Here.’ He took the blankets off her, walked towards one of the dunes and placed them gently down on the sand. ‘Are you in a hurry to get back, Rita?’

  ‘I do need to be up at six to get your breakfasts to the yurts.’

  ‘I’m sure nobody will be up early tomorrow.’ Paul handed her a beer.

  Rita smiled, feeling a little thrill at his tone, and took the beer. She shivered, and Paul gently pulled a blanket around her, his hand brushing hers for just a second.

  ‘It’s so beautiful out here.’ Rita’s voice softened as she looked at him. ‘The beach at night… really is a magical place. I can’t believe I’ve lived here all this time and never done this.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. The ideal place to escape to.’ Paul’s perfect smile caught the moonlight, and Rita felt her heart skip at the romance of it all.

  She opened the beer and edged closer to him, catching the warmth of his arm. They sat in companionable silence, listening to the waves, and then Rita asked, ‘So what are you escaping from?’

  ‘A few things. I used to be… someone.’

  Rita turned slightly, meeting his gaze, curious. She felt an undeniable pull toward him, and just a little reckless this evening. ‘Don’t be silly. You still are.’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘I mean… famous. Drummer in a band that once headlined Glastonbury. Lost my way after that. Too many tours, too many pills. Got my girlfriend pregnant. She left. Can’t say I blamed her. I was a mess.’ Rita didn’t speak. Just listened. ‘I like it that no one here knows who I am. Because nobody needs to. Because I’ve been thinking about it and what does fame even mean, really? A name in lights that flickers. Applause that fades. A million strangers who think they know you and want to judge you. But no one really knows anyone, other than themselves. Do they?’

  He turned to her then, something honest and unguarded in his face. ‘In fact, I love that you know me as I am now. Plain old Paul Best. Not Rex Wilder, the guy on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine.’

  Rita gave a half smile, eyes soft. ‘Plain’s not the word I’d use.’ She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. ‘You said you wanted to write again?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s been a struggle lately. My life’s been like one big chord playing off-key.’ Paul looked sad for a second.

  ‘I didn’t think that drummers were usually the writers.’

  ‘Yeah, I never did conform.’ Paul took a sip of his beer. ‘And I do play all sorts of instruments. It’s the drums that I love most, though.’

  Rita took a drink. ‘And why the struggle, do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure… usually when I’m in a funk words come tumbling out of me. And if my heart is breaking or I’m on a come-down, I could write a flipping sonnet.’

  ‘Maybe what people need right now is something a bit more upbeat? Could you try that, at least?’

  ‘All I know is that when the time is right the answer and the words will come to me.’

  ‘Oh, OK! That’s weird.’ Her thoughts broke through.

  ‘In what way?’ Paul looked puzzled.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ Rita took another drink.

  Paul shrugged and looked at her again, more directly this time. ‘And what would you write, Rita?’ He paused. ‘If nobody was watching.’

  ‘Wow, that’s quite a question. Is it too cliché to say a new beginning with a happy ending.’

  He looked at her, really looked, and put his hand on her knee. ‘This great retreat of yours is an epic new beginning; you’ve set it up beautifully.’

  Rita felt like she was going to cry.

  Paul glanced at her and seeing the tears in her eyes said, ‘You wear your sadness like a familiar cardigan, one you keep meaning to throw out, but somehow always end up slipping back into.’

  Her breath caught just slightly; she turned and caught Paul’s soulful gaze.

  A vision of Jago crossed her mind… for both our sakes, it’s better if we keep away from each other. Fuck him, fuck Archie, fuck everything!

  ‘Well…’ she stuttered. ‘Maybe I’m ready to take it off.’ The alcohol had loosened her, as if someone had taken over her conscience and she really didn’t care. ‘But… fraternising with the guests… it’s a bit like a doctor sleeping with their patients, isn’t it?’

  Paul laughed, warm and genuine. ‘Then you’re the best-looking doctor I’ve ever had an…’ He paused and smiled with a grin. ‘An… appointment with.’

  ‘Flattery will get you an extra croissant in the morning,’ Rita flirted.

  ‘I’m sure we can do better than that.’ He let his fingers brush hers. She felt the warmth of his touch, like a tiny spark, unexpected and real.

  She pulled her hand back gently, not coldly.

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispered, almost to herself. ‘At least… I keep telling myself I can’t.’ She gave him a sideways look, half apologetic. ‘I’m not looking for anything with anyone. Or maybe I am. I don’t know. God, I don’t know.’

  Paul nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon. ‘And as for happy endings, isn’t all of our life really just a series of events that start and finish? Hellos, goodbyes… and in the middle if we’re lucky, a few good bits.’ He paused. ‘Nothing is permanent in this life, Rita. Let’s just ride the good bits, eh? Because face it, all we have is the now and we are a long time pushing up daisies.’

  Rita didn’t answer straight away. But this time, when his hand found hers again, she let it stay. Tilting her chin gently to face him, Paul whispered, ‘Do you mind?’

  Rita shook her head. The kiss was simple yet charged. It wasn’t fireworks or grand declarations, just the soft press of lips between two human beings on a deserted beach.

  Slowly, their bodies drew closer, the world narrowing until there was only the rhythm of breathing and the gentle brush of skin on skin. Fingers traced tentative paths along arms and backs, learning the map of one another, careful, reverent.

  It wasn’t messy or desperate like the passion Jilly joked about, with none of the wild abandon of a Sarah Stratton in Rivals. It wasn’t the confusion of Jago Jenken and everything he represented. No, this was something quieter, something deeper.

  Moving together with an unexpected ease of familiarity, Paul’s hands cupped Rita’s face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as he kissed her again, longer this time, softer, the kind of kiss that says I’m here without needing words.

  And in this one magical moment, Rita let go.

  Let go of Jago saying he didn’t want to see her again, of her own son not believing in her, and of the unsettled feelings stirred by Archie’s missing will. Let go of the past, the pain and the fear that had held her back for so long.

  And as the waves whispered along the sand, she gave herself permission to explore another’s body, and to be explored, until, with a soft cry of long-held yearning, Rita’s body spilled over in quiet surrender.

  As the tears began to fall, Paul pulled her into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Then, as if in rhythm with the ebbing tide, he began to rock her, whispering, ‘I’ve got you, babe.’

  Above, a lone seagull cried out.

  THIRTY

  Rita was dreaming of being on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury with a microphone in one hand and a red rose in the other singing a duet with a tall, dark-haired man wearing a red and black lumberjack shirt. The audience were all cockerels who looked like Nigel, and she annoyingly couldn’t make out the face of who she was duetting with, as they had sunglasses that literally covered their whole face. She was just about to pull off his disguise when her alarm pierced the fantasy like an out-of-tune bass guitar.

  Groaning, she rolled over and patted blindly for her phone: 5.56 a.m. Four whole minutes before she needed to be vertical. She stole them all, plus a sneaky fifth, then heaved herself up and out of bed, with her eyes squinting like a reluctant mole emerging from its hole.

  Remembering what had happened with Paul the night before, she groaned again and messaged Kelly ordering her to ring her as soon as she got her message. Then she made her way to the bathroom. Before Rita had even a chance to open the toothpaste, the sleepy voice of her best mate greeted her.

  ‘You all right, Reet?’

  ‘Fine, fine. But let’s just say, last night I gave one of the guests a bit more wellness than I probably should have done.’

  Kelly laughed, then made an oof noise. ‘Oh my God, I know my Ron ain’t no oil painting, but I can’t imagine that big beer belly bashing against mine. Reet!’

  Rita laughed. ‘Oh my God, it wasn’t Michael.’

  ‘Sunglasses Man? You lucky dog. He’s hot!’

  Rita made a screeching noise. ‘On the beach, like a harlot. We didn’t like… go the whole way but it was enough to make me realise that I do miss it and I’ve still got it.’

  ‘I can’t even tell you how jealous I am. How was his cock?’

  ‘So weird touching a different one after all these years, but it was lovely; he was lovely… just gentle and considerate.’

  ‘Enough now. The envy is real but joking aside, how are you feeling, mate? That’s a big step.’

  ‘Is it too soon, do you think? I just worry people might judge… like I’m moving on too fast.’

  ‘No one knows but me, do they?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then keep it that way. People will always have opinions and probably those who’ve never been through what you’ve been through would be the most vocal. But at the end of the day, you’re the one living with this. If it brought you a moment of peace, then it was the right time.’

  ‘Aw, thanks, mate. I cried afterwards.’ Rita let out a low moan. ‘So embarrassing!’

  ‘I would have done, too, tears of complete joy after not having had it for so long.’ They both laughed. Kel softened. ‘Sorry, Reet. I’m not downplaying this. How did he react when you did that?’

  ‘Just hugged me tighter. He is so the perfect free spirit for this to have happened with.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad. So glad, in fact, I was worried that, in the words of the Mad Hatter, you were losing your muchness and it sounds very much like your muchness is well and truly on its way back.’

  Rita’s mind flicked to Jago for a moment, but she quickly shoved the thought aside. Some things were better left unsaid, for now. Her loins had stirred at Paul’s attention, a guilty thrill she couldn’t quite shake. But in all its confusion, she feared her heart was yearning for Jago Jenken.

  She checked her watch. ‘Shit, I need to get a move on, breakfasts to be delivered and all that. Thanks for being there, Kel.’

  ‘Always here with an ear.’

  Kel hung up.

  The air was cool, the sort of July morning that whispered promises of heat later. Pulling on her hoodie and wellies, because the dew soaked everything, Rita padded across the courtyard followed by an ambling Henry.

  Bless Zenya, she must have gone up to the main gate earlier as the breakfast hampers were lined up by the front door, all ready to be delivered to the yurts. Loading them into the Jimny, she drove up next to the food store, grabbed a sack of grain, then parked up by the chickens.

  ‘Morning, your majesties,’ she called to the goats as she passed the pen. Henry set about sniffing and doing his business. ‘I’ll just do the feathery ladies first.’ She made a mental note to ring the vet, just to check Camilla was still doing OK. And really, she should have told Jago that his Cedric was almost certainly the father… but ‘should’ was a funny old word, one she often disregarded until a ‘would’ or a ‘will’ finally pushed it out of the way.

  The chickens were already chattering at the coop door. Rita scattered grain and smiled at their eagerness to run free. ‘There you go, ladies. Keep laying those golden eggs like you have been.’ Mavis gave a sassy cluck in reply.

  As Rita approached the goat pen, she spotted Emily kneeling on the dewy grass, dressed in cut-off jeans and a plain grey jumper, watching Camilla graze. At the sound of footsteps, Camilla lifted her head, and within seconds, the whole herd sprang to life, jostling and climbing over each other in a chaotic dash to be first in line for breakfast. Startled, Emily scrambled to her feet and brushed the damp patches from her knees.

  ‘I’m not overfeeding her. She’s due early to mid-August, I think.’ Rita nodded towards Camilla. ‘Stubborn as hell, this one, and loves to escape. This’ll be her third pregnancy.’

  Emily smiled faintly, watching the white goat snuffle down some apple.

  ‘She looks so… calm,’ Emily murmured. ‘Like she knows she’s safe.’

  ‘She is.’ Rita felt a surge of pride. ‘My girls get the best of everything here.’

  Emily was quiet for a minute, her eyes tracking the round rise and fall of the goat’s belly.