Chapter 27

I roll over. Ivan is fast asleep, his face smooth and relaxed—so handsome. We’ve been in the farmhouse for three weeks now, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I didn’t know how good it could be.

It’s all systems go. The application to turn the barns into a gymnasium has gone in. The plans have been drawn up with Munro’s help, and if approved, I will get a state-of-the-art gym behind the fa?ade of country barns. Drew doesn’t think we’ll encounter any problems and has given me six months of build time. Which will take us to the new year, just the right time for when people want to start getting fitter.

I slide carefully out of bed, not wanting to disturb Ivan. He’s spent long days on the beach lately and needs to sleep. After grabbing my running gear, I go into the bathroom and get dressed.

The roads are quiet. The Saturday morning traffic hasn’t started yet. The holiday season hasn’t hit in a major way yet either, but it’s getting busier. I promised Ivan I’d call in at his house to collect any mail. I love running by myself, the steady thump of my feet on the pavement as I clear my mind of all the clutter that’s built up over the week.

It’s two miles from my home to the seafront and the coastal path, so by the end of my run, I will have covered about ten miles. I put my favourite running mix on my phone and my AirPods in my ears, stretch for a few minutes, and set off.

The sun is already warm, a sure sign it’s going to be another lovely day. Ivan will try to get me on a surfboard again, and maybe today, I’ll let him. The trail up to the lighthouse is deserted, which gives me plenty of space to push as hard as possible. By the time I reach the lighthouse, sweat is pouring off me, and my heart is pounding, but it’s a good feeling.

The descent is slower. I take my time getting back towards Ivan’s house. As I pass the cafe, I stop and go inside to pick up some pastries for our breakfast.

“Hi, Benny, how’s it going?”

“A lot more sedately than you. You really are a glutton for punishment.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, but because I do this, I can treat myself to your pastries. Can I have a mixed box? Oh, and a couple of the cheese scones. Ivan loves them.”

I continue my walk to Ivan’s house. The street is quiet, with no one out doing the weekend chores, like washing cars or mowing lawns. It will all change in the next hour or so. The sunshine will surely be bringing people out of their houses.

I twist the key in the door and push the front door open. I gather a couple of envelopes off the floor and place them on top of the box of pastries.

A knock on the door startles me. Ivan wasn’t expecting anything or anyone. Not that he mentioned anyway.

I open the door. A middle-aged man in a business suit stands a few steps back from the door.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Ivan Machin?” he asks, his voice brusque. “Mr Ivan Machin?”

“Um, no, sorry. He’s not here. He doesn’t live here anymore. It’s still his house, but he lives somewhere else.”

The man looks at me as if I’m talking a foreign language. “It’s imperative I speak to him. He’s ignored all correspondence, and time is of the essence.”

“I can call him if you like. He can get here in a few minutes.” I’m getting a niggling feeling of dread. Something has happened, something bad. Without waiting for his answer, I pull out my phone and call Ivan. “Hey, babe. I’m at your place, and there’s a man here looking for you. Can you come down?”

“What? What man? What’s his name?”

“What’s your name?” I ask the man.

“Roger Ogilvie, from Ogilvie and Stubbs Solicitors.”

“He’s a solicitor called Roger Ogilvie. Look, just get here.”

“I’m on my way.” Ivan ends the call.

“He’s on his way and will only be a few minutes. We live just outside the town. Would you like to come in? I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything to drink.”

“That won’t be a problem.” He steps inside, the stiff, clipped voice sounding even more arseholish than earlier.

I lead him into the living room. While he takes a seat on the sofa, I wander over to the window. Another minute goes by in complete silence, but then Ivan’s truck pulls up on the drive.

“He’s here.” I hurry to the door and catch Ivan when he gets out of his truck. “That was quick. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

Ivan presses a swift kiss on my mouth. “Well, we’d better find out.”

Five minutes later, I’m lost for words. I can’t even think straight. All I can do is stare at Ivan as he paces the floor, looking like he’s about to throw up.

“She did what? How the fuck can she do that? Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?” Ivan walks over to me, his eyes wide with horror and confusion. I push off the windowsill, where I’ve been leaning, not wanting to interfere but letting him control this. But he’s not. He’s falling apart.

“Breathe, babe. Let him talk. He hasn’t finished yet.” I wrap my arm around his waist, and he sags against me. Maybe we should sit down. “Come on, let’s sit.” I take him over to the large chair. When he sits down, I perch on the arm and keep his hand in mine.

“As your friend said, let me finish,” Ogilvie says. “Kate Pierce contacted me to reach out to you. She was adamant she didn’t want to keep the child.”

Ivan balls his hands into fists, looking like he wants to punch something, any hard surface. “That fucking woman. Who does this sort of crap? Why did she have the child? Why not terminate the pregnancy? I didn’t know a fucking thing. She’s never made any attempt to contact me. Nothing, not text, email, not even a bloody DM on Facebook. I haven’t seen her for about a year. So tell me, Mr Ogilvie, what does any of this crap have to do with me?”

Oglivie fidgets with his tie. “Because of the child. She named you as the father of the now two-month-old boy. Her wishes were for the child to come to you, along with a generous settlement. Ms Pierce has a large amount of money for you to raise him.”

Ivan flinches, physically shrinks as he clings to my hand. I can’t wrap my head around it. Ivan hasn’t seen or heard from her for nearly a year, and now we have a solicitor in our living room.

“I don’t know anything about her having the baby. How do you know it’s mine? We weren’t in an exclusive relationship. Shit, we weren’t in a relationship at all. Where are Kate’s parents? Why aren’t they having him? I can’t believe it.”

“They have chosen to honour Kate’s wishes, allowing you to have him.”

“No!” Ivan jumps up, shaking. Is it from anger or shock? “I can’t look after a child. What happens if I refuse?”

“The child will stay at the foster home and be put up for adoption,” the solicitor says blandly. “A DNA test will quickly sort out any confusion on your part, sir. I have a kit here.”

Ivan turns to me. “What should I do?”