‘I could take the three of us out,’ Shelby offers. ‘You look beautiful. Seems a shame to waste it. We could go to the local pub?’
‘No.’ Lucas looks up from his phone. ‘I can’t bear the pantomime of you turning up in a pub. Everyone stares at us.’
I have to say that Lucas is right. You can’t go anywhere with Shelby and him not be recognised. Even if people don’t directly approach him, they giggle behind their hands and try to take surreptitious selfies with him in the background. Shelby doesn’t seem to mind all that much. I guess he’s got used to it, but I find it traumatising and I know that Lucas absolutely hates it too. He’s had many years of being overshadowed by his father’s fame and, while things are on a reasonably stable footing, I don’t want to put their fragile relationship in jeopardy.
‘The food’s ready,’ I say. ‘All I have to do is dish up.’
Lucas returns to his phone and I make a placating face at Shelby. ‘Do you mind?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Not at all.’ But he does sound a bit grudging. ‘It will be nice to have some family time.’
I put the wraps, the rice and the veggies on the table between us. I like it when we eat together. It’s a rare occasion and sometimes Lucas forgets to be cross and actually talks to his father. This is one of those times – though they steer clear of Lucas’s poetry, which is always a bone of contention.
‘How’s the coursework going?’ Shelby asks as he helps himself to rice.
Lucas shrugs. ‘Good.’
‘He’s doing very well,’ I chip in.
Shelby smiles at his son and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. I only wish that Lucas could recognise it. Shelby might not be the best dad in the world, but he does try and Lucas cuts him no slack. It’s a tightrope we all walk.
As I look across at Shelby, I realise that he does need to be loved. Overtly. It must be down to all the adoration he’s had over the years. He’s shown me some of the letters he gets from his fan club. These ladies are seriously dedicated. They adore him. Some of the things they say to him are . . . er . . . quite personal. One of the original attractions of little old me and my basic lifestyle was that he could be real, be himself. There are no trappings of stardom here – far from it. The animals and the kids don’t care who Shelby is. And, if I’m honest with you, I don’t either. I love him for who he is, not what his job is. But it bothers me that his default setting might be ‘adoration’. He says it’s not, but how can I know for sure? Do I show him enough how I feel?
We finish dinner and Lucas disappears to his bedroom.
‘Alone, at last,’ Shelby says in the manner of a Victorian villain.
‘I don’t like to get smoochy when Lucas is here.’
‘You don’t like to get smoochy at all,’ Shelby points out.
It’s true that I’m not a cuddly person, generally. I can do it with friends, but I find it harder when it comes to lurrrrrve. Even after all this time with Shelby, I’m awkward with displays of affection, though I understand that in his profession they are much more open and free.
‘We could go for a walk,’ I suggest.
‘It’s freezing out there.’ Shelby looks less enthralled than I am by the idea.
‘We could wrap up warm. There’s a full moon. It might be romantic.’
‘OK.’ He still doesn’t look convinced. ‘I suppose I’ll be all the more grateful for the warmth when we get back.’
‘You’re staying tonight?’
‘I have my supply of antihistamine and an overnight bag in the boot.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Well . . .’ he says, hesitantly. ‘There’s something that we need to talk about.’
‘Right.’ That doesn’t sound good. ‘I’ll get our coats.’
Instantly, my tribe of dogs appear, having clocked the word ‘walk’. With a sigh in his voice, Shelby says, ‘Looks like it’ll be a romantic walk for five.’
Chapter Twelve
Shelby and I step out into the night and the dogs run ahead of us as we cross the yard and climb over the stile. I’ve brought a torch, but I don’t think we’ll need it as the moon is full and bright and our eyes will soon adjust to the darkness.
It’s cold and I wish I was wearing my usual jeans and jumper rather than a floaty dress with my wellies. There’s a very good reason why I don’t usually dress like this. We hold hands as we walk across the field, down to the river, and it’s good to feel Shelby’s strong fingers curled around mine. The ground is hard with frost beneath our feet. The air is sharp, fresh and freezes your lungs if you breathe too deeply.
Shelby shivers. ‘To think we could be in a nice warm pub.’
‘This is better for you. Bracing.’
‘It’s that all right,’ he agrees.
‘Townie,’ I tease.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I need to talk to you about that.’
I wait with bated breath and a thousand things go through my mind. There’s something off kilter and I know it. I’m just not sure out of several choices, which issue is most pressing in Shelby’s mind.
We walk on and it’s a few moments before Shelby speaks. When he does, he starts with a weary sigh. ‘Molly, I’ve tried not to let it affect me, but I can’t. It grieves me that Homewood Manor stands empty for most of the time. It’s a beautiful house and it should be lived in.’
Ah. This one. I don’t really want to comment as I know what’s coming next. We’ve had this conversation several times before.
‘You could move in with me,’ he ventures. I go to put my case, but he raises a hand to stop me before continuing, ‘There’s a housekeeper and a gardener. I know that housework isn’t your thing. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.’
‘I like my van,’ I remind him. ‘I love it.’
‘I should never have bought it for you.’
‘You should. Lucas and I are both very comfortable here. It has all we need.’
Look at this place. The vast expanse of unbroken sky, the glitter of stars above us. There’s not a sound here at night except for those of nature. When there’s not a full moon it’s as black as pitch. Why would you ever want to be anywhere else?
‘Is Lucas happy?’ Shelby asks. ‘I can never tell.’
‘He’s as happy as any highly sensitive teenager can be. But, yes, he loves it here too and I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, but he’s doing so well with his studies.’
‘He doesn’t want to talk about anything with me,’ Shelby complains.
‘I know. It’s not easy to get Lucas to open up.’ I’ve bought a firepit and we both like to sit out at night in our deckchairs, staring into the flames – or, more likely, Lucas at his phone. We don’t talk much, but sometimes you don’t need to. I wish Shelby could get that.
‘Does he have friends?’
‘Yes,’ I say, cautiously. I’m not going to break Lucas’s trust and tell Shelby about Aurora who seems to be the new girlfriend-not-girlfriend.