Chapter Five
Esther stood on the fringe of the crowd of wedding guests clutching a glass of lukewarm champagne that was almost as flat as she was feeling. There was nothing worse than being at a party where everyone was having loads of fun and she couldn’t dredge up so much as a smile. Well, she reflected, there was a lot of worse things, actually. This was just the sour cherry on the top of her crappy cake. And ultimately she couldn’t blame anyone but herself.
The last week and a half had been about nothing more than going through the motions—work, home, and back again. She’d had dinner with her parents a couple of times, which hadn’t been as tense as she’d feared. It never was. Roger had kept up his usual affable conversation, and her mother had made her favourite foods without any fussing, while Esther had been monosyllabic. Honestly, she didn’t deserve them. She didn’t deserve anyone.
Tears pricked her eyes and Esther blinked them away resolutely. She hadn’t cried since the separation, despite the near-constant threat. Now, sitting on the edge of a happy crowd, on her second glass of champagne, the threat felt a little stronger, but one she was still determined to avoid at all costs. Because if she gave into it… well, who knew what would happen then?
She glanced at Will, who was weaving his way through the crowds towards her. He scrubbed up nicely in a navy-blue suit he hadn’t worn since her aunt’s funeral five years ago, and he kept tugging at his tie. It would have made Esther smile, once. Now it just made her sad, but then everything was making her sad. She was tired of it, and annoyed with herself for being so wretchedly hormonal.
It wasn’t as if she was pregnant anymore. In fact, she’d never been pregnant, not really. The baby had never developed; her womb had been empty. A blighted ovum, her GP had said at the follow-up appointment. Usually a woman miscarried earlier than Esther had; apparently her body hadn’t got the memo and still kept thinking she was pregnant even when there had been nothing there.
“You want another drink?” Will stood in front of her and nodded towards her now empty glass. She hadn’t even realized she’d finished it.
Although she probably shouldn’t, Esther shrugged and handed him her empty glass. “Why not? But something else, perhaps. The champagne’s gone flat.”
“All right.” Will turned away, as silent and stoic as he had been this whole trip. The two-hour drive to Newcastle had been conducted in rather grim silence, with Will staring straight ahead as Esther looked blindly at the barren hills rolling into the distance, dotted with a few sheep, some gambolling lambs. Neither of them had said a single word.
A few months or years ago, the silence wouldn’t have bothered her. She would have stretched her feet out on the dash and made a few idle comments. Will would have smiled, that quirk of his lips she’d found so sexy, right from the first moment she’d met him. She wouldn’t have questioned anything, and part of her still longed for that blissful ignorance, before she’d been awakened to the lack in their relationship, and more crucially, the terrible lack in herself.
“Here you go.” Will handed her a drink and after the first sip Esther realized it was a Tom Collins, her favourite cocktail. She hadn’t had one in ages, and she probably didn’t need the extra alcohol now, but she knocked half of it back in one go. “Thanks.”
Will was nursing the same pint of bitter he’d had all evening. He never drank anything else. He stood next to her, as he had for most of the reception, and stared straight ahead. They wouldn’t dance, of course. They wouldn’t even think of dancing. And normally that would be okay, she wouldn’t mind. She wouldn’t want to dance, and she didn’t really want to now, and yet… something was missing.
“Do you want to dance?”
“What?” Esther turned to him in shock, nearly spitting out a mouthful of gin and lemon. She almost thought she’d fantasized him asking. Will was so not a dancer. They hadn’t even danced at their wedding.
“Do you want to dance?” He didn’t sound particularly enthused by the idea, and his jaw was locked tight as he nodded towards the dance floor. “Beats standing here like a pair of lemons, don’t you think?”
Esther glanced from him towards the dance floor, heaving with people who were demonstrating their finesse, or lack of it, with the whip and nae nae. She’d already watched several giggly grandmothers doing an exuberant Macarena, wiggling their jiggly hips with enthusiasm.
“I…” She hesitated, wondering at her own reluctance. She’d just been bemoaning having to stand here watching everyone else have fun, and now Will was giving her another option. “I suppose,” she said, and finished her drink before putting the glass aside. “Why not?”
They’d just stepped onto the dance floor when the music changed from the pumped-up techno of “Watch Me” to the heartrending and rather sappy strains of “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Will looked, for a second, as if he wanted to bolt from the floor. Couples were coming together all around them like it was a Year Seven disco, arms locked around waists, hands on shoulders, hips swaying as Bette Midler belted it out.
Did you ever know that you’re my hero…
Now, instead of safely on the side, they were standing in the middle of the dance floor like lemons.
“Well?” Will held his arms out and Esther stepped closer to him, placing her hands lightly on his strong shoulders as his arms came around her waist and like everyone else they started to sway.
This wasn’t so bad. Neither of them were dancers, heaven knew, but in some ways this was easier than attempting to dab or something equally ridiculous.
Then Will pulled her a little closer, so their hips nudged, and despite everything, or perhaps because of it, heat and longing both flared inside her. Instinctively her hands tightened on his shoulders, and Will noticed, his eyes narrowing as he gazed down at her. Esther dropped her gaze and focused on their shuffling feet.
She felt the longing well up inside her, but for what she couldn’t say. Impossible things, she supposed. For Will to be different, for her to be different, for life to be different. Yet nothing was—except maybe she was, because she felt so flattened, so unable. Usually, she picked herself up and kept moving, but now she felt as if she was standing in the middle of a road, waiting to be mown down. She was exasperated with herself, and yet she still couldn’t seem to move.
They swayed silently, bodies brushing, the room feeling as if it were fading in and out. Esther breathed in the smell of Will—old-fashioned aftershave and a hint of lanolin, from being with sheep all day. As she dared to raise her head again, she saw he’d nicked his jaw when he’d shaved that morning, and he’d also missed a bit by his ear. Awkwardly, she caught his gaze, saw the heat in his eyes, and felt jolted. Was he noticing the same kinds of details about her? Was he looking at her the way she was at him, remembering when things had seemed simple, had felt easy? Could it ever feel that way again?
The song felt as if it were going on forever, and Esther didn’t know whether she wanted it to end or not.
Eventually the song did end, replaced by an eye-wateringly loud pop song, something neither of them recognized. They stepped apart almost guiltily, or perhaps that was just her.
“Do you want another drink?” Will asked.
“I really shouldn’t.” She was already fairly sozzled, and she felt now that she needed her wits about her. Everything was starting to feel heartrendingly complicated, the longing and the loneliness, the guilt and the grief.
“Suit yourself.”
And now there they were, standing on the side, a pair of lemons. “Maybe we should just go,” Esther blurted, and Will cocked an eyebrow.
“Helen and Nate haven’t left yet.”
“I know, but…” Esther shrugged. Helen was still high-kicking her heels on the dance floor, and Esther suspected the reception would last into the wee hours. “We’ve been here for a while.”
“True.” She couldn’t tell anything from Will’s tone. “Fine.” He jerked one powerful shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“We should make our excuses to Helen first.” Belatedly Esther realized that hadn’t been the best choice of words. They wended their way through the gyrating crowd, bumping awkwardly with overenthusiastic dancers, before Esther managed to tap her friend on the shoulder.
“Helen…”
“Oy!” Helen grabbed both of her hands and spun her around before Esther could stammer her goodbye. The room spun, as did the alcohol in her stomach. In the blur around her she saw Will, standing still and stony, reminding her of one of those monoliths on Easter Island. Completely intractable and fairly out of place.
“Come dance,” Helen called to him, and then she was grabbing his hand, clearly three sheets to the wind, or perhaps even half a dozen. Will toppled more than moved, nearly losing his balance as Helen yanked on his arm and then somehow they were all dancing to that inane but catchy song “Call Me Maybe,” and Esther, for some odd reason, was belting out the lyrics along with everyone else, even though she hadn’t realized she’d known them, and she certainly wasn’t the sort of person to sing along to, well, anything. She really was drunk.
Will wasn’t dancing so much as shifting from foot to foot, but at least he was trying, although why that mattered Esther couldn’t even say. Then he caught her eye and gave her the tiniest quirk of a smile, and her stomach turned right over. She felt young again; she remembered, and she felt.
Then the song ended, and Will stepped quickly off the dance floor. Helen went to get a drink, and dutifully Esther followed her, that brief moment of solidarity and sentiment vanished in the flick of an eyelid, the switch of a song.
“So, how are you two?” Helen asked as she guzzled a glass of champagne—from a fresh bottle, judging from the fizziness. “I feel as if we haven’t talked properly in ages.”
“I know.” This didn’t seem like the best time to say she was leaving the party, or that she and Will were separated, or… anything. “It’s been a fantastic do, Helen, but…”
“Oh, and it’s just beginning!” Helen’s eyes narrowed. “You two aren’t going to go all damp squibby on me, are you?”
“Well, the thing is, Will’s tired from lambing season…”
Helen rolled her eyes. “Excuses! But, seriously…” She glanced at Esther, and then at Will, who was standing behind her and hadn’t said a word. “Is everything okay?”
How to answer that? Esther stared at her friend for a moment, her chest going tight, Will waiting for her reply. She couldn’t possibly go into it now. “Yeah, yeah,” she finally said, summoning a smile. “We’re fine. ’Course we are. What about you? How’s Natural England on this side of the Pennines?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m taking the redundancy package.”
“You are?” Esther blinked in surprise. She’d always thought Helen was as wed to her job as Esther was. They’d started as raw recruits together, twenty-two years old and blazing self-righteous determination to change the world, or at least the farmland of England’s northwest. “Why?”
Helen rolled her eyes. “Rumour has it that plenty of people are going to get the chop soon, especially if you work full-time. Too expensive.”
“Yes, but…” Esther stared at her helplessly. Natural England was always cutting costs, corners, and yes, staff, but Esther had somehow thought she and Helen were immune. They were both lifers, committed to the cause. Everyone knew that. She’d never wavered in her devotion to her job, crappy as it could sometimes be. Never, ever. It had been one thing anchoring her when everything else had started to waver.
Helen must have seen something of the surprise and distress in her face because she softened, placing one hand on Esther’s shoulder. “It’s not the same as it was, is it?” she said in the tone of someone talking to someone recently bereaved. “Not like when we started, and we were doing five or six farm visits a week, feeling like we were really accomplishing something. Do you remember?” Helen let out a sigh of pure nostalgia. “Coaxing some old codger into signing up for the environmental scheme, and seeing how pleased he was when it actually worked? When was the last time that happened?”
“Well…”
“Now there are so many blasted hoops for the farmers to jump through and we’re the ones holding them out, higher and higher. They never can do enough to get into the schemes, and it takes years to get one signed on properly, never mind the numbers we really need to make a difference.” Helen shook her head. “I still love the ethos, and I always will, but I can’t stand the bureaucracy. I’ve spent more time filling out spreadsheets about how I’m performing on the job than doing my job. I’m getting out while I can. They won’t be offering these redundancy packages forever, you know. A year or two from now it’ll be a shove in the back and a ‘thanks very much.’ A knees-up in the staff room if you’re lucky with a bottle of plonk, and that’s it.” Helen looked positively grim for a few seconds, as Esther struggled to absorb all she’d said.
“Perhaps, but… what will you do instead?” Esther couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She wasn’t trained for anything else. She had a degree in land management and ten years of experience with one government agency. Suddenly it seemed like very little.
“Who knows?” Helen shrugged. “Take a break, start a farm shop, go freelance?” She gave one of her old cheeky grins. “First I’m going to enjoy my honeymoon!”
They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about Helen and Nate’s honeymoon to Ibiza, and then, after a couple of hugs and smoochy kisses on both cheeks, she and Will were free. Esther stepped out into the night, breathing in the cool, smog-scented air.
The empty street seemed quiet after the crashing pop music of the party, the ensuing silence taut.
“Sorry about all that,” Esther said, and Will shrugged.
“I don’t mind a bit of a boogey,” he said with the faintest glimmer of a smile.
A surprised bubble of laughter escaped her. “I thought you hated dancing.”
“Hate is a strong word.”
Everything seemed loaded with subtext, but Esther didn’t know if she was simply imagining that. Will wasn’t exactly a subtext sort of man, was he? He was as straight and upfront as they came. What she saw was what she got. Which could be either a good or bad thing.
“Let’s find the hotel,” she said, and scrolled on her phone for directions sent in the confirmation email. They hadn’t had a chance to check-in before going to the wedding, and Esther supposed it was just as well. It was going to be awkward enough sharing a room and most likely a bed without having had to have been reminded of it beforehand.
They got their overnight bags from Will’s car in the nearby car park, and then made the ten-minute walk to the hotel along the narrow, darkened streets of Newcastle’s downtown, the only sounds the blare of a distant car horn, and the faint shouts of someone being ejected from a pub, one street over. Neither of them spoke.
They arrived at the hotel, a narrow building crammed between large, modern monstrosities, and after a few minutes to check-in, they were upstairs in a room that was, Esther saw with a sinking sensation, really quite tiny. A double bed, not the queen she’d been hoping for, and about a foot between it and the bureau. The adjoining bathroom was small enough to make using the loo and the shower at the same time possible, if she’d wished to attempt such a feat of hydraulic engineering.
“Well, this is cosy.” Will hefted both their bags onto the bureau. With the two of them in it the room felt even tinier, airless. Her head was still spinning from all the alcohol she’d ill-advisedly imbibed.
“I think I’ll take a shower.”
“Fine by me.”
Unfortunately, Esther realized after she’d shimmied past Will to collect her washbag, the bathroom had a door constructed entirely of frosted glass, and made her feel as if she were performing in a peep show. It was impossible not to have her full silhouette be visible, and also impossible, considering the size of the room, not to have Will watch—all which made having a shower a far less relaxing proposition than she’d hoped.
It felt stupid to be self-conscious considering how well Will knew her body, and how she knew his. Every scar, every sinew, everything. They’d been married for seven years. Of course they knew each other, physically at least.
Yet now, as she rinsed off as quickly as she should, and then yanked on her sensible pyjamas—a fleece top and yoga pants—she felt ridiculously prudish, as if she’d turned into a buttoned-up nun. She avoided looking at Will as she hurried into bed.
He was already lying on one side of what now seemed like the tiniest double bed ever known to humankind, staring up at the ceiling, his hands folded over his broad—and bare—chest like a corpse in a casket.
As Esther slid into her side of the bed, she thought about asking him to put on a shirt, and then decided not to go there. She turned so her back was to Will and clicked off the light.
Silence smothered the room, heavy and oppressive. Esther scrunched her eyes shut, as if she could forcibly will herself to sleep. She edged her feet away from Will’s, in case they tangled toes as they so often had in the past, their version of a kiss good-night.
“Nice door on the bathroom,” Will commented after several endless minutes, his voice disembodied in the darkness, and Esther’s whole body jolted with tension, as well as something else.
“You didn’t have to look.”
“Kind of hard not to, and in any case, we’re married.” Will shifted on the bed so his body, already mere inches from hers, pressed that much closer. “I know your body as well as my own, Esther.” He spoke matter-of-factly but it still made a shiver go through her. She’d been thinking the same thing, and to hear Will say it made heat bloom inside her.
Then Will put his hand on her shoulder, heavy and warm. “Esther…”
Esther didn’t know who moved first. Did she roll over, or did Will pull her toward him? Somehow they were face to face, hip to hip, toes tangling as they always did. And then Will was kissing her, big, greedy, swallowing kisses that made her feel both desired and obliterated. They’d been apart for two measly weeks but it felt like a lifetime, a very lonely lifetime, and Will’s arms were strong, his body solid, everything about him familiar in a way that didn’t feel aggravating or depressing, just good.
Sex would complicate things, but then again, maybe it wouldn’t. After all, they were married, and it was something they’d done a thousand times before. A bodily function, a basic urge… the way to make a baby.
It was the last that caught her like a fist to the gust, a karate chop to her heart. She stilled underneath Will—at some point he’d rolled on top of her, one large, callused palm sliding underneath her fleece top and fighting a deep-seated urge both to give in and to scream, Esther pushed his hand away.
“No. I’m sorry, but no.”
He stilled on top of her, one hand resting on the flat of her stomach. “Esther…”
“I—” She drew a quick breath. Her mind was blank, her body pulsing, no longer with desire, but with pain.
Will rolled off her. “Esther,” he said again, and it was half-statement, half-question.
Esther stared up at the ceiling, the only sound Will’s steady breathing, as well as the ragged hitch of her own. She was not going to cry. She was not. If she cried now, she’d be done for. She’d plunge into those dark depths and never resurface.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out. “I… I just can’t.”