33. Mabel

T his had been the right decision. The late-afternoon sun beamed through the glass as I unlatched the patio doors, marvelling at the effortless slide of the highly engineered metalwork as the cool air hit my skin. The laughter spilling from my mouth was a welcome relief, my bare toes clenching against the cold wooden slats as I stepped out onto the rooftop veranda.

This. Exactly this.

I felt so free, standing there in just a shirt and trunks. The wind bit into every inch of exposed skin, waking up all my senses. A year ago, I had been down on the ground below, alone, feeling like my world was crumbling. Now, a year later…

"You're going to catch your death standing out here."

"So will you," I teased. We matched—bare legs and feet, shirts flapping in the wind, ties hanging loosely around our necks, though mine was yellow, his was green.

"No, Pickle. It's good for me. Makes me feel alive."

"Makes me feel like I'm about to get frostbite. But, well, the view is still stunning. I like looking out over the world."

"I used to think this was my kingdom. I was on top of it, and I could just stand here, safe from the rest of the world, looking down on people living while I was just existing up here in my glass tower."

"No existing these days," I said. We were both busy, busier than I'd ever been, but also happy. Challenged, often exhausted and overwhelmed, but truly happy.

"You finished for the day?" he asked.

"Not quite. Need to shoot off another email, but I want to sit down and do some stitching on that green dress. More therapy than work." A chance for my mind to rest.

"It makes me nervous watching you with that needle."

"I know what I'm doing," I said, leaning against him, relishing the warmth of his around my waist, a soft kiss on the back of my neck. "And you worry too much."

"I only worry about you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd be drinking bad wine and eating takeaways."

"Instead, I drink early harvest sample crates and eat takeaways."

"Only because we're busy. And they're not bad takeaways. I wouldn't let you eat junk food."

"You and my mother are in cahoots. I know what you talk about, and no, I don't want to join her fancy club so I can have dinners delivered."

I loved how he laughed about these things. Jonathan Templar a year ago had been grey. Grey tracksuit. Grey skin. Grey hair. The man freezing his socks off in front of me was full of life. Still with grey hair. I loved his grey hair.

"I have already approved your membership. It's a good deal, especially if we're not on top of the shopping, and at least I know you'll eat when I'm away."

"I eat!" he protested.

"Hmm." I bumped back against him, earning myself another kiss. "Anyway, enough waking up your senses or whatever. Get back inside and in the shower. Warm up."

"Okay," he agreed, letting me lead him back into the room, the door closing effortlessly behind me.

"I need to go to Cape Town in two weeks. Meetings with the vineyard in Stellenbosch, and I also want to visit that new small producer I talked about yesterday. You coming?"

"Of course!" He grinned. "I can work from anywhere, and I work especially well on a balcony overlooking the sea. With you."

"And you get fresh air and walks in the mountains."

"I get to spend time with you."

"See? Worth it. Carolyn probably booked you in already." My PA knew how we rolled.

Yep, I had a PA—two actually—and a job that made me happy. A year ago, if someone had shown me videos of myself now, I'd have thought it was some kind of deep-fake hoax, because it was almost unbelievable how much I'd grown in just a few months, the confidence I had slowly rediscovered. The sharp suits were back. The bright colours. Dresses. The hair extensions had been a mistake, but my hair was longer now anyway. I liked it down. Or up. However I felt like styling it.

"We're staying at the same place as last time, by the way," I said. "And we'll have the same driver. I asked."

"Good stuff."

It was. I would never tire of this, waking up with Jonny next to me, his hair in my face. He kept it neatly trimmed and shaved his scruff daily. He was handsome, so handsome, kind and lovely. His laughter filled our glass castle.

I worked at the main table. Jonny in his office. The back corner housed my sewing set-up, and the guest room was where our guests slept. It was slightly more crowded now, with the twins' travel cots being a permanent feature next to the bed that still housed Jenny once a week. Friday nights were whisky nights, and Jenny was family.

Funny how my life had changed. How had I ever doubted I could do this? I'd been so blinkered, terrified of a future I didn't think I deserved, stuck in a rut that hadn't done me any favours. Now I knew I could do this—with my hands tied behind my back and a blindfold over my eyes.

I was making connections, networking, all things I had always done—dealing with staff and suppliers and planning shift schedules and writing menus, sampling and buying wines, curating the cellar of my wildest dreams, massaging fragile egos and negotiating deals—all while being me. Mabel Donovan. Head of the Exchange.

Good grief. Little old me.

And I was good at it. Frighteningly so.

I had lunch with my mother-in-law once a week, during which she grilled me on alcoholic drinks and made me eat her favourite foods. I spent one day a week making dresses. And at the weekend, I spent time with my family and had lazy days in bed with my very kinky husband.

Fun times.

Yes. Husband. I'd done it again, hadn't I? Tied the knot on a whim.

Well, I suppose I was selling myself short there, because Jonny had asked me, and I had said yes, in a frenzy of feelings and weird butterflies and a strange realisation that this was exactly what I was supposed to do. Where I was supposed to be. Married to Jonathan Templar. And then he'd had Jenny file the paperwork and I'd been whisked off to the countryside in the middle of summer with pretty words and flowers and Champagne, like a princess in a fairy tale, only to come back with a ring on my finger.

My life was a fairy tale, I had no doubt about that. A fairy tale full of ups and downs, grief and sorrow, happiness and light. Mostly light. And hard work, because I was not one to slack off. I was slowly building up the trust of my new, handpicked team, my PAs, my colleagues, the owners, shareholders—people who all relied on me to perform to earn my money and theirs.

In November, I met up with Mark, just for coffee, almost a year later. Sat there like a large blob of nerves as he strolled in, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever.

"Do you think you're ready for that hug?" was his opener. Not quite what I'd expected, but at that point, I would have taken anything. I just wanted that big black ball of angst in my stomach to disappear. I was so goddamn tired of carrying it around.

"I live next door to where you work, Mark. I have to bloody deal with knowing I could run into you at any moment. I see people I used to work with walk past my car, and some of them don't even say hello. I can't live like that. So we need to actually be civil and polite."

God? What was wrong with me?

"I'll file the hug for another time then," he said, removing his jacket. It was nearly Christmas again, and I had no idea where time had gone. How long it had been. He looked the same. Still Mark. My Mark.

"How are you?" I had to step back the anger, chill. I hadn't realised it was still there, brewing inside of me. I'd thought I was ready, yet I was anything but.

"I'm coping," he said, sounding less confident than usual, I thought, but I felt like I barely knew him anymore. "I'm slowly figuring out how to cope without you. I'm not going to pretend it's fine. Nothing is fine."

"Don't say that." I tutted. "I'm the overdramatic one."

"Finn almost left me a month ago. I don't cope well with stress."

"Oh, shush. You're talking to the human being who has known you for decades. You just have to pull up those big-boy pants and get on with it. What did you do to Finny?"

"I pissed him off, whingeing about work and because he refused to replace the car. The normal stuff. I don't know how to stop sometimes."

"No, you don't. You just go off on these tangents and railroad over everyone else. You always have." Here I was again, tossing out life advice like I knew what I was talking about.

Mark didn't even try to defend himself. Nor did he comment on the blatantly sparkling wedding band on my finger that I kept waving in his face. I wasn't being cruel, but it was right there .

"You wanted to meet me," he said instead, making himself comfortable and looking around for someone to serve him, but the waitress was nowhere to be seen. Not surprising. They'd probably be hiding in the back on their phone. I knew these things, and I was so bloody grateful I could pay my staff proper wages, get the right people for the roles I needed filling, enthusiastic humans who actually wanted to be where they were.

"I did," I replied. "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. For getting so angry with you and making a mess of everything."

"No need to apologise. I'm the one who should be grovelling here." He was as well. Grovelling. That voice he did. "I behaved like a dick. For years. I should have been a stronger person and…well. I should have treated you better. I'm selfish and horrible sometimes, and it's something I need to work on."

He'd get no argument from me there, but I wasn't innocent in all of this. "I should have stood up for myself sooner," I said. "And I should have resigned, years ago. The minute I knew we were going to work right there with Finny, I should have walked away. I have no idea why I didn't."

"Because you loved me," he replied softly. "And love makes us do stupid things."

"Amen." I agreed with him on that. Lots of stupid things. "Mark, I'm not here to forge some kind of truce with you, or to start up some weird new tradition of meeting you for coffee, because that's not and will never be… It's not good for me, and I don't think it's good for you either. You know where I am if you need me, and I know where you are. Send me a text sometime. Let me know that you're all right."

Words I never thought would come out of my mouth but just had. I sounded…grown up. How droll.

"I know." He looked seriously sad, weirdly kind. "This has all been a huge learning curve. You know, it's not easy to go through life thinking you're the good guy, and then suddenly realise you were the villain all along."

"You weren't the villain, and you weren't really a dick. You're just…you." I wasn't sure why I was making excuses for him.

"No, Mabs. I'm a dick. And I know it. I am working on that, and you need to work on not making me feel better about it. You and I are who we are. And I will, actually, forever be grateful that you kicked me into gear. I needed this. I needed to grow up, and I finally feel like I'm learning how to do that. I have to take responsibility now. Did you hear Tabitha left? Got a job in some big fancy private members' club."

"I did." I wasn't going to tell him. He didn't need to know.

"And you got married," he said softly. "I love that you you're happy, and that you did it all on your own. I'm really proud of you. Shed a tear or two when I found out, but hey."

"Dick," I muttered. He smiled.

We sat there in silence, not a waitress or coffee cup in sight. Just the two of us breathing the same air.

"One day, I hope you and I can do this again," I said. "Have a drink. Chat about old times."

"I hope we will." He seemed calmer now. I was too. The cloud was still there, but it was more mellow. Grey rather than black, patiently brewing in the background. Maybe one day it wouldn't be there at all. I hoped so.

"I'm going back. Have stuff to do," I said.

"Okay. It's been good to see you."

"And you."

"Mabel?"

"Yes?"

"I wish things had been different, but they're not. Just remember that I did adore you. You were my best friend, for years, and losing you was the worst. The absolute worst."

"But also the best," I pointed out. "This has been good for both of us. Don't look back and remember all the crap, Mark. Remember the good bits. And text me sometime?"

"Okay," he said, as I took my coat and walked out. I needed to before I said things I would regret.

I turned back and waved, looked at the man I'd loved for most of my adult life. He was smiling, waving his hand.

I could see the tears, though, and I had no regrets. This was all for the best. For both of us.