A Home For Her Baby. Eleanor Jones

money’s the problem you can do some work for the paper from there,” suggested Jason.

      Feeling suddenly emotional at the generosity of her friends, Ali gulped back tears. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “And thanks, Jason, for that offer but, to be honest, my dad left enough funds for me to take some time out... That’s why I was going to write the article.”

      “Then make it a book,” he urged. “For the young man who drowned and for all the other fishermen, too...like your dad.”

      Ali went quiet, drawn by the suggestion but so unsure. “I’ve still got some work to do for the paper though.”

      “Well finish that first then,” cut in Laura. “And anyway it’s only a few weeks to Christmas and we wouldn’t enjoy it if we thought you were all on your own. Stay with us for that at least, we insist, but then I do agree with Jake that you need to go back and face all that heartache and emotion you left behind, it’s the only way to get past it. You need to sort things out with Jake first though...”

      “Thanks for the kind offer of Christmas.” Ali said. “I really appreciate it...and after that we’ll see. The trouble is that I’ve never actually written a book, what if its rubbish?”

      “It won’t be,” Jason insisted. “Your writing’s first class—all you need to do is get all the information you can and then listen to your heart.”

      Now, sitting in a bar sipping a glass of wine as she waited for her ex to appear, Ali thought about that conversation for what felt like the millionth time; since Jason and Laura had determinedly planted the idea in her head she’d become more and more drawn to the idea of writing a book for Bobby, her dad and all the other fishermen. Now, finally, the work she’d been doing for Jason was finished and on Laura’s strict orders she’d taken the plunge and rung Jake. Their marriage was over, she’d never been more sure of anything, and today she was going to tell him straight.

      With Jason’s confidence in her journalistic competence buoying her, the idea of writing the book began to consume Ali; it felt like a need, a way to try and put things straight...or as straight as they could ever be. She’d even contacted Elsa May Malone Evans, the owner of her cottage, to arrange another six months’ lease so that she didn’t lose the option of going back to live there. Seeing Jake today felt like the last piece of the puzzle and she hoped that when it was slotted into place she would know what to do with her life.

      She’d felt so certain about her meeting with Jake, but now that the moment was here, apprehension flooded over her. Whatever was she going to say to the man she’d lived with for almost three years, the man she’d sworn to love forever; that promise seemed like nonsense now, and she silently vowed to never give herself so wholeheartedly again. The failure of this marriage made a mockery of love and that was sad.

      As she saw him appear along the street, however, dapper and stylish, sure of himself and full of self-confidence, her apprehension faded. How could she have ever believed that he was the man for her, she wondered, remembering Tom’s tough, quiet approach to a life that was driven by his passion for the sea? Putting Jake straight about ending their marriage no longer seemed like a problem, more just a means to an end.

      He approached across the busy bar carrying a pint of beer and sat, giving her his best, well-practiced smile. “So,” he said, taking a gulp of the amber liquid. “You’ve finally seen sense.”

      “Hello, Jake,” she said. “And yes, you’re right—I have come to my senses. I just came to meet you so that I could tell you face-to-face. I’m filing for divorce and I’ll be coming for the rest of my things tomorrow. Whatever we had is long gone, Jake. I wish you happiness and a successful future but it won’t be with me.”