“The usual toast today?” Thompson asked.
“Yes, please, but I feel like something a bit more substantial. Some scrambled eggs would be lovely.” Who knew when she’d next stop to eat?
Thompson hid his surprise well. Since the early days of her pregnancy when she’d suffered with all-day morning sickness so violently, she’d barely stomached anything heavier than a slice of toast or some fresh fruit for breakfast. But instead of questioning her, he only smiled.
“Coming right up. The helicopter will be here at nine to collect us for your appointment. Mr. Knight will be sorry he missed it.”
“He’s been busy. I’m sure he’d have been back by now if he could have.”
“For certain,” Thompson agreed vigorously. “He’s so looking forward to the baby.”
The enormity of what she was about to do today shafted through her. She couldn’t wait until after she’d had the baby, even though she’d given her word to stay until after the birth. In doing what she was about to, she was not only burning her bridges, she was systematically destroying all the roads that led to them, too. Roads that could never be rebuilt at any price. He would never trust her again.
It was a price she was prepared to pay.
Thirteen
Holly swung the car gently around yet another winding curve, her knuckles white, her fingers clenched around the steering wheel.
It had been years since she’d driven, and this road was certainly taking it out of her. Her shoulders sagged in relief as she reached a short straight stretch of road. To the right, a general-goods and fast-food store perched on the corner of an intersection. That must be her turn. She forced her fingers to relax and turned off to the right. As she wound down the hillside, she left banks of green bush behind her as the manuka and native ferns gave way to pasture and the occasional house.
Her back was killing her from sitting so long, but she’d been too scared to pull off the road and take a walk. Driving straight through had been the most sensible thing to do, if not the most comfortable. It had taken three hours by the time she’d deciphered the map and had had to turn back a few times, but finally she was here.
Butterflies buffeted at her stomach as she drove down the main road and straight towards the beach. The road curved to the left, and a tall stand of ancient pohutukawa trees guarded a reserve on the right-hand side. Holly grimaced as a cramp started in her calf muscles. She had to stop and stretch it out before she crippled herself. Thankfully, there were plenty of places to park.
Despite the sunny day, a cool wind blew in off the ocean. Unintentionally she compared the strand of beach, stretching from left to right for a couple of miles, with Connor’s secluded private beach on the island. They were nothing alike.
Just as she and Connor were nothing alike, she reminded herself forcefully.
The cramp was getting worse. Holly climbed out of the car and turned to lean against it, stretching out the aggrieved muscles. Despite his aloofness, Connor had taken to massaging her lower legs before bed when he’d realised it helped to prevent the painful cramps that sometimes had her shooting out of bed at night.
She missed him.
God, where had that thought come from? She needed her head read and her mind shrunk. They were poles apart and always would be. She was the daughter of a drug-addicted street kid; he was used to wealth and privilege. Once the baby was born he’d cast her off as easily as he would a shirt with a frayed cuff, although probably with a better reference. There, that felt better. She was angry again.
But her anger didn’t last. Holly looked around the reserve and the beach that bordered it. Breakers rolled in, big and fat and just perfect for body surfing. Even at this time of year the place was a miniparadise. In summer it would be magnificent. Why had her mother left? She could only have been a child herself—certainly no more than fifteen.
A group of teenagers burst from the takeaway store across the road, laughing and fooling as they crossed to the reserve and settled at a table where they eagerly started into fresh fish and chips wrapped in newspaper.
Had her mother done this with her friends? Would Holly have done the very same thing if she’d been allowed to grow up here? It was so unfair. She’d been cheated of so many things—a carefree childhood, happy memories, a sense of belonging.
She’d thought she was done with empty questions, but now, here where her mother had been born and raised, she felt them peck at her mind like seagulls picking at a sandwich on the beach.
The reality of actually being here, of walking on a path that her mother had trod was suddenly more overwhelming than Holly had ever imagined—and more frightening. Another flurry of questions, like the swirling sand lifted and cast around by the on-shore breeze, battered at her brain. What if she found her grandmother, and the woman wanted nothing to do with her? What if her mother had had good reason to flee her family and home?