Chapter Eight
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
Harriet stared at Ellie in surprise. Her neighbor stood on her doorstep at nine o’clock on a Saturday evening, brandishing a bottle of wine.
“Sorry I haven’t come before. Life’s been a bit manic…” She gave a slightly strained smile, making Harriet wonder.
It was the last week of March, only a week left until the end of the school term, and Harriet had spent the last two weeks managing children and house as well as visiting Lady Stokeley a couple of times, who had been polite but a little chilly. She hadn’t offered any information about the results of her screening and Harriet hadn’t asked. Sometimes she wondered why she went, and yet she knew she’d keep going.
She’d also been trying to tidy up her CV and make herself sound far more important and productive than she really was. The deadline for the academic publishing position was in three days, and she was still dithering about whether she should even apply. It would be a lot of work for probably nothing, and yet if she didn’t apply… that seemed like a cop out.
“Here.” Ellie thrust the bottle of wine towards her, looking awkward. “Sorry, this isn’t a great time, is it? Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for having Abby over the other weekend. It was really kind.”
“Oh.” Harriet took the bottle, realizing she had been standing there looking gormless. Ellie probably thought she’d been trying to get her to leave. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, and Ellie practically did a double take.
“What? You mean…”
“Come in,” Harriet said, really meaning it now.
The kids were asleep except for Mallory, who was reading in bed, and she hadn’t had a proper chat with anyone in months.
“I’ll open this,” she added, hefting the bottle. “You don’t have to drive, so…”
“All right.” Ellie smiled shyly and Harriet stepped aside so she could come in.
“Will Abby be all right on her own?” she asked, realizing she probably should have thought of that earlier.
“Yes, she’s just reading. I’ll text her to let her know I’m staying for a bit.” Ellie got out her phone while Harriet went in search of a corkscrew.
It was a proper posh bottle of wine, with foil and a cork. Harriet hadn’t had anything but occasional plonk from Tesco’s in months. Briefly she reminisced about the wine club she and Richard had belonged to with bottles costing a hundred pounds or more. They’d been good, but she wasn’t enough of a wine connoisseur to tell a ten-pound bottle from a hundred-pound one. Now it just seemed like a big waste of money, even if she’d enjoyed their evenings in front of the telly, with a bottle of wine, a wedge of really good cheese, and some nice biscuits.
“Wow, this place is miles bigger than mine,” Ellie said as she tucked her phone back in her pocket. She ducked her head, giving an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I don’t know if that sounded…”
“It seemed small to us at the start,” Harriet admitted. She felt the need to be frank. “But we’ve got used to it. I think.” Sort of, not really. Mallory still moaned about having to share a bedroom, but not quite as loudly as at the start.
“What was your house like, before?”
“Oh.” Harriet let out a gusty sigh and handed Ellie a glass of wine. She tossed another log onto the wood fire and then they both moved to the sofa, curling up on either end. “It was my dream house,” Harriet admitted quietly. She took a sip of wine, savoring the velvety way it slipped down. “Our dream house.” A stupid lump formed in her throat and she choked it down.
She really didn’t feel like getting emotional right then. It was so much easier to focus on the loss of the house rather than the loss of her husband. The loss of her life.
Ellie cocked her head, her smile both sad and kind. “So what happened? Or should I not ask?”
“A lot of bad stuff. I’m surprised you haven’t heard through the school grapevine.”
Ellie raised her eyebrows. “There’s a school grapevine? Because if so I don’t know anything about it.”
“Oh.” Harriet felt a curdling of guilt inside that she didn’t completely understand, until a memory slotted into place of Ellie helping out at that bake sale. A fuss had broken out over the cookies, and Harriet had relegated her to making tea for her and the other mums.
Harriet had a sudden, piercing memory of Ellie sitting by herself and drinking her tea while Harriet had talked to Sophie and the other mums. She cringed now at the thought.
“I’m sorry about the bake sale,” she blurted. Ellie leaned back, looking surprised. “I have a feeling I acted like a… like a prat, I suppose.”
“It’s okay,” Ellie said, not denying it. “I made a hash of the whole thing, anyway.”
“Maybe, but I didn’t have to be so…” Harriet shook her head. “You know, it’s not until everything went pear-shaped that I’ve realized how annoying I was sometimes.” She grimaced, and Ellie raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for more.
“We lost the house,” Harriet explained, her tone turning flat. “Richard, my husband, lost his job. And he also…” She stopped, physically unable to continue.
The lump in her throat had grown bigger and she really didn’t want to cry right now. She was sick of crying. She’d already had her big crying jag, had got it all out weeks ago. She wanted to move on now. She needed to move on now, at least in some small way, but the pain of Richard’s betrayal, of losing him, still cut so deep she felt like she could bleed out from it if she said so much as a word.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Ellie said when the silence had stretched on for several uncomfortable moments. “Sorry, I’m being incredibly nosy barging in here asking you to spill your guts.” She smiled wryly. “Go on and ask me something.”
“Okay.” Harriet let out a wobbly laugh. “How long have you been with your boyfriend?”
“Oh.” Ellie blushed. “How did you…”
“Abby.”
“Oh. Right.” She laughed, the sound as wobbly as Harriet’s had been, and looked away. “Well, actually, I’m not sure we’re together anymore.”
“What? Why not? Abby was acting as if you were both really keen.”
“We were, but then… oh, but it’s complicated.”
Harriet tucked her knees up to her chest. “I’ve got time to listen.”
Ellie sighed. “It’s all gone wrong somehow, and so quickly. We went to his parents’ place… Endsleigh House…” She shook her head as if to dismiss the memory.
“And what happened?” Harriet asked, genuinely curious now.
“He told me as we’re pulling up the drive that he’s a blooming baronet!” Ellie let out a hiccuppy laugh. “At least his father is, and he will be one day. And his parents were so snooty and disapproving because I obviously don’t have the makings of a baronetess or whatever—I grew up in a three-bedroom semidetached in Oldham, for heaven’s sake. And then Oliver went all chilly like he used to do and then he just disappeared. He’s up in Yorkshire somewhere, doing research for his next book.”
“Hmm.” Harriet rested her chin on her knees. “It doesn’t necessarily sound like it’s over. Maybe he just needs a little space to think things through.”
“And maybe I need more wine.”
“I think we both do.”
Ellie drained her glass and Harriet uncurled herself from the sofa to give her a top up.
“I suppose I’ve got a case of once bitten, twice shy,” Ellie said after Harriet had sat back down and they were both sipping their wine again.
“You’ve dated a baronet before?”
She laughed. “No, far from it. But I’ve been in a relationship—with Abby’s dad—where I had to do all the heavy lifting, you know? And after a while I got tired of being the only one who was trying to make things work.”
“And that’s how things seem with Oliver?”
“Sort of, because he just left.” Ellie made a face. “I suppose I should admit here that Nathan—my ex—put in an appearance at exactly the wrong time.”
“Ah.”
Ellie’s life had the makings of a soap opera.
“But Oliver didn’t have to beat such a fast retreat, you know? And now I don’t even know where he is, not really.”
“You could find him.”
She bit her lip. “And if he doesn’t want to be found?”
“Then you’d know, at least, and could move on.”
“Hmm.” Ellie took another sip of wine. “Maybe,” she allowed. “What about you? Are you moving on?”
Harriet grimaced. “I already have, haven’t I, since I’m here?”
“Yes, but emotionally, I mean. It’s been a month, right?”
“Two months since I found out about Richard.” The longest two months of her life. Harriet’s throat went tight again. “The truth is… not only did he lose his job, but he was—is, probably—having an affair.” She gasped out the last word.
It still had the power to stun her, and it really shouldn’t, considering how long it had been and how much she’d thought about it.
“Oh, Harriet.” Ellie’s face softened with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s what I found out first. A mobile phone bill with a record of long calls to his assistant in the middle of the night. He didn’t even try to hide it.”
“How long had it been going on?”
“I don’t know.” Harriet stared down into the ruby depths of her wine. “I didn’t ask. I haven’t learned many of the details, and Richard hasn’t volunteered much. We’re separated, informally anyway, and the only things we talk about are the children and money, or lack of it.”
Ellie sighed. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve been there. My ex cheated on me, although he claimed it wasn’t proper cheating, since they didn’t actually, well, you know. But I found a bra in the pocket of his trousers, so…”
“I haven’t found anything like that.” The thought of finding some of Meghan’s no doubt sexy underwear in Richard’s things was truly horrifying.
The calls had been bad enough. Yes, he’d said he hadn’t slept with her, but could Harriet believe him? And what had he done with her? She really wasn’t ready to know.
“Is he sorry?” Ellie asked. “Do you think… could you… forgive him? In time?”
“I don’t know.” Harriet leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. “It all feels so mixed up, the money and the house and then the infidelity. My entire life exploded and I don’t have the first clue about how to rebuild any of it.” She opened her eyes and gave Ellie a wry smile. “I’ve just been slogging through the days, avoiding everyone and trying to survive.”
“That’s no way to live.”
“I know.” And the truth was, Harriet was starting to feel almost unbearably lonely. Talking to Ellie felt good, healing in a way—and it made her realize she hadn’t had such a frank and friendly conversation in years, maybe since her London days.
Briefly, she thought about her best friend from London, Shelley, who worked part-time as a barrister and was funny and self-deprecating and not at all precious about organic food or too much screen time for her kids. She’d felt herself with Shelley—normal and laidback. She hadn’t been that way in a long time.
They’d lost touch a year or two ago—they were both busy, and their lives had become so separate and different, with Shelley still juggling work and city life while Harriet had become a rural housewife.
“So,” Ellie said, her tone turning purposeful and brisk. “Let’s get you back on track to the land of the living.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Harriet asked warily.
“Are you looking for a job?”
“Yes, but I haven’t worked in eleven years.”
“What did you do before?”
“Publishing, the marketing side. But there isn’t much going at the moment.”
“So you have looked?”
“Yes… there is one job,” Harriet admitted, a little shyly. “I’ve filled out an application but I haven’t sent it. It feels… risky.”
Ellie nodded sagely. “It’s so hard to put yourself out there. That’s how I felt when I applied for the job at Oxford.”
“What do you do, anyway?”
“I’m an admin assistant to the history department. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but…”
“No, it’s brilliant,” Harriet said quickly.
Who was she to judge? She hadn’t brought in a salary in over a decade. And she might end up doing something similar if she couldn’t get the kind of job she’d trained for.
“I’d love to work in Oxford, although the commute is a pain, I suppose…”
“Yes, I can do it because Abby is a bit older now, but I wish it were closer. Still Wychwood-on-Lea is lovely.”
“Yes.” Except, she felt as if she was avoiding most of the village’s population.
She needed to get over herself. Bad things happened, and you soldiered on. What else could you do? She had to start facing people down, and figuring out a way to move on.
“So you’re going to apply for this job,” Ellie said and Harriet gave a start.
“I didn’t say—”
“Why not? What have you got to lose?”
“My dignity?”
“A small price,” Ellie answered with a grin. “I’m not sure I have any left. And who knows, maybe you will get the job, and it will be absolutely brilliant.”
“Maybe,” Harriet said, unconvinced.
“Promise me you’ll apply.”
“Promise me you’ll go find this Oliver,” Harriet returned. “I’m not the only one who needs to be dragged kicking and screaming into the land of the living, I think.”
Ellie looked startled, and genuine fear flashed across her face before she lifted her chin. “Fine. Lady Stokeley said much the same the other week, so I suppose I need to listen.”
“You’re friends with Lady Stokeley?” Harriet asked in surprise, although why this should be news she didn’t know. Abby was friends with Lady Stokeley, so why shouldn’t Ellie be as well?
“I wouldn’t call us friends exactly,” Ellie answered, “although she and Abby are practically BFFs. But she scares me more than a little.”
Harriet let out a little laugh. “Yes, I know what you mean. I feel sorry for her, though, alone in that big house.”
“Yes, it does seem rather lonely. I’m glad Abby goes up there regularly.”
“Yes.” The fire in the wood stove had burned down and it was past ten o’clock. Harriet stretched out her legs towards the fire as she let out a groan. “Two glasses of wine and I feel tiddly.”
“So do I,” Ellie said with a giggle. “Hopefully the kids won’t notice.”
“Hopefully.” The thought of tomorrow, another long day with the children no doubt bickering and moaning, made Harriet wince.
Perhaps when the weather turned things would be better. They’d get out in the garden, muck about, plant some seeds… start making an effort.
“I should probably go,” Ellie said as she rose from the sofa. “Before it gets too late.”
“Yes…” Harriet rose as well, taking their empty glasses to the sink.
“I’m glad we did this,” Ellie said suddenly. “Truth be told, I was a bit intimidated by you.”
“Were you?” Harriet rinsed the glasses out, her back to Ellie. “I think I intimidated myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, exactly.” She turned around, leaning against the sink and folding her arms. “Just that I don’t feel like the person I was anymore. I can’t be that person, because… well, because she was rich and successful and popular. And now I’m none of those things.”
Ellie frowned as she reached for her parka and shrugged into it. “What about all your friends? You were surrounded that day of the bake sale.”
“My best friend, if I could even have called her that, dropped me.” Harriet let out a humorless laugh. “But the truth is I’m almost relieved. If I’m honest, I miss feeling important, but I don’t miss the people, at least not many of them.” She knew she couldn’t tar everyone with Sophie’s brush, but she definitely didn’t miss the nosy, gossipy, bustling about that she and the other mums had done as a matter of course. But she did miss having friends.
“Maybe this is a chance to make new friends.”
“Present company included.” Harriet smiled, feeling both encouraged and weary.
Yes, she could view this all as a fresh start, and she was trying, whether it was making a new friend, applying for a job, or planting some seeds. But it was hard, an exhausting slog with no end in sight. And if she had a choice, right now, she’d still go back to her old life and have everything as it was.
Wouldn’t she?
The fact that she had a moment’s doubt startled her. Of course she would, in a heartbeat. This wasn’t living. But perhaps it needed to be. Richard still hadn’t had a job, and he hadn’t mentioned any so-called promising leads in a while. Maybe this was her future, and she needed to accept that.
Harriet was still mulling it over after Ellie had left and she’d gone up to bed. The double bed seemed too big, too empty, as she slid between the cold sheets. If Richard had been here, she would have placed her freezing feet on his calves. He would have shivered but he never complained; he’d always just brought her closer to him, to imbue her with his heat. She missed that. She missed him, but she wasn’t sure if she missed the him of the last few years, or an older, faraway version. Or maybe she was viewing the early years of their marriage with rose-tinted glasses. Maybe the cracks had been there all along, and she hadn’t noticed.
They must have been, for him to have some kind of affair. That didn’t spring out of nowhere. As she snuggled down under the covers, she wondered if she should ask for the full story on sexy Meghan, or if she should just leave it all behind. That was the trouble—she still didn’t know whether she wanted to, or even could, forge ahead, or if she should keep looking back because maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving.