The Pieces of You and Me

by Rachel Burton

  We completed on our house in June and moved in on the longest day of the year. We made love in the apple orchard that night, ignoring the packing boxes. It felt as though we were teenagers again, and it also felt so new – like a fresh start as the blossom on the trees started to become tiny fruit.

  I’ve woken early most mornings since, taking my first cup of coffee down to the apple orchard, unable to believe that we own this, that my childhood dreams of marrying you and living together in a house just like the one I grew up in have finally come true. I’ve watched the light change as the summer has worn on – every morning is different, never to be seen again – and I’ve watched the apples grow bigger on their branches. They are almost ready to be picked now. In a couple of weeks, I’ll have more apples than I’ll know what to do with. I’m going to have to ask Mum for some of her best apple-related recipes. I smile to myself as I remember childhood autumns where every meal seemed to be apple-based.

  ‘Apples again?’ you used to say as you headed back to your own house for your dinner, incredulous that the apples never seemed to run out. I wonder how you’ll feel about all those apples making a reappearance in your life.

  The garden hasn’t needed much work – a quick mow and a tidy-up – but the house is a different story. It’s needed a lot of modernising, more than we’d realised at first – but we wouldn’t have been able to afford it if it had been in a better condition.

  I’m surprised by how much we’ve achieved in three short months – a fully functioning bathroom, an almost functioning kitchen and a living area that we are happy to sit in. Thank goodness for YouTube videos and the maintenance guy from the university who you’ve had to call in when anything has gone wrong – which has been a bit too often if I’m honest. Our DIY skills need work. Our next job is to install a wood-burner in the living room before the autumn evenings grow too chilly. I can already picture us snuggled up together in there – noses buried in books, heads bent over our laptops as the fire burns in the corner. I sip my coffee as I see our future in front of me.

  I’ve learned a lot from spending each morning in the apple orchard. I’ve learned the importance of being present, of accepting change. Every day the apples are different, the weather is different, the sun rises at a slightly later time – no two days are ever the same.

  I know that this is true of us as well, of our life. We are different people to who we used to be, and we’ve had to take time to learn about each other again. We’ve both had to learn to accept the baggage that the other now carries, our personal health problems, the fact that although we have visions of the future, neither of us has any idea of how that will pan out. We are learning to slow down, to appreciate the days as they come, to try to let go of control. I’ve started to write a diary again for the first time since I got my book deal. It helps me stay present, to appreciate what I have right now.

  I hear the French windows open and the sound of Captain running out into the garden. I hear your footsteps on the path behind me and then you sit next to me, your arm around my waist. I left you sleeping but Captain must have woken you.

  ‘Good morning,’ you say quietly as I lean in to you and watch Captain tearing up and down the garden. The dog, at least, shows no signs of slowing down.

  We’ve talked again about having a family, both of us deciding to put it on hold for now. But we both know there is a chance it might not happen, that Captain and those dogs that came in his wake, might be our only family. But if this last year has taught us anything, it is that family means so much more than blood.

  This afternoon we are having a party, ostensibly a housewarming but actually to celebrate our family – strange as it is. Pen and Gemma, who have become the firmest of friends since Gemma’s short and unanticipated break in York in the spring, will be here with their husbands – as will Dan and his new girlfriend, Elspeth.

  You and Dan have been trying to forge a new friendship, going to the football together or out for a beer. I don’t know if you’ll be the best of friends like you used to be any time soon but you’re getting there. Elspeth takes some getting used to – she has similar ideas to Pen only ten times as esoteric – but she has been the person who has finally got me to meditate regularly, and I can’t deny that my stress levels are grateful.

  Mum will be arriving later and staying for a few days, bringing Caitlin and Madeleine. Caitlin is leaving her husband behind with the children – grateful for a few days away. Madeleine has left Anthony in Cambridge and has moved in with my mother, into the room that used to be mine. Families, as I say, come in all shapes and sizes – although sometimes I think I’d love to be a fly on the wall during conversations in Mum’s flat these days.

  Anthony isn’t coming just as he didn’t come to the wedding. You have seen him a few times since we got married but I know that splitting your time between your parents is wearing you down and I don’t push you to have a relationship with your father if you aren’t ready for one. Anthony isn’t my father, you’ve never had the bond with him that you had with Dad and I know, deep down, that you never will. Besides, I know you want to concentrate on building bridges with your mum.

  My coffee is getting cold as I sit watching the sun rise higher in the sky, thinking about the pieces of you and me, the things, the people, the situations that have brought us together. There are going to be struggles ahead. There always are – that’s life – but I feel we have built a relationship and a support network that will help us weather the storms. We’ve made our dreams come true.

  It’s going to be another beautiful day.

  ‘I love you,’ I say, looking up from my writing, turning my head to look at you. ‘Eight days a week.’

  Acknowledgements

  Even in my wildest dreams I never really imagined having three books out in two years and it’s a dream that couldn’t have come true without the help of some very special people.

  Firstly, a huge thank you to Emily Kitchin and Cara Chimirri for helping me make sense of the mess of words I handed to them last summer and turn them into the story that I was trying to tell. Thank you to Helena Newton for another fantastic round of copy edits and to everyone at HQ for all the magical things you do behind the scenes to help sell our books!

  As I mentioned in the author’s note prefacing this book, M.E. is an illness that is different for everyone and I consider myself lucky that I can live the life that I do. Jess’s story is based on my own experience but I couldn’t have written it without lots of input from Rosalyn Oxer who helped me gain perspective on an illness that remains a mystery to all of us that have it. Thank you so much Rosalyn, those emails meant everything.

  Big thanks also to Tor Udall for her infinite knowledge of Kew Gardens and the map she sent to help me get the Orangery pointing in the right direction and to Claire Allan for explaining what cadet journalists actually do.

  Thank you to my amazing beta readers, Laurie Ellingham and Katherine Debona for reading an early draft of this book and spotting all the plot holes that I couldn’t see myself.

  Huge thanks to my crew – Victoria Cooke, Sarah Bennett, Mary Jayne Baker, Rachel Dove, Katey Lovell and Maxine Morrey for the writing dates, the words of sage advice and for always being on the other end of WhatsApp. Thank you for keeping me sane.

  To the real-life Captain – my brother’s dog Fleur. Fleur is a ball of relentless orange energy, who will sit by your side and dribble while you eat and who is banned from my house for chasing my cats. I love her to the ends of the earth and you can follow her antics on Instagram where she is @fleurthevizsla.

  To all of the amazingly supportive folk on Twitter and Instagram (you know who you are) and to all the book bloggers who work so hard to make sure our books get noticed. Thank you.

  There is a hen night, an engagement and two weddings in this book and it would be fair to say that I had a bit of wedding fever as I was planning my own while I was writing it. By the time you read these acknowledgements, if all goes well, we’ll have t
ied the knot. Huge thanks to my beloved Drew – my best friend, my biggest champion and my own personal grammar police. I couldn’t do any of this without you.

  And finally, to you the reader – thank you for buying my books and allowing me to do this for a living. I hope you’ve enjoyed this one and I’d love to hear from you on Twitter or Instagram where you’ll find me @bookish_yogi.

  JESS AND RUPERT’S PLAYLIST

  These are the songs I was listening to when I was inside Jess and Rupert’s heads. I hope you enjoy!

  1. Once Upon a Long Ago – Paul McCartney

  2. Eight Days a Week – The Beatles

  3. Pjanoo – from Pete Tong’s ‘Classic House’

  4. What’s Up? – 4 Non Blondes

  5. When We Was Fab – George Harrison

  6. Exhausted – Foo Fighters

  7. Paperback Writer – The Beatles

  8. Isn’t She Lovely – Stevie Wonder

  9. Welcome to the North – The Music

  10. Cosy Prisons – A-ha

  11. My Sweet Lord – George Harrison

  12. Crazy for You – Madonna

  13. Runnin’ Down a Dream – Tom Petty

  14. Kings and Queens – Thirty Seconds to Mars

  Turn the page for an extract from The Things We Need to Say…

  DECEMBER 2004

  It started at the party. His hands on my hips, my forehead against his shoulder. He asked me to dance but he didn’t know how. We stood together at the edge of the dance floor shaking with laughter at his two left feet. I don’t know how long we stood there. I don’t know if anybody noticed.

  He’d waited for me, sitting with my friends, not sure if I’d turn up or not. I wasn’t in the habit of going to work Christmas parties; I only went in the end because he said he would be there, because he said he would wait for me. I arrived just as the main course was being served. I slipped into the seat next to him. His hand brushed against my thigh as I sat down. He held my gaze for longer than he should have done.

  I fell in love with him that night as we stood on the dance floor laughing, my hands on his waist, feeling the muscles of his back, the warmth of his body, through his dress shirt, the press of him against my hip.

  That was where it began. I sometimes wonder if that should have been where it ended.

  But later that evening, as I got out of his car, and I said those words I should have kept to myself, we both knew there was no going back.

  JULY 2016

  Fran

  She wakes up in the same position in which she fell asleep, her husband’s arms around her, their hands entwined on her stomach. Neither of them have slept that deeply for months. Fran remembers something: a hotel room on a Greek island, a feeling of hope, of new beginnings. She doesn’t allow the memory to linger. This is what they have now. They can be happy again if they allow themselves to be.

  The hot, humid weather has broken in the night and she listens to the sound of summer rain on the roof. Will moves gently against her, pulling her closer. She feels his breath against her neck and the sensation of hot liquid in her stomach, a combination of desire and need. This is their second chance – she can’t let it pass her by.

  ‘I love you,’ Will says sleepily.

  ‘I love you too,’ she replies. It feels good to be saying it to each other again. She’s never stopped loving him; she just forgot how to tell him for a while.

  ‘Do you want me to go and make coffee?’ Will asks, nuzzling her neck.

  ‘Not just yet,’ she replies, turning around to look at him. His brown eyes are dark, impenetrable pools. His hair is pushed back off his face. Sometimes she forgets how much all of this has affected him too. Sometimes she forgets everything except her own pain. She feels his warmth against her, his strength. She feels as though the gulf that had been threatening to open up between them for the last year is slowly closing. She realises they have so much life ahead of them. So much time to learn to be happy again.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ Will says quietly, reaching up to stroke her face. ‘I thought you’d gone, but recently I feel as though you’ve come back to me.’

  She smiles softly. ‘I thought I’d lost you too,’ she says. ‘This last year has been …’ She doesn’t finish. She can’t finish.

  She watches as a shadow of anguish crosses his face, as his brow furrows, as his jaw tightens. She recognises that look, recognises the pain he is trying to hide. She hears the shudder of his breath. His eyes flick away for a moment; he pauses for a fraction too long.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘You never lost me. I’ll always be here.’

  She kisses him gently then, and feels his hand drift down the bones of her spine.

  Later, showered and dressed, they finally appear in the kitchen; Will’s younger brother, Jamie, is already sitting at the table drinking coffee. Will and Fran are hardly able to stop touching each other.

  Jamie smiles at them, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re up late,’ he says. Fran feels herself blushing, her stomach flipping over, and turns away towards the toaster.

  ‘Thanks for last night,’ Jamie goes on. ‘I needed that.’ Recently separated from his wife, living apart from his children, Jamie is lonely. Last night wasn’t the first Saturday night he’d spent with them. Fran knows Will has been throwing himself into cheering his brother up. She doesn’t mind. Jamie makes Will smile and it’s good to see him smile again.

  As Will and Jamie start talking about the cricket, she feels her husband’s hand on her thigh, the warm, solid sensation of him right there next to her. They have been given a second chance, and they have grabbed it with both hands. She isn’t naive enough to think everything is going to go back to the way it used to be, but she knows that they can move on; they can talk and heal together. They can take another chance on living, find a new kind of normal.

  Will stretches, draining his coffee cup. ‘This weather isn’t going to let up is it?’ he says looking out of the window where the rain is rattling against the frames like beads in a jar. ‘I’m going to have to cancel the cricket.’ As captain of the village team it is up to him to reschedule this afternoon’s match. Fran is quietly delighted that the weather means she doesn’t have to spend her last afternoon with her husband before she goes away watching him play cricket. Will gets up and walks into his study, shutting the door behind him.

  ‘How are you feeling about tomorrow?’ Jamie asks.

  ‘Nervous,’ Fran replies. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been on a plane on my own, which is pathetic at my age, I know.’

  ‘It’s OK to be nervous.’

  ‘It’s the first time Will and I have been apart since …’ She trails off. Jamie knows what she’s talking about. ‘I’m worried about him too.’

  Jamie smiles. ‘I’ll look after him,’ he says.

  After a moment Jamie gets up and follows Will into his study. He doesn’t knock; he just opens the door and walks in. As Fran starts to clear the breakfast dishes she hears raised voices but can’t quite make out what they are saying. She rolls her eyes to herself. As an only child she has long since given up on understanding Will and Jamie’s relationship: best friends one minute, bickering the next. She just hopes Jamie doesn’t stay too long – she wants her husband to herself for the day.

  WILL

  It rains all day, the sky grey and waterlogged and heavy with cloud. After Jamie leaves, Will pulls Fran towards him, his hands at the back of her head where her skull meets her neck, where her hair is cut so short.

  ‘No cricket,’ he says. ‘I’m all yours.’

  She smiles, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

  ‘Can we just watch a film or something?’ she says. ‘I’m tired and I have to pack for Spain later.’ His stomach drops at the thought of her going away. He wishes he’d never encouraged her to do it.

  ‘I’d forgotten about Spain,’ he says.

  ‘No you hadn’t. It’s the only thing we’ve talked about for ages.’

  Will had watched Fra
n spend the last few weeks flipping back and forth between excitement and terror at the thought of going to Spain on her own. He knew she was strong enough to do it; he knew she was stronger than anyone realised. But he also knew that she wondered if she was ready. When she first mentioned Spain to him he had seen it as a perfect opportunity to help her begin to put herself back together again after what had been the worst year of both their lives. He tried to believe that everything life threw at him was an opportunity.

  Fran had been teaching at a studio in central Cambridge for six years and had been asked to teach for a week on a retreat in Spain. Will had always supported her teaching, always tried to put her career on a level par with his own and had done everything he could to help her find the strength to go back to work in January. None of it had felt as though it was enough. None of it would make up for the last year, the things he had said, the things he had done. Suddenly he is terrified about being on his own. Neither of them have been alone for months.

  ‘What do you want to watch?’ he asks, squatting down in front of the TV.

  ‘Can we watch Some Like it Hot?’ Fran replies.

  Will rolls his eyes. He must have seen it a hundred times, but puts it in the DVD player anyway and goes to settle himself on the sofa. ‘Come here,’ he says, and she sits with him, leaning back against his chest.

  ‘Are you OK about Spain?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘I think so,’ she says. ‘I’m nervous, but I’m excited as well.’

  ‘Elizabeth will be there with you, won’t she?’

  ‘Yes, and Constance. In fact, I already know most of the other people who are going. I’ll be fine.’ She pauses. ‘Are you going to be OK?’ she asks quietly.