by Kate Hewitt
So when that blank, black screen had come into focus, and the doctor had explained about the baby-who-wasn’t, part of her hadn’t even been surprised. And part of her had been… but, no. She couldn’t think about that. And she couldn’t possibly explain it to Will, not that he’d ever even thought to ask.
“Right,” Esther said as she hurried to finish her cup of tea. “How’s Jim getting on with the Environmental Stewardship Scheme, then?”
Two hours later she was climbing back into her Land Rover, having walked with Jim Telford through his fields that were currently not being used for agricultural management, and listened to his litany of complaints about the price of feed, the terrible weather, and the government’s endless interference. All said good-naturedly, of course, while Esther nodded and murmured and soothed, and then reminded him of what still needed to happen if he wanted to be part of the environmental scheme.
Another farm visit later, the last for a few weeks, she was heading back home to do the endless paperwork and data entry that working for a government agency required. Dusk was falling as she drove along the A595, now in slow-moving traffic as opposed to the peaceful quiet of that morning. She ached with tiredness, driving on autopilot, so much so that she hadn’t realized what she’d done until she’d pulled into the farmyard and turned off the car. Will came to the kitchen door, frowning out into the dusky evening as she started to get out. Far too late, Esther realized her mistake.
“Esther?” He sounded disbelieving, and no wonder. She’d left him yesterday, and here she was back again. “What are you doing here?”
“I…” She thought about blustering her way through some credible reason—she’d forgotten some clothes or papers or something—but she was too tired to think of anything and her mind blanked. Will stared. “I was driving from Carlisle and I came here automatically,” she confessed. “Sorry.” She turned back to the car, utterly dispirited at the thought of getting in and driving to the vicarage, yet knowing that was what she needed to do.
“Wait.” Will barked the word, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Since you’re here, don’t you think we should at least talk?”
“We never talk, Will.”
“Fair enough, but how about we start now? Because I still haven’t got a clue as to why you left me the way you did and, frankly, I’d like to know.” He sounded belligerent, even angry, and Esther didn’t think she had the energy or strength to deal with Will in that mode, not that he got in it all that often. In fact, basically never.
“I don’t know if now’s really a good time…”
“I’ve put some sausages in the oven,” he persisted, and then gave her one of his old, wry smiles. “Sorry, it’s the best I could do for dinner, but, please, stay. Tell me something, because I’m in the dark, Esther, and I don’t even know what words to say.” He stared at her, his expression steady and strong, reminding Esther of why she’d fallen in love with him all those years ago.
Because she had fallen in love, hadn’t she? They hadn’t married simply because it made sense or seemed comfortable, surely? It was a question that had been rattling around in her brain—and in her heart—for a while now and she still didn’t know how to answer it. But Will deserved some answers, even if she doubted they’d satisfy him. She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. At least not all of it.
“All right,” she relented and closed the car door. “I am a bit hungry.”
She followed him into the kitchen, blinking at how much a mess a man could make in one day. Grease and sauce-splattered dishes were piled up in the sink, and a load of dirty washing had made it from upstairs to the vicinity of the washer, if not actually in it. There was an overpowering smell, more so than usual, of wet dog and sheep.
“Sorry,” Will muttered. “I haven’t…”
“I know it’s lambing season.” She moved aside a pile of post from a chair and sat down. “How have things been?”
“Two ewes delivered yesterday, another two this afternoon. They’re all doing well.”
“Good.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, blinking at her in the dim light of the kitchen, with its thick stone walls and small, square windows. It was a cosy room when it was clean; for a second Esther thought of the Telfords’ welcoming kitchen, little Caitlin in her arms. How different things might have been.
“What happened, Esther?” Will asked, the question bursting from him. “Just tell me straight. Why did you wake up yesterday morning and decide to leave me?”
“It wasn’t like that, Will.”
“I know it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been.” With a sigh, he sank onto a chair opposite her, his elbows resting on the table. He was wearing an old Aran jumper that had more holes than not. Esther had got him a new one for his birthday a few months ago, but he kept saving it for special occasions, of which there hadn’t been any. “It’s only that it felt that way to me.”
“Didn’t you feel like something was wrong?” Esther asked quietly. “Because I felt it, not just in me, but between us.” Like the fact, for example, that they hadn’t had sex since before Christmas. Their sex life had always been enjoyable if a tiny bit predictable, but what married couple’s wasn’t? But she’d missed that kind of intimacy, where no words were needed at all.
“I suppose I could see that you weren’t yourself,” Will said slowly. “And I wasn’t, either. But we lost a baby, Esther. That’s a big thing. It takes time to recover.”
She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Does it?”
Will blinked at her. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” She backtracked, not ready or willing to go into that whole mess of feeling, or lack of it. “Only, it wasn’t just the pregnancy, Will, or losing it.” That had been the trigger, maybe, but only the trigger. “It was everything,” she said. “The way we never talk, and then the way something terrible can happen and neither of us have the words to deal with it. We just carried on, like life was normal and uncomplicated. We always just carry on.” The bitterness spiking her words was evident to both. She sounded positively venomous, and even she was surprised at the depth of her emotion. But of course she wasn’t telling him everything. She was acting as if they were the problem, when deep down she was.
Will was silent, staring at her, having no words. As usual. She stared back, full of despair, because she didn’t even know what she wanted from this man, and worse, she couldn’t confess the dark stew of feelings inside her—guilt and grief, sorrow and, worst of all, a deep, treacherous relief.
No wonder they didn’t have any words. How on earth was she supposed to talk about that?
Chapter Four
What had happened to his practical, sensible, no-nonsense wife? Esther was looking at him with a face full of sadness and Will had no idea what to say. He’d failed her somehow, he could see that, but damned if he knew what he should have done—or what to do now.
What he did know was that he hated feeling this way, like it was all up to him but he couldn’t keep from getting it wrong. The way he’d felt with David, ten years ago, right in this kitchen.
Go on, then.
Three little words he would do anything to take back, but of course he couldn’t.
“What would help?” he asked at last. “Counselling…” The word came with a bit of a shudder, because, in truth, he couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting around and talking about his feelings with some sanctimonious stranger. But he would do it if it helped. At least he’d try.
“No, not counselling.” Esther shared his shudder, she felt the same. They weren’t as different as all that, no matter what Esther was saying or feeling now. But she obviously wanted something from him, something she wasn’t getting, and the truth was, he didn’t know if he could give it to her.
“All right, then. Let’s talk right here and now.” He took a deep breath, laid his hands flat on the old, scarred oak trestle table. “About the baby.”
Esther looked away, h
er lashes sweeping downwards so he couldn’t make out her expression at all. “I don’t want to talk about the baby. There wasn’t even a baby, anyway.”
“Then what?” Will exploded. So much for his resolutions to be measured and reasonable. He hadn’t felt this angry since… but, no. He needed to focus on Esther. “What do you want from me, then?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? So you leave me and there’s nothing I can do? And you still haven’t given me a good reason, or any reason?” It was so bloody unfair. He felt powerless and he hated it.
“The reason is I couldn’t take any more,” Esther burst out. Will, having half-risen from his seat, sat back down with a thud. “I couldn’t live like this for one more day, soldiering through, on and on, eating and sleeping together, and just living, with nothing else going on at all.” She let out another shudder, this one going through her whole body, as she looked away.
“You sound like you need a holiday,” Will ventured.
“No, not a holiday, because that would just be more of the same, except maybe on a beach somewhere.” She shook her head as she gave a tired laugh. “Not that we ever went on many, or any, holidays.”
He prickled; he couldn’t help it. “It’s hard with the farm.”
“I know it is.” She looked back at him with weary resignation. “It’s just us, Will. The way we are. The way we’ve always been. I thought it was enough, just rubbing along together, but it isn’t. Losing the baby made me realize that. Made me realize I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t be the person I thought I was anymore.” She said each sentence with a certain leaden resolve, as if she’d rehearsed the words. Lines in a play, one in which he had no wish to have a role. She didn’t look at him as she said it, and he didn’t know whether to believe her. Did she believe herself?
“So that’s it?” he finally said, still scarcely able to believe it had come to this, and so quickly. “You’re just… done?”
She hesitated, and he saw the torment in her eyes, felt it in himself. Marriages didn’t end like this, did they? Not his. Not theirs. Seven years ago now, nearly eight, they’d stood in front of her father’s church, holding hands and making vows that meant something. They’d eaten cake and drunk champagne in the vicarage garden with half the village in attendance, big, fat honeybees buzzing around the wisteria, a perfect, golden day in July.
He’d felt happier than he could ever remember feeling, at least since his parents had died when he was nineteen and the weight of the world had descended right onto his shoulders, a weight he’d bowed and eventually collapsed under.
With Esther, he’d finally felt it start to lift. Felt himself become whole again. He’d seen a future, and he’d liked it, damn it. He’d liked it a lot. So how had they ended up here?
“I don’t give up that easily, Esther,” he said, and it sounded like a warning. “Not just on your say so.”
“What are you going to do, then?” She just sounded tired, and that stung. But what was he going to do? He had no idea. How did he make someone try? How did he get her to love him? The fact that it would have to be an effort hurt, and it felt wrong. Surely it wasn’t supposed to work like that. It had never before, but perhaps it should have.
Esther glanced down at the pile of old post she’d removed from her chair and then sucked in a surprised breath. Startled, Will glanced at it too, and it took a few seconds for him to register the heavy, expensive-looking stationery of the wedding invitation on top. Esther’s friend Helen from Natural England, getting married in a couple of weeks.
She lived in Newcastle now, and they’d RSVPed to the wedding at least a month ago. Will had organized coverage for the farm, which wasn’t easy this time of year, but he’d known the wedding was important. Helen had been one of Esther’s best friends, when she’d lived nearby in Penrith.
“When is that wedding?” he asked gruffly.
Esther didn’t take her eyes from the invitation as she answered slowly, “Next weekend.”
Will sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. “You’re still going to go?”
“Yes…” The word came out uncertainly, and Will snapped his eyes open. “And what about me?” He liked Helen, and he’d got along with her fiancé Nathan, the few times they’d met. Now he wondered if Esther was going to bar him from going.
“Do you want to go?” She sounded incredulous.
“Why not?” Normally Will would probably make an excuse for ducking out of a party or event, especially if it was going to take the whole weekend. He wasn’t the most social person out there, heaven knew, and the farm demanded all his attention and time.
But now? When this might be the only chance he had to spend time with his wife, and figure out what his next steps were, if he even had any?
“Yeah,” he said firmly. “I’d still like to go.”
“You would?” She sounded so surprised and Will couldn’t really blame her. This was entirely out of his character.
“Makes it easier, doesn’t it?” he persisted. “Awkward explaining, otherwise.”
“You mean about us.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to go bleating to the world that we’ve separated. Not until…” He paused, scanning her tired face, the sadness in her eyes. “Not until I understand a bit more about what’s going on, at least.”
Esther sighed, and then she nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. It would be difficult to explain, and I don’t want to take away from Helen’s day.”
“So we’ll both go?”
“We might as well.” Esther sounded both resigned and reluctant. “We’ve already booked the hotel.”
“Have we?”
“Yes, I booked a hotel in the city,” she answered a bit tartly. Should he have known? Should he have done it himself? “But it’s not really appropriate now, staying in a place like that.”
“I think we can share a bed without ripping each other’s clothes off,” Will retorted, “if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m not afraid of that,” Esther shot back. “That’s what we’ve been doing for the last six months.”
He stared at her, gobsmacked. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’d say it was obvious,” Esther retorted, leaving Will with no idea how to reply.
*
Will stared at her for a few seconds, looking both baffled and furious, and Esther wondered if he even realized what she meant. If he’d noticed that deficit in their marital life. They certainly hadn’t talked about it; they’d simply gone to bed each night, rolling over on to opposite sides, by silent, mutual agreement.
Before either of them could say anything more, the whiff of burning meat caught both their noses, and Will rose from his seat.
“Damn, the sausages.” He opened the door of the Aga and a cloud of black smoke billowed out. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Esther rose, as well. “I wasn’t that hungry, anyway.” She’d lost her appetite.
“Esther…” Will stared at her, clearly frustrated, and she wished, bizarrely, that she could make it easier for him. Easier for them. But that would involve coming clean with how she really felt, how little she felt, and she wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready for Will to hate her.
“I should go.”
“Why don’t we drive together on Friday, for the wedding?”
Two hours in the car. Esther supposed she could face that. They never talked in the car, anyway, and she didn’t see that changing now.
“Fine.” She stepped over Toby, who had sprawled hopefully by her feet and whined as she left. Her heart gave a little twist of sad longing. She’d known him since he was little more than a puppy, and she missed him now. “Bye, Tobes,” she murmured, and stroked his silky head. He wagged his tail hopefully, his droopy eyes looking sad. Will stood by the sink, arms folded, face stony. Esther took a deep breath and kept walking.
As she drove down the narrow road towards Thornthwaite, she realized she coul
dn’t face going back to the vicarage and her parents’ endless, quiet concern. They meant well, they did, but at thirty-five it was hard to face that kind of worried attention over the dinner table every evening, not that she had yet. Still, she’d have to brace herself for it, evening after evening. But not tonight.
So, on the spur of the moment, Esther turned right before the bridge and went down a narrow lane of old tied cottages that had once belonged to the manor farm just outside the village, now a posh weekend residence for a London couple. Rachel’s cottage was the last one, with a rusted iron gate and a garden that led into a watery ditch. Esther stepped over a clump of nettles as she made her way to the front door. Rachel had bought the cottage a few years ago, a fixer-upper that she hadn’t yet found the time to fix up.
Now, Rachel and Dan were planning to sell both of their properties—Dan lived in a barn conversion a mile out of town—and buy their dream house. Catch Rachel at any odd moments, and she’d be sighing happily at visions of domestic bliss, all creamy Agas and quarry tiles, on Rightmove.
Esther knocked on the front door, already half-regretting her impulse. She loved her sister but Rachel was so full on, and she’d take Esther coming to her house as a sign that she wanted to have a big emotional sob-fest, which she most definitely did not. A drink at the pub, with Rachel wide-eyed and well-meaning, had been hard enough.
“Esther.” Rachel stared at her for a moment, clearly surprised, before she stepped aside. “Is everything okay? I mean, besides what’s already…”
“I know what you mean.” Esther stepped into the cluttered hallway. Rachel’s house was just as messy as hers and Will’s, but in an entirely different, and completely feminine, way. Tattered paperbacks, mainly romances and chick lit, were stacked in tottering piles in the tiny hallway, and the walls were crammed with dusty, framed posters of musicals Rachel had seen or been in during her university days, when she’d been part of an am-dram society.
