‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Shane, Clara’s brother, was standing outside the ward frantically tapping the screen of his phone as I rushed down the corridor of the hospital.

‘I was away on a work commitment,’ I said too firmly, finding that his tone was pulling at my last nerve.

‘How could you leave her in that state? Honestly, Jamie. What’s going on with you two?’

‘What are you talking about? Do you think I would have left her if I’d thought she was going to do…this?’ I said, motioning my hand towards the ward.

‘She was on the fucking bathroom floor, Jamie. Bottles of pills beside her. It doesn’t take a genius to know what the fuck she was trying to do.’ His constant motion was making it hard to follow him, but his words were clear and angry.

Shane shared Clara’s colouring—pale and freckled with red hair; his was bright and wild, but hers was a more subtle shade that suited her beautifully. His clenched jaw and rigid arm muscles reminded me of the stereotype that redheads have a fiery temper. I quickly realised that we were heading in the direction of discovering if that was true.

‘Don’t you think I would know if my wife was trying to fucking kill herself?’ I spat, getting too close to his face, so close I could smell coffee on his breath.

‘I don’t know, Jamie. All you ever think about is yourself.’ He pushed me back with his hands. I was flexing my hand into a fist ready to knock the judgmental sneer off his face when a nurse opened the door.

‘She’s asking for you,’ she said to him before smiling towards me. ‘Are you Mr Dawson?’

‘Yes, I’m her husband.’

Shane blew air out of his nose in a sarcastic laugh and pushed past me, walking past the nurse who was still holding the door.

‘Follow me and I’ll take you down to her.’

The corridor could have been three miles long. The ward was full of people, some smiling, and some with vacant looks on their faces as their family members tried to hide their despair.

‘Here she is. She’s very quiet but she’s been co-operative, which is a good step. I think she realises she needs some support,’ the nurse said, patting me on the back as she walked away. I wanted to follow the clack of her shoes.

Clara was lying on a bed wearing a hospital gown. Her clothes were in a pile on a chair next to her. She looked pale. She didn’t look up at me when I walked closer to the bed, but I noticed that she squeezed Shane’s hand tightly.

‘Hey, how are you doing?’ I asked quietly.

She stared into the distance.

‘What happened, Clara?’ I asked as I moved the clothes off the chair and sat down.

She didn’t answer.

‘You should have said you were feeling this low; we could have got you some help.’ I went to touch her hand but she moved it away from me, turning to her side and gripping the pillow with her fingers.

‘Clara.’

She closed her eyes, and as she did, a single tear ran down the curve of her nose.

* * *

Two days had passed since that tear and she still hadn’t spoken to me. Her brother stayed for most of that time, only leaving to catch a few hours of sleep and to refill his coffee. Their parents were due in the next few days, unable to come immediately, explaining that they had a few things to sort out with the business. Horses came before people in their world. How I hadn’t seen that so clearly before, I’d never know.

Shane had calmed down somewhat and we were able to talk more civilly. He openly talked about his disgust that I had moved her away from London when she had suffered such a huge loss, essentially believing that I had taken her away from everything that was familiar, her support system and her work.

After banging heads and shouting out our mutual frustrations, I admitted that our marriage was failing. Although it was difficult to admit, I eventually agreed that moving to Nottingham under the guise of having a fresh start was a purely selfish decision. I didn’t tell him why because I kind of liked my face as it was and didn’t fancy explaining away two bruised eyes and a broken nose to the team on Monday morning.

I waited beside the empty bed as Clara went to meet with one of the therapists. When she returned, she seemed brighter. She’d always been a talker, so I knew that any type of talking therapy would help her. She actually smiled as she sat back down on the bed.

‘How did it go?’ I asked cautiously, not wanting to break the smile I hadn’t seen for months.

‘Good, thanks.’

‘That’s really good to hear.’

‘She thinks it would be beneficial if you come to some sessions. Would you be willing to do that?’

‘Yes, of course; if you think they would help.’

‘I think we need to talk about what happened and then…perhaps…talk about us.’ She fiddled with her fingernails in order to avoid eye contact.

‘Why do we need to talk about us?’ I asked, nervously shifting around in the chair.

‘There’s a lot we need to talk about. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—’

‘Clara, tell me what happened. Did you want to end your life?’ I asked, cutting her off, my hands tracing the creases of the sheet on the hospital bed giving me something else to focus on.

‘Jamie, we’ve made a complete mess, haven’t we?’ She took my hand and placed it on her lap. ‘No, I didn’t want to end my life. I was really struggling with some…thoughts. Thoughts I’ve had for a while. Since the start…I was waiting for you to come home, but the more time that passed, the more my head just starting thinking crazy things. I just couldn’t shake it off.’

‘You knew I was away last night. We’d talked about it. I left you a note in the kitchen with things to remember.’ As I was talking, I felt a panic in my stomach making it bounce around and flip repeatedly. I had left notes. I had left instructions. I had even left her medication in a glass on the bedside table, a note propped up beside it telling her when to take it. Why hadn’t I questioned why I’d felt the need to do that? Why had I ignored my concerns?

Because it had become normal. Part of the routine of our life.

I felt sick. I felt ashamed. As a man who lived for caring for others, I hadn’t taken good enough care of the person who needed me the most.

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said, still holding my hand. ‘You have to give me an honest answer.’

I nodded.

‘Why did we come here? What was the reason for coming back to Nottingham?’

I sighed, not sure how to reply. ‘A fresh start,’ I said quietly, clearing my throat as the words got stuck.

‘It wasn’t, though, was it?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’ve been here before. You’ve already worked in Nottingham, so it wasn’t a fresh start really, was it? It was a return, a return to what you knew before. Some would describe it as a need to…reacquaint yourself with things that were familiar.’

I listened to her speak. She was clear and formal, almost like she had a well thought out plan of what she wanted to say. ‘I guess you could think of it that way,’ I said, drawing out each word as I tried to work out what she meant.

Reacquaint yourself with things familiar.

‘Did that work out for you?’ she smiled falsely.

‘Honestly? I’m not sure.’

She nodded and pulled in her lip before letting go of my hand to move herself up to the top of the bed to turn away from me.