by Annie Dyer
“I know. I just don’t think this experiment is working out. I’m better being married to my job.”
Catrin rolled her eyes. “You really aren’t. You’re just pissed at your job because you want to spend more time with Noah, and the job’s stopping you.”
She had a point.
Cat looked at me but didn’t say anything.
“What?” It made me paranoid when she did this.
We were at the apartment we used to share together. Now I’d moved out, it was just her and Maven, with a spare room for whoever was visiting – Lainey had been there with Jake last week for a couple of days, only I hadn’t got to spend much time with them because of work. Yet again.
“That girl you mentioned from the coffee shop – Shona – she was there.”
I felt fire spark inside my chest. Noah hadn’t mentioned her. “What was she doing there?”
“She knows Zeke – same circles.” Cat narrowed her eyes. “Noah didn’t even register her being there. But – I don’t know if I’m helping or making this worse – she was sniffing round him. Overly smiley, overly nice to everyone. She looked a bit pissed off when she found out I was your sister.”
I hid my head in my hands.
“Im, Noah is crazy about you. I know this all started as a favour, but face it, you fell in love. I’m not sure you were ready to do that, but you did. Give yourself a break and stop trying to be perfect at everything. Where’s Noah today?”
I groaned. “Rugby practice.” Because of course he’d been dragged into the Callaghan Green team.
“How were things with you this morning?”
They had been perfect. He’d made me breakfast and a pot of tea, and then we’d ended up doing what we did best – giving each other orgasms.
“Good.”
“Stop over-thinking it, Imogen.”
I nodded, completely lying to my sister. I was worried I was making a mistake that would only end up hurting both of us, and knowing Shona was around, a woman who could be exactly what Lady S probably wanted for her son, wasn’t helping.
“Anyway, tell me about Zeke. What exactly was this argument about?”
Chapter Nineteen
Noah
I looked through the accounts for Windy Hollow farm a third time. It wasn’t adding up; the four weekends of offering a children’s farming experience had brought in almost a hundred grand, which meant we could replace the two main barns before winter, but the income was showing as less than seventy k.
Someone had done some very creative accounting.
I looked over at my family’s chief accountant, Kieran Whitby, a man I’d known since I was twenty-one and starting to take some responsibility around the management of the estates.
“We’ll find it.” He was completely non-plussed about the whole thing. “The biggest headache you’ll have is dealing with whoever’s done this. It could be a prison sentence.”
I groaned. This was the bit I didn’t like.
Although there was one thing I disliked more than this. My wife looking like she’d lost everything overnight, which was how she was carrying herself right now.
“Thanks, Kieran.” He was already packing his case. “The sooner we can get this cleared, the better. In the meantime, move the shortfall to the other account and we’ll get the barns started. We’re increasing the herd and what we have there won’t withstand any more animals.”
“I’ll do that. Keep this quiet. We don’t want whoever’s done this to start tinkering – they won’t know we’ve spotted it yet as we weren’t due to do the accounts for another ten days.”
I nodded. I’d already clocked the timeline.
Kieran left, leaving me with the task of trying to make my wife happy. I was starting to wonder whether this was beyond me, and whether I needed to speak to Catrin or Maven about what to do. I knew her well by now, but not as well as them.
Imogen was at the kitchen table, laptop open, a frown on her beautiful face.
“Are you winning?”
She shook her head. “This is a major cock-up.”
“How about you put it away, leave it to cook, and we go out for dinner? Not for long, just enough to freshen your mind up a bit.” I had reserved a table at Simone’s restaurant for the two of us, so I was really hoping she’d say yes.
She didn’t. She just burst into tears.
For a moment, I froze. I grew up with brothers and a mother who was more emotionally controlled than a robot. Dealing with crying people was not on the list of things I was good at.
But I could hold her, and not say anything, which was the best piece of advice Gus had given me: when you’re not sure what to say, say nothing. That way you can’t cock things up anymore.
It wasn’t always true. At least once Imogen had ended up cross because I hadn’t said anything, but the make-up sex had made up for the ear bashing I’d ended up with.
“Come here.” I pulled her into me, wishing I had the power to magic away whatever was making her frustrated enough to cry. As long as it wasn’t me. I looked up to the ceiling and hoped to God it wasn’t me.
I needed to talk to her about this agreement, tell her how I felt, ask her to give us a real go, because we had something more real than anything I’d had before. I just needed to find the right time.
She leaned into me, her nose nuzzling my stomach, her arms wrapping round my waist.
I pulled her up out of her chair, picking her up, which made her laugh, and carried her over to the corner sofa in the kitchen, which was our go to place to hang out together.
We settled in the corner, Imogen frantically wiping tears away, but they were falling to quickly. I took hold of her wrist and stopped her.
“I don’t know much about girls crying, but I’ve kind of figured since you’re not looking at handbags on a website, this isn’t about Mulberry running out of stock.” I hoped I was saying the right thing. “So I’m wondering if crying will help? You might feel better after.”
She nodded, but let her tears fall. “I hate crying.”
“Why?”
“Sign of weakness.”
I held her closer. “Really isn’t.”
She nodded. “I can’t do this anymore, Noah.”
Panic rose in me like a tsunami. “Do what?”
“Everything. Work. Be what you need. I know we’re good together, and I think you’re perfect, but I’m not and it won’t work.”
I could just about get the gist of what she was meaning between the sobs.
“Why won’t it work? I think it’s working really well.” Which basically meant I was not reading her well at all. I cursed myself. Somewhere I’d fucked up. “But you clearly don’t.”
She gulped back a sob. “You should be with someone like Shona. Someone who can be at all the events with you, and not turn up because work had to take priority. I thought I could do both, and I can’t.”
I held her a little tighter, swallowing hard. “I know your job’s important, and I know there are times you have to put it first, and that’s fine. We agreed on that. You were clear at the start.”
She sniffed. “But at the start this was just about the wedding. Us being together after was just to keep appearances up. You got what you needed, and I could find out if the lifestyle of a serious relationship was what I wanted. I don’t think it is, and I think you can do better than someone like me who can’t prioritise what she wants.”
I wanted to argue, to point out that we were about being a team and supporting each other. She was remembering when she’d had to cancel on me, but I’d had to do the same last Sunday, when we were meant to be having lunch with her family, and there had been an emergency at one of the farms in Norfolk. Georgia had to cancel on Seph last week, because she’d been caught up with something at work, hence Seph had ended up here with Rose and take-out.
But I was stuck on something else.
“What’s Shona got to do with this?”
There was another sob. That was the wr
ong thing to say. Fuck.
“She’s just so perfect for you.”
I choked back a laugh and moved Imogen off my knee and onto the sofa. I needed space for this.
“You sound like my mother.”
She looked at me, tear drenched eyes staring. “What do you mean?”
“Shona McAdam was one of the women Lady S tried to set me up with. Shona would come round to the hall with her mother when I was there, and corner me into conversation. If I thought Shona was what I wanted, I’d have been married to her about six years ago.” My tone was firm, quiet but I meant every word. “I don’t like it when people decide on what’s best for me. I know what’s best for me, and it isn’t Shona.”
She’d stopped crying. “But it isn’t me either. You’ve seen what my life’s like, how busy work is. I can barely commit to a weekend away to see your family. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s what you want?”
I stood up, feeling the temper I kept buried about to bubble up. “You choose when you work. You decide what your priorities are, and I guess what you’re telling me is that I won’t ever be a priority for you over your career. In that case, you’re probably right. I’m going out.”
I walked away, not looking back at her, just hearing silence.
Zeke met me in the restaurant, his little girl sat on a chair next to him. Nora was a dark-haired sprite, put on this planet to annoy the very existence of my friend, and to charm everyone else. She’d been a surprise, the result of a one-night stand with a woman a decade older than Zeke, who’d spent her life carving out a career and without time for a family. Nora had been a shock for everyone, and we’d watched to see how he’d react to being a father.
If Nora was the evidence, he’d reacted well. He shared custody with Stella, her mother, and everything was amicable. Stella had a new relationship, which bothered no one, and Zeke continued to be a rich, brooding artist.
“What’s happened?” He didn’t move his eyes off the menu.
“We had an argument.”
Zeke shrugged. “You’re married. It happens.”
“I know. Vivi and Gus argue. But this wasn’t like one of their rows.” Their rows were quick and blazing, and over within minutes. This felt more permanent, with issues raised that I wasn’t sure how to solve.
“Why?”
“Because I basically said that she would never put me first.” I shrugged.
Nora put down her colouring pens. “Daddy says girls should always be put first.”
“I agree. But if you love someone you should always put them first, shouldn’t you?” I watched Nora thinking. She was a cute kid, quiet, but thoughtful. A little like her father, but far more likeable.
Nora shrugged. “I think you have to put you first. Be happy with yourself.”
I raised my eyebrows at Zeke. “That’s profound.”
He shook his head. “Stella insists on a therapist. I’m beginning to think it’ll be Nora’s career. She told me yesterday that mindfulness might help me be more in the present. I had no idea what it meant.”
Luckily, Nora was back being mindful with her colouring.
“What did you say to Imogen?” Zeke eyed me with caution.
He knew me too well. “That she’d never choose me as a priority.”
“Ouch. You realise you probably just ended your marriage?” He put the menu down. “That’s why I stay out of these things. Relationships. Far, far too complicated.”
“No, you just don’t think any woman’s good enough for you.” I knew Zeke too well. “You’re a perfectionist. No one will ever meet your standards.”
He gave a nod. “True. But you’re not me. What you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can go back there tonight. I feel like we need some space – it’s been really intense, what with the wedding, then the honeymoon and her job. We haven’t done the getting to know you dates or sleepovers. The first time we, you know,” I glanced at Nora, “had a sleepover was the day we got married.”
“No try before you buy?”
I shook my head. “If I’d tried, I’d have moved the wedding forward.”
“That good?”
“That good.”
We ordered. Luckily Zeke wasn’t keen on small talk, so I didn’t have to entertain him, or listen, which I wasn’t capable of.
“Have you told her how you feel?” He asked that after we’d finished our starters.
“No. I thought it would add pressure.”
“It would definitely add pressure now. So I’d say you need to decide whether you want to carry on with her. Do you want a career girl or someone like Shona McAdam…”
“Why do you mention her?” I interrupted. “Imogen mentioned her today.”
“She’s been hanging round you again. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sniffed out about this arrangement you and Imogen had, and she’s trying to prise a way in.” He sounded bored, which he probably was.
Shona had done her best to entice Zeke into her bed just after we’d left university. She wanted a rich husband with a title, or at least strong connections with a title. Zeke was perfect fodder, as he’d inherit his father’s and at some point, become a viscount. What Shona hadn’t realised was that Zeke was a grumpy fucker who had no time for anyone, definitely not someone he needed to prioritise above his daughter or him. So that hadn’t worked.
“Fuck. That’s why Imogen was going on about not being there at events and crap. I bet Shona’s spoken to her.” I rubbed at my face. I felt like I’d gone twelve rounds in a boxing ring.
Zeke downed his water. “Doesn’t matter. As much as my daughter is right, and you can’t prioritise someone else, unless you can prioritise yourself, you don’t want to be with someone who never puts you first. That’s not fair.” He topped up his glass with more.
“I know. But that’s not what she’s done so far. She has prioritised me. The agreement for a start.” Zeke knew about this by now. I’d told him before we’d gotten married, but barely, only when I knew there was more between me and Imogen than a piece of paper.
He nodded. “True. But she doesn’t see that. Rewrite the agreement.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
He shrugged. “My daughter clearly inherited her brains from me.”
What killed me the most when I got home was that she’d emptied the bathroom. All of her products in there were gone, and she’d even put my stuff back in there, all neatly lined up. There was a load of washing on with her towels in it, still going round on a spin cycle, so I knew if I’d been home any sooner home, I probably would’ve seen her leave.
I didn’t know if that would’ve been for the best or not. If I’d have watched her go, I’d have given her the rest of me to take with her, and that would’ve been after the argument I’d have started to try and stop her from leaving. Then I’d have lost my dignity as well as my heart.
Most of her clothes were still in the wardrobe, her pile of romance novels still on the bookcase. Everything was tidied. I think it was that which kicked me the hardest.
There was a note on the kitchen table, which I picked up with what could be accurately explained as fear. I forced myself to read it, knowing that what I didn’t know would only make me bitter.
Noah, I need some space. I think we both do after that. I’m not mad at you, but I need to work out where my head’s at. Speak soon. Im x
There was a heart drawn under it.
I didn’t sleep. My brain weaved its way round and around the argument we’d had. I kicked myself for what I’d said, regretting the conclusion I’d jumped to, because it only solidified what she thought of us.
By four in the morning, I was at the gym I was a member of, putting my body through what was a workout that would normally have killed me. By seven, I’d messaged Catrin.
Cat was the sister I’d spent more time with. She’d been at the gallery opening last week, and had been round at our house more, mainly because we had a full fridge and more
food in it than we needed. She’d also sent me several messages telling me I had bad taste in friends and how much of a dick Zeke was, which I could understand.
There was a knock at my door at eight, with Cat standing in front of me, dressed for work and holding a take out coffee.
“You cook breakfast, give me your explanation as to why my sister is now back in our spare bedroom, and I’ll give you some advice.” She bustled through the door and headed straight to the kitchen.
I shook my head. I hadn’t had enough sleep to deal with a full-on Cat, but I had asked for her help. I figured if she was pissed at me, she’d have told me to fuck off and wouldn’t be here right now.
I switched on the coffee machine because that was Cat’s life-blood, and started to mix up eggs for an omelette, finding chorizo and cheese in the fridge, and a bag of spinach, so it could at least pretend to be healthy.
“How is she?” I braced myself for the answer.
“Not going to lie, she’s seriously upset. I can’t get a straight answer from her without her bursting into tears. We’ve told her she’s not going into work, she can work from the apartment, because the whole office will be gossiping if they see her like this.” Cat sat down at the breakfast bar where I was preparing. “She was going on about Shona, which is partly my fault, because I told her about Shona being there on Friday.”
I thought while I heated the pan, Cat helping herself to coffee.
“She thinks I need someone who will be like my mother, attending shit and making an appearance just to be seen. And she’s putting pressure on herself to do that and to work as hard as she does.” I got it. We might not have lived together for long, but I’d learned a lot about her.
“She said you don’t think she prioritises you.” Cat looked a little deadly.
I moved the knives away from her.
“It isn’t true. She does. She has done all along. Being there for a gallery opening isn’t that important, Cat. You know that.”