by Kate Hewitt
And yet somehow it was—the new her, the broken her, the real her, underneath the old gloss of know-it-all capability that had definitely lost its shine. Will held her and stroked her hair, silent as ever, and so nice as it was to be held Esther had no idea what he was feeling. Maybe he was appalled. She was appalled. She was snivelly and snotty and hiccuping. Not a good look at the best of times, and as for now…
“I’m sorry,” she managed after what could have been an hour but was hopefully only a few minutes.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I don’t cry, though.”
“Seems like you needed to.”
She glanced down at Toby, whose eyes fluttered closed. “Is he—” she began, sounding panicked, and Will’s arms tightened around her.
“He’s just sleeping, Esther. You’ll know when.”
She was silent for a moment, breathing in the quiet and the fragile sense of peace, feeling as if she were in the eye of a storm. “I’ve never seen someone—any creature—die.” She should have, living on a farm, working as she did, but death had always been kept behind closed doors, in barns or sheds or dark, quiet corners. At a distance, even when it had been important.
“It’s a natural process,” Will said after a moment, one big hand cradling her head like she was a newborn baby he was palming. “But it doesn’t feel natural, not ever, and sometimes it feels long and like, well, hard work.”
“And sometimes not.” The words slipped out, before she even knew she was saying them. “Sometimes it happens so quick, you don’t even know…” Surely she couldn’t be crying again. She didn’t have any tears left. And as she drew a quick breath, Esther realized she wasn’t crying. The pain went too deep for that, pain she’d pushed down and held back for far too long. For twenty years.
“Jamie,” Will said softly, and Esther didn’t answer because she couldn’t, and also because she didn’t need to.
“It’s always hard,” Will said quietly.
“Your parents, I know…” He’d lost his parents in a car accident when he was nineteen, years before Esther had ever met him. They’d been coming home from a shopping trip in Keswick, and had been hit by a lorry taking a short-cut on a single-track road. A matter of seconds, both of them killed instantly. Just like Jamie.
Had that brought them together, way back when? They’d shared their stories on the second date, quietly, without fuss. And they hadn’t talked about it again, not really, but it had been there, the common knowledge, the shared grief, a burden borne by two, not one. Which, Esther realized now, was important in its own way. Why hadn’t she realized how important that was? Why hadn’t she shared her grief, even the awfulness of her relief, over the miscarriage with Will?
She took a deep breath and then a big sniff. The tears were still there, trembling under her lids, in her chest. “I didn’t see Jamie die,” she whispered, half-amazed she was talking about this at all. “I wasn’t there.” Will was silent, waiting, and somehow that made Esther brave saying more. “I was in class—first lesson, maths. Someone came and got me, told me to go to the head teacher’s office. I thought I was in trouble, and that was what worried me. Not that something might have happened.” She twisted around to gaze up at him, his face barely visible in the shadowy room. “Why didn’t that occur to me? Why was I only thinking about myself?”
“It was a natural thought, Esther.”
“Was it?” She shook her head, surprised by the strength of the pain and regret she still felt. She’d buried it for so long, papered over the cracks till she was nothing but spackle and paste. No wonder she was crumbling apart. Amazing, really, that it hadn’t happened sooner.
“Of course it was. Thinking the worst—why should you? Why should you beat yourself up for not doing it?”
“I know…” she said, because when he said it like that it seemed so obvious and sensible. The trouble was, it didn’t feel obvious and sensible.
“Let me ask you this,” Will said in a low voice, after a few moments had gone by. “Did… did your experience with Jamie, your grief, the fact that you couldn’t do anything about it… is that… did that…” He stopped, and Esther twisted around again to look at him. His forehead was furrowed in concentration, a shadow of grim uncertainty in his eyes. Whatever he was trying to say, it was hard for him.
But then all of this was hard. They never talked like this, not ever. And as for Toby… Esther’s heart spasmed as she glanced down at the dog she’d loved for ten years. He looked so sad, his eyes droopy, his breathing laboured. Poor, lovable beast. She bent to stroke his head once more.
“Good dog,” she whispered. “Good boy.”
“Esther.” Will sounded more strident now, almost stroppy. “Tell me this.” She stilled, her hand resting on Toby’s silky head. “Did your not wanting to have a baby… did it have anything to do with your brother?”
“What?” She felt jolted, as if she’d missed the last step in a staircase. His question seemed absurd, connecting dots that were miles apart. “Of course not,” she said automatically, but already a terrible unease was growing inside her, a cancer of doubt taking her over. “Why did you ask that?” she asked abruptly. “What made you think of it?”
“I don’t know,” Will admitted. “I’m not good with stuff like this, you know that. But it just seems… it just doesn’t make sense. Something doesn’t anyway, and I don’t think it’s just me being thick. At least I hope it’s not.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “What are you afraid of?”
The question was so blunt, so stark, that Esther answered before she’d even framed the words in her head. “I’m afraid of getting it wrong.”
“Getting what wrong?”
“Motherhood. Babies. Life.” She drew a quick, shuddery breath. “It’s so important, and I might mess it up.”
“Why do you think you would?”
“Because… because…” She searched fruitlessly for an answer that made sense. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve always had a thing about control, I suppose. About working hard and getting it right.”
Will frowned. “Always?”
“As long as I can remember. And I suppose…” She paused, thinking through things, feeling her way slowly. “I suppose it got worse after Jamie. Because that was so out of my control. I wasn’t even there. Maybe if I was…”
“Esther, you can’t think that way. There’s no point, trust me.”
“Well.” Another quick breath. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take of this intensity. “I know that. But it’s hard not to feel it all the same.” She shifted herself off Will’s lap, suddenly conscious of how ridiculous it all seemed. He’d been cradling her as if she were a baby, or one of his precious lambs.
She kept her face averted as she repositioned herself on the other side of Toby and gazed down at his dear face, his greying muzzle. “Do you remember,” she asked quietly, “how he always used to stand by the door and nudge it with his nose as soon as you put your boots on?”
“Yeah.” Will smiled faintly. “He hasn’t done that for a while.”
“No, he hasn’t,” Esther acknowledged with a jolt of painful realization. “You’re right, he hasn’t climbed the stairs in ages, either—years, I think. How has he got old without me realizing?”
“That’s how life happens.”
Esther had a prickling feeling that Will wasn’t just talking about their dog. How had they come to this place of strangeness, of not really knowing or understanding each other, after so many years? Had they slipped into the well-worn grooves of married life, not realizing those grooves were getting farther and farther apart? Or had they never really known each other, not in the way that mattered? Esther didn’t know which possibility was more depressing.
The hours slipped past silently, both of them lost in their own thoughts, as Toby’s breathing became more and more laboured, his eyes closed. As Esther watched, he seemed to be losing some essential part of himself; he had
n’t really changed, and yet he was diminished.
Sometime after midnight, in the darkest part of the night, he slipped away. Esther felt a leaden sadness; she’d already shed her tears. But it still brought a lump to her throat when Will stooped to pick up Toby and cradled his limp body to his chest.
“I’ll take him outside,” he said quietly. “I’ll bury him in the afternoon, when the ground has warmed up.”
Esther nodded, the tears she’d thought she’d already shed starting to swim to the surface. She stood up, her muscles aching from sitting on the floor so long, and watched as Will quietly left the house.
Will had to miss Toby even more than she did. He’d got him as a puppy before they’d started dating, had had him by his side in the sheep fields day after mucky day. A man’s best friend, indeed.
The kitchen felt lonely and silent with Will and Toby gone. Esther halfheartedly reached for her coat, her hand falling to her side before she’d grabbed it. The thought of heading back to the vicarage now made her feel even more drained than she already was. She sent a text to her parents, just in case they’d noticed she hadn’t come home.
“There, now.” Will came into the kitchen, closing the door behind him with a heavy thud. “It’s freezing out there tonight.”
“Is it?” It wasn’t unheard of to snow this time of year, especially on higher ground. “I suppose I should go…”
“Don’t.” Esther blinked at him in surprise, and Will stumbled to explain. “I just mean, it’s late, it’s been a long, hard night. We have a spare room.”
It was only a little over a mile back to Thornthwaite, and yet right then it felt like a very long mile. And the truth was, Esther didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to be alone. And yet…
“Please,” Will said quietly, and somehow that sold it.
She nodded, and Will turned to fill up the kettle and switch it on. It wasn’t until he’d reached for the fleece-lined bottles that she realized what he was doing, and it almost made her cry all over again.
They worked in sweet, silent harmony, filling the hot-water bottles, locking doors and turning off lights. Esther almost whistled for Toby, only to remember afresh and she drew in a revealingly hitched breath instead.
“I know,” Will said, and she knew he did.
They went up the narrow, creaky stairs to the upstairs hallway, everything cluttered and shabby and achingly familiar.
“I’ll get sheets…” Will began, and Esther put her hand on his arm.
“Don’t,” she said simply. She really didn’t want to be alone. Will turned to her in surprise. “I just want…” she began haltingly, embarrassed to explain, and he nodded.
“I know, Esther. I know.”
And once again, he did. They undressed in silence, Esther stripping down to her thermals, and got into the bed together, bodies bumping softly in the dark. Will’s arms came around her and he drew her against him, her back against his chest as she cradled the hot-water bottle against her stomach and for the first time in what felt like a million years, Esther relaxed. And then she slept.
Chapter Thirteen
When Esther woke to bright morning sunlight, she knew Will must have been up for hours. His side of the bed was cold and empty, and as she lay there, huddled under the heavy duvet, staring up at the ceiling, she remembered how she’d slept in his arms all night and didn’t know how to feel about that. Didn’t know how to feel about anything.
She remembered too how she’d cried in his arms and all the things she’d said, and inwardly she cringed and squirmed. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all, Will knowing that, listening to her whinge and blubber. But, on some level, she knew that was what marriage was meant to be, what intimacy was… and if it had been missing from hers and Will’s relationship, well, that wasn’t a good thing, was it? She’d felt its lack, and yet she still felt cringy and uncertain now.
She got out of bed and took a shower in the old Victorian tub with its trickle of water, using the shampoo and soap and even the razor that were all hers, left where she’d last put them down. It felt odd, somehow, to think of Will living and moving about her things, as if she’d just gone away for a week and was going to come back very soon.
And was she?
Amidst all the emotion and sadness of last night, they hadn’t talked about that. They hadn’t even come close. And Esther still felt jumbled-up inside, unsure what she wanted or was ready for. What she was capable of.
She got out of the shower, towelling herself off quickly in the frigid air, and then dressed in her clothes from last night, stealing a pair of Will’s thick wool socks. Downstairs, in the morning light, the kitchen looked as messy and cluttered as ever, and with nothing else to do, Esther set about cleaning it.
She was just setting the last plate in the dish drainer—they’d never bothered with a dishwasher—when Will came into the kitchen, stamping the mud off his boots.
His bright blue gaze took in her presence by the sink, the clean dishes, the table cleared of piles of post and dirty dishes. As he closed the door, the kettle began to whistle.
“Oh.” He sounded surprised, and cautiously pleased. “Thanks.”
“I think this lot was worse than this place before we were married,” Esther remarked. “Back then you used to do the dishes, as I recall, at least on occasion.”
“It is lambing season,” Will reminded her. “And back then I was trying to impress you.”
Her stomach tumbled over. “And now you’re not?”
Will shrugged, his eyes both serious and sad. “Is it worth trying?”
They were tiptoeing towards the heart of the matter, and Esther felt a self-preserving instinct to edge away. “I don’t want or need you to impress me, Will. It’s… it’s never been about that.”
She turned towards the kettle, needing to keep busy. “Cup of tea?”
“All right, then.”
“And breakfast? Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
It was easier to busy herself pouring coffee, frying eggs and bacon, than to look Will in the eye and have to talk about all this stuff.
It wasn’t until they were sitting opposite each other at the old farmhouse table that Will spoke again, and what he said shocked Esther to her core.
“I think what we need to do,” he said as he took a sip of coffee and set his mug down with a purposeful thunk, “is start dating again.”
*
Esther’s eyes widened and her lips parted soundlessly. She was completely shocked, and no wonder. It wasn’t the most obvious suggestion, and yet in the early hours of the morning, when he’d been tending to the animals, it had seemed right. Unfortunately now he felt fairly ridiculous for saying such a thing, and so he shovelled eggs into his mouth instead of explaining what he’d meant.
“Date again?” Esther repeated incredulously. “How are we supposed to do that?”
“The usual way, I suppose, although I’m not even sure there’s any ‘again’ about it,” Will replied with a swallow and a shrug. “Did we date much in the first place?”
“Will, we dated for two years.” Esther still looked flummoxed.
“But it wasn’t really dating, was it?” Will pressed. “It was… it was just life.”
Something flickered in her eyes, although whether it was horror or interest Will couldn’t say.
“What are you suggesting, then?” she asked. “That we get all sappy and romantic?” She sounded both amused and a bit revolted, and it made Will smile.
“I can’t see us writing love notes and what not,” he admitted. “But you said yourself something’s been missing, and we both owe it to each other at least to give it a go, figuring out what that is.”
Esther shook her head slowly, and Will’s gut tightened. It hadn’t been easy, coming up with this suggestion. It hadn’t been easy, holding Esther while she cried or in his arms all night. He’d been filled with both longing and doubt, and a terrible, terrifying uncertainty. He didn�
�t know what she needed, and he really didn’t know if he was the one who could give it to her.
But he wanted to try.
“It would feel silly,” she said. “Going on dates when we’ve been married for eight years.”
“Then let’s be silly.”
Esther’s head was lowered, her gaze on her barely-touched breakfast. “Do you still want to date me,” she asked in a voice so quiet Will strained to hear, “after everything?”
“It seems I do.” What else was he supposed to say? Yes, he was hurt, and, no, he didn’t like her walking out on him, or telling him she didn’t want his baby, and if she didn’t want kids ever, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
There were plenty of bumps on this particular road, but he still wanted to go down it. This was his marriage, after all. And he knew what it felt like to give up too soon, to walk away because he was angry and it seemed easier. He knew what it felt like, and it wasn’t good. It was the worst thing in the world. He wasn’t going to make the mistake he’d made with David, with Esther. Not if he could help it.
Esther was still silent, still not looking at him, and so Will kept eating. What else could he do? He felt as if he were wound too tightly instead, grief and fear and doubt all battling for place.
“So what would we do?” Esther asked finally. “Just go out to dinner at The Winter Hare? What?”
This was so not his strong suit. Will had no idea what they’d do. In fact, right now, he had no idea what the heck he’d been thinking, suggesting they date. What did that even mean? In the early morning, as he’d cradled a new lamb, it had somehow made sense. They needed to go back to the beginning, to start over and treat each other as new people. That had felt right, at five a.m. Not so much now. “Something like that, I guess,” he hedged. What else could he say? “A chance to get to know each other again.” Which sounded like something he’d seen on a sappy greeting card. What was wrong with him? No wonder Esther was looking so unimpressed.
