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, her 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 couldn’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.
Dried flowers—she saved just about every bouquet she’d ever been given or bought herself—were stuck in various vases or wine bottles, perched on windowsills or bookshelves. And clothes… clothes were everywhere. Sweaters, coats, scarves, dresses, and skirts. Rachel was the kind of person who tried on three outfits every morning before deciding on one, and left them all around the house, lying where they had been discarded.
“Sorry, if I’d known you were coming, I would have tidied up,” Rachel muttered as she liberated a sofa cushion from two sweaters and a pair of high heeled boots.
“You never tidy up,” Esther returned, trying to sound light and, as usual, not quite managing it. Why did she always have to be so stern?
“True enough, I suppose. Do you want a cuppa? Or something stronger?”
“I don’t even know.” Esther sank onto the sofa and leaned her head back. “I just couldn’t face going back to the vicarage. Mum and Dad are lovely, but…” She sighed. “There’s only so much concern you can take.”
“Duly noted. I won’t ask a thing. I was just heating up a curry, if you want some.”
Rachel was notorious for never cooking. She’d once boiled a pan of water and let it all evaporate, not noticing until the pan was blackened and the kitchen full of smoke. None of her sisters, of course, let her forget it. “That sounds lovely, thanks.” Rachel went into the kitchen and Esther closed her eyes, a wave of tiredness crashing over her. She could practically fall asleep right there, and she thought she might have when she was prodded awake by Rachel holding a large glass of red wine.
“Thought we might as well. And here’s the curry.” She proffered two plates that smelled heavenly. “Tikka masala or chicken korma?”
“Korma, please.” Esther straightened, rubbing her hands over her face. “You’re a star, Rach, thanks.”
Her sister made a funny face as she sank onto the sofa opposite with her own glass of wine and plate of curry. “It’s not much.”
“It is.” Esther and Rachel hadn’t been all that close in recent years. They hadn’t been distant, either. They’d just… been. A lot of her life had become like that, Esther realized as she took a rather large sip of velvety-smooth wine. She’d just been going through the motions, the days, on and on, ploughing through until tragedy had jolted her awake. And, in truth, part of her wished she could retreat back into mindless hibernation, the busyness of merely doing.
“So, is it very difficult, being back with Mum and Dad?” Rachel asked after they’d eaten their curries in silence for a few minutes.
“I wouldn’t actually know. I haven’t spent all that much time there.” Esther grimaced. “I’m avoiding them, to be honest, because I know how worried they are about me. They’re not difficult, not like that. They just care so much.” And sometimes that hurt, especially when she was feeling so wretched inside.
“We all care,” Rachel said quietly, a hint of a smile in her eyes. “That’s the thing with family. We just don’t stop.”
Esther managed a wry smile back. “I know, and I appreciate it, really. Deep down inside.”
“Deep, deep down inside.”
Esther let out a little huff of laughter. “Exactly. Why don’t we talk about something a bit more cheerful, like your wedding?” she suggested. A few more sips of wine and she was almost feeling mellow.
Rachel made a face. “Do you really want to talk about that?”
“Don’t you?”
“I suppose, but…” Rachel shrugged. “It seems like the last thing you need to hear about is bridesmaid dresses and flower arrangements.”
With a guilty pang, Esther realized she hadn’t really asked Rachel about her wedding plans that much before. She’d given vague glances at bridal magazines and let the talk of dresses and menus during her mother’s Sunday dinners wash over her. She’d been too busy with her own worries, her own grief. It seemed selfish now. It was selfish.
“How’s it all going, anyway?” she asked. “It’s only… what, three more months?”
“Three and a half. July fifth.”
“So things are coming along, then?”
“I guess.” Rachel, normally so bubbly, seemed both unenthused and strangely reluctant to part with any details of the big day.
“Have you picked out a wedding dress? I know you were looking…”
“Not yet. I’m hoping to go down to Manchester in a couple of weeks.”
“And bridesmaid dresses, as well?” She, Anna, and Miriam were all going to be bridesmaids. “I hope they’re not going to be too naff or revolting.”
Rachel let out a gurgle of laughter. “Because that would just be the look I’m going for. Naff and revolting.”
Esther smiled, enjoying the banter they’d once taken for granted, back when they’d been younger. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, because I’ve looked at more wretched dresses than I can remember, and most of them have been both naff and revolting. But I think I’ve settled on something simple—navy blue, which I don’t think you’ll mind. I was going to suggest we all go to Manchester for the weekend to try them on, and I’ll look at dresses for myself as well, but I didn’t want to presume…”
“Presume?”
Rachel shrugged, her gaze sliding away. “You just seem to have a lot going on…”
“Rachel, I’m back to living with our parents. I don’t have anything going on.”
Rachel brightened. “Then you’ll go?”
Would she? She didn’t really do girly weekends, and truth be told, neither did her sisters. Rachel was the girliest one of them all, but she tended to do that kind of stuff with her friends rather than flesh and blood.
“I’ll go,” Esther said, feeling reckless all of a sudden. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe she just really needed a break. A break from herself, if that was even possible. But why not shake things up a little? Even if it involved lurid cocktails and even more lurid dresses.
“Brilliant!” Rachel smiled, looking excited. “How about next weekend?”
“Any weekend but that one,” Esther answered with a grimace. “I’m going to Helen’s wedding.”
“Oh, right. That should be a good ‘do.” Rachel eyed her askance. “And Will…?”
“We’re going together.”
“Oh.” Esther watched, bemused, as both surprise and hopeful suspicion flitted across her sister’s face. Rachel was remarkably easy to read. “It doesn’t mean anything,” Esther told her. “We’re just keeping up appearances because it’s still so early.”
“Fine, but why don’t you use it as a chance to talk? Properly, I mean? Because, honestly, Esther, I’m not sure you even know why you guys split.”
Esther looked away, a suspicious lump forming in her throat. Where had all these wretched hormones come from? “I do know, Rachel, it’s just not that easy to put into words.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem as if Will knows.”
“Why? Did he talk to you?” The words came out sharp.
“No, but the man looks as if he’d been poleaxed, Esther. As far as Dan or I can tell, he had no idea this was coming.”
“That’s because he’d be happy to just keep muddling along,” Esther snapped, “and that was part of the problem.” But only part, and if she was honest, it wasn’t even the biggest part. Still, it was the easiest one to wave like a red flag. Distraction techniques, which was kind of awful.
“Have you told him that?”
“Yes.”
Rachel shook her head slowly. “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of seven-year itch?”
“I’m not remotely itchy.”
“Then what?”
Esther sighed heavily. Why couldn’t anyone understand? She knew why, of course; because she wasn’t telling anyone the full truth. And she didn’t want to. Even so, a little compassionate quiet would not go amiss.
“Sorry,” Rachel said. “I’m being pushy, and I said I wouldn’t. How about another glass of wine?”
“I can’t. I’m driving.” Esther heaved herself up from the sofa. “And I should check in with Mum and Dad before they decide to ring the Good Samaritans.”
“They mean well.”
“They always do, and I don’t think I’d want it otherwise, but…” Esther sighed again. “It doesn’t always make it easier, does it?”
“No,” Rachel agreed. “It doesn’t. But it’s not an easy situation, is it?”
No, Esther thought as she climbed into her car a few minutes later. It certainly wasn’t. And she didn’t see it getting easier anytime soon.