How To Mend A Broken Heart. Amy Andrews

on a moment.’ And she scurried off towards the direction she’d originally come from.

      Tess felt exhausted with jet-lag and trying to keep up with Jean’s meandering conversation and rapid-fire subject changes. But not as exhausted as Fletch looked. ‘What medication is she on?’ she asked.

      Fletch rattled off a series of the most up-to-date dementia pills on the market. He shrugged. ‘They’ve held it at bay for many years but—’

      Jean bustled back in, interrupting them. ‘Here it is,’ she said, brandishing a book of some description. When she sat down and opened it Tess realised it was a photo album. The one she’d put together all those years ago after their return from Bora Bora.

      Fletch frowned as a hundred memories flooded his mind. He shook his head slightly at Tess’s questioning look. He’d had no idea his mother had this album. It, along with all the others, had been stored in one of the many boxes that he’d packed their marriage into after he and Tess had separated and she’d run away to the other side of the world.

      Maybe when he’d asked his mother to get rid of it all just prior to his move to Canada, she’d decided to keep a few souvenirs? He hadn’t really cared at the time how she’d made it disappear, just that it had. God knew, he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of going through it all himself, deciding what to keep and what to discard.

      Getting rid of it all, holus bolus, had been a much easier option.

      And yet here was a part of it, turning up like the proverbial bad penny. A full Technicolor reminder of how happy they’d been.

      ‘See, now look at you here,’ Jean said, pointing to Tess in a bikini on the beach. ‘Brown as a berry!’

      Tessa stared at the photograph, shocked by the sudden yank back into the past. She’d taken three photos from the ruins of their marriage—all of Ryan. Not that she’d been able to bear to look at them. They lived at the back of a cupboard she never opened.

      But it had been a long time since she’d seen ones of Fletch and herself.

      A stranger stared back at her. Yes, she was very tanned. She was also deliriously happy, obviously in love and blissfully unaware of the giant black hole hovering in her future. In fact, the woman in the photograph looked nothing like the woman she was today.

      And it had nothing to do with the tan.

      For a fleeting second, Tess wished she could jump into the photo, like Mary Poppins had jumped into that pavement painting, and give herself a good shake.

      If only she’d known then what she knew now.

      If only …

      ‘I think this is my favourite one,’ Jean said, flipping to one of Fletch, towel wrapped around his waist, elbows on the balcony railing, looking back over his shoulder and laughing into the camera, crystal waters behind him.

      Tessa stilled as she remembered she’d been fresh from the shower and naked when she’d taken that picture and the series of intimate photos that had followed—ones that had not made it into this album! She remembered making him lie on the bed and loosen his towel, snapping shots of every glorious inch of his body.

      Then he’d grappled the camera from her and returned the favour, asking her to pose for him and taking a set of photos a professional photographer would have been proud of. To this day the one on her stomach, looking over her shoulder with her hair flowing down her back, the sheet ruched around her bottom revealing only the slight rise of one cheek, was the best picture ever taken of her.

      She remembered being so turned on by their nude photo session they’d made love for hours afterwards, rolling and sighing and moaning to the gentle swish of the waves.

      She glanced at Fletch—did he remember?

      His gaze locked with hers, turning almost silver as heat flashed like a solar flare. It dropped to her mouth and she watched as his throat bobbed.

      ‘It’s my favourite too,’ Fletch murmured.

      Oh, yeah, he remembered.

      Tess sat through the rest of the album, desperately trying to claw back some control of her brain. Bora Bora was in the past—a long time in the past. She hadn’t come here to take a walk down memory lane, although she guessed to a degree that had been inevitable. Neither had she come to rekindle the sexual attraction that, prior to Ryan’s death, had always raged like an inferno between them.

      She’d come for Jean. To alleviate some anxiety and then turn around and go back to her perfectly fulfilling, asexual, far-away existence.

      Jean closed the album. ‘I think you two need to go back to Bora Bora. You’re both too tense.’ She patted Tess’s hand. ‘And pale.’

      Before Tess could answer, an alarm blared out and she jumped slightly at the same time Jean clutched at her chest and looked at Fletch anxiously.

      ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Fletch reassured her as he reached over and turned off the alarm on the clock that was sitting on the coffee table. ‘Remember, that just means your show’s about to start.’ His mother continued to look at him blankly. ‘Wheel of Fortune,’ he prompted.

      ‘Oh.’ Jean sagged a little and dropped her hand to her lap. ‘Oh, yes, oh, I love that show! ’

      Fletch nodded as he picked up the remote and flicked on the big sleek screen to the channel that played nonstop 1980s television shows. ‘There you go, just starting,’ he said as the game-show music rang out.

      ‘Tess.’ Jean bounced like a little girl on Christmas morning. ‘Do you want to watch it with me?’

      Fletch watched the play of emotions mirrored in Tess’s eyes. She was obviously shocked by the many faces of Jean. ‘Actually, we’re going to go out on to the deck and have a chat,’ he said.

      But his mother wasn’t listening, engrossed in the show, her invitation to Tess already forgotten. He inclined his head at Tess, indicating they move away, and she eagerly complied, following him to the kitchen.

      ‘Would you like something a little stronger?’ he asked as he removed the mug she’d brought with her and placed it in the sink.

      Following a period after she’d moved to the UK when she’d drunk a little too often, Tessa didn’t drink much these days. But if ever she needed alcohol, it was now. Being with Jean was heartbreaking. And being with Fletch, seeing those pictures, was … disturbing.

      ‘Yes, please.’

      Fletch pulled a bottle of chilled white wine out of the fridge and held it up. ‘All right?’

      Tessa nodded. ‘Sure. Thanks.’

      He poured them both a glass and handed her hers. Normally he’d clink glasses with someone in this situation but nothing was normal about right now so he took a mouthful then led the way to the deck.

      Fletch, conscious of her behind him, put his arms on the railing and inhaled the late-afternoon river breeze. He took another sip of his wine then turned to face her.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Fletch,’ she murmured. ‘It’s … it’s so unfair.’

      Fletch’s lips twisted into a bitter smile as his mobile phone rang. ‘Since when has life ever been fair?’ he asked as he located his phone and answered it.

      Tess nodded. Truer words had never been spoken.

      She moved to the far side of the railing to give Fletch some privacy. She had absolutely no desire to eavesdrop on the conversation but it was hard not to when he was standing two metres from her.

      It was Trish and Tess gathered Fletch’s little sister was asking after Jean. Then she heard Fletch tell her that he’d been to the cemetery and reassured her three times that he was fine. Like Jean, Trish had been a tremendous support for them after losing Ryan. She’d worried about