The Secret Path by Karen Swan (summer beach reads TXT) 📕

livery yard owner and was now back living in Shropshire with three black labs, a Welsh cob and a flock of ducklings.

‘I swear to God, I thought she’d be the last of us to get hitched, not the first!’

‘She did too, no doubt,’ Tara shrugged. ‘Have you seen anyone else recently?’ ‘Anyone else’ specifically meant their old uni group.

‘Annie and I text, meet up for a drink whenever she’s in town, which isn’t all that often.’

‘Last I heard she was in Brussels?’

‘Yeah. Conducting a torrid affair with a Euro MP who’s married with four kids.’

‘Nice,’ Tara said flatly.

‘How about you? You still see Hols a lot, don’t you?’

‘Yes, we’re at Tommy’s together.’

‘Of course. Nothing will break you two up.’

Tara smiled, hearing the edge in Liv’s words. ‘And Charlie lives in Chalk Farm, so we see her occasionally – when our shifts allow us something as incredible as an evening off.’

‘Well, quite. Is she still with her girlfriend?’

‘Yep, that’s been a while now actually. Three, four years?’

‘So maybe they’ll be the ones walking down the aisle next.’

‘Could be.’ Tara felt something on her shoulder and turned, just as Rory slid his hand over her bare skin and gently squeezed the back of her neck.

‘Your five minutes is up,’ he said to her with a wink, before looking over at Liv. ‘Hi. Rory Hutchings.’

‘Olivia Manley.’ Liv shot Tara a knowing look as they shook hands and Tara tried to appraise her partner with fresh eyes; she didn’t consider him Master of the Universe material. He looked as good in a white coat as in a DJ, true; and she’d always liked tall men; and of course he had a good career, great prospects . . . It was sweet he’d brought her bag over, holding the sequin clutch casually in one hand like it was a sweater, her award for the Overseas Enterprise sticking out the top.

‘Liv and I were at Imperial together.’

‘That would explain the dirty laughs I could hear over the music. You two look like you’re hatching a plot.’

‘Old habits die hard, I guess,’ Tara sighed, sliding her arm around his waist and putting her head upon his shoulder. ‘Is it really time to go?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ He knew the drill.

She looked back regretfully at her old friend. Part of her felt bad for leaving her here on her own. ‘Liv, it’s been so lovely bumping into you.’

‘And you! Let’s stay in touch, okay?’

‘Definitely. Are you on social?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Liv quipped. ‘It’s the only way my family knows I’m alive!’

‘Nice to meet you, Liv,’ Rory said, beginning to lead Tara away.

‘Listen, next time Annie’s in town, we could all meet for dinner perhaps?’ Liv called after her. ‘Get Charlie and Hols along too.’

‘That’d be great!’ Tara said back over her shoulder, one hand raised in acknowledgement.

They meandered through the crowd, heading for the exit.

‘Sounds fun,’ Rory said, his hand on the small of her back.

‘What does?’

‘Dinner with the girls.’

‘Oh. That. It’ll never happen,’ she muttered, looking in her bag for her coat ticket.

‘Why not?’

‘Because that time has gone.’

‘I thought you said you were old friends?’

‘Back then, at uni, yes. But we’re different people now.’

Rory looked bemused. ‘Only superficially, surely? You’re fitter now for sure. Better dressed. You have more expensive tastes in wine. But fundamentally you’re the same person you were back then.’

She shook her head, one eyebrow arched as if amused by his nostalgia. ‘No.’

‘No? You’re not the person they knew?’

She found the ticket and handed it to the clerk. ‘I’m not the person I knew. Thank God!’

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘Because I was an idiot back then. I almost threw my entire life away on . . .’ Her voice snagged. ‘Pipe dreams.’

He frowned. ‘So what changed?’

‘I grew up,’ she shrugged. ‘I focused on what I wanted and became the person you see before you now.’ She walked over to him, still feeling the effects of all that wine, pressing a hand against his chest, her face angled coquettishly towards his. ‘Any complaints with that, Dr Hutchings?’ she asked in a lowered voice.

He smiled. ‘Definitely not.’

‘Good. So then take me home.’

Rory stirred, lifting his head momentarily from the pillow as though he sensed she had gone, before turning onto the other cheek and succumbing to sleep again in the next moment. His skin looked pale in the moonlight, with just a faint tan line on his thighs and lower back from their break on Harbour Island at New Year; by contrast, it had taken a good few weeks for his ski-goggle tan to go down in March after he refused her suncream on a cloudy day in Zermatt; the nurses had taken the mickey out of him every time he did his ward rounds and kept paging him to the burns department.

He always slept so soundly, it amazed her. Sometimes she watched him, just to see how he did it. It was like everything inside him just . . . switched off. When she closed her eyes, it was the complete opposite: everything switched on, loud, neon bright, wide awake; voices ran through her head, memories surfaced like bodies from ponds, her heart sped up. And even when she did drop off, invariably she woke again with a start, like klaxons were ringing in her head for her attention.

She was largely used to it. Being an ICU doctor hardly sat well with eight-hour sleep cycles anyway. She had spent years being dragged from snatched sleep by a pager, but tonight had been worse than usual. Her mind wouldn’t switch off at all and the wine she’d drunk at dinner to try to . . . dim the day’s horrors, had left her agitated and restless. Her headache was worse than ever.

From her spot on the window seat across the room, she stared out over the sleeping city. Never fully dark, the sky was a dusty charcoal; there were no stars that she could see even though she knew they had to be there. All the birds were asleep, no owls resident in the horse chestnut and limes here, and even the neighbourhood